Gift fic for anamuan
To: anamuan
From: grunhilda
SEASON'S GREETINGS!
Title: But I Digress
Pairing/Group: Koyato/Nishikato, (Pin?)
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: teh bad pr0nz.
Notes: I didn’t mean to make it angsty. Honest. :( After a while I stopped questioning my brain. Great thank yous to X, Q and Y for being lovely and understanding while beta reading. ♥ All remaining mistakes are my own. For anamuan. Darling, I hope you like it.
Summary: Shige doubts, Ryo takes, and Koyama hesitates. AU.
Word Count: ~3000
: :
When they were younger Koyama would crawl up to sit on the window ledge in his room when he was upset, his nose flattened against his knee, cheeks wet with tears. Shige would eventually come and sit facing him, their toes brushing together, and after a while he would poke Koyama’s leg with his foot. I’m sorry, he would say, and Koyama would smile.
They still sit on the window ledge at times, (even though they’re no longer two young boys with awkward long limbs and knobbly knees,) their legs entwined for room, but there are no tears, and Koyama’s fingers tap out rhythms on Shige’s knee.
“Why are we sitting here again?” Shige asks, putting the book down on his lap. The edge of the wall is digging into his back, and the side of him that is pressed against the window is cold.
Koyama’s palm is hot on Shige’s knee. “I like it,” he says, smile easy and light.
Shige doesn’t ask again, and when Koyama starts tracing figures on Shige’s leg, he lets him.
: :
Nishikido is rude, haughty and attractive. The fault lies not in the fact that he is handsome, but that he knows so. Shige doesn’t think much of him at first. Not that he doesn’t notice him (is there really a way to avoid noticing Nishikido?), but that he doesn’t affect Shige’s life more than in attracting his gaze as he comes sauntering in ten minutes after the first lecture has started, an untroubled smile on his face.
Or he shouldn’t, rather, but somehow he manages to anyway, as he sits down next to Shige and peers down at his notes over his shoulder.
Nishikido’s voice is low and smooth, completely at odds with the things he says.
“Hey Lame-brain, can I borrow your notes?” he murmurs, tugging Shige’s notepad from beneath Shige’s left arm, and Shige’s objection stumbles and catches on his lips as Nishikido smiles at him. Devastatingly.
When Ryo looks at him, Shige feels warm.
: :
Being is easy with Koyama. It’s comfortable, safe.
They go to the beach one of the last days of summer weather, the sun hot over their heads. Koyama’s squinting eyes make his smile seem impossibly wider as they run down into the water that splashes around them like a glistening liquid curtain. They wrestle, pushing each other’s head beneath the surface, fingers cool and fearless in the water.
Later they lie panting on the beach, skin sticky with water and sand. Koyama lies on his stomach, giggling close-eyed into his towel, sunrays glowing warm on his back. Shige’s head is at the very edge of his own towel, head tilted, wet hair spilling onto the sand. Koyama’s back, golden in the sun, is the most beautiful back Shige has ever seen, and he finds himself staring, mesmerized. It would be so easy to just reach out and let his palm slide over the smooth warm valley between Koyama’s shoulder blades.
Shige licks his lips. They taste of salt and longing.
: :
Nishikido makes a habit of sitting next to Shige, taking Shige’s pencils and twirling them between his long graceful fingers, hand lingering warm and light on Shige’s arm as he borrows his notebook without asking permission. Shige thinks about taking them, back, ripping them out of Nishikido’s hands, change that smug expression into one of astonishment, anger, anything.
He doesn’t. He doesn’t because he’s mature now, he knows how the world works, and sometimes you just have to put up with people. He ignores the little twinge in him that points out that when Nishikido touches him his skin tingles.
He doesn’t, because sometimes Nishikido smiles at him, all teeth and glittering eyes, and sometimes, sometimes he leans in to murmur something in Shige’s ear, voice like molten chocolate, his breath tickling Shige’s neck.
: :
Koyama’s cat dies, but Koyama doesn’t cry. He stares absently out through the window, his expression a stranger to Shige. Their legs are entwined, toes warm where they’re lodged between thighs and windowpanes. The silence presses down on them, until Shige can’t take it any longer and drags Koyama off to a movie.
In the dark, Koyama’s clammy hand finds Shige’s and clutches it tightly. Shige doesn’t remember much of the movie, but when they exit the theatre his hand feels a little numb, his shoulder is wet, and Koyama’s eyes are red.
: :
He meets Nishikido in a café, their study material a heavy pile on the table between them. Shige pours over books as the waitress pours coffee into their emptying cups, and Nishikido’s gaze spills over the waitress’ bosom, Shige’s hands, and sometimes over Shige’s lecture notes.
After three refills of coffee and two thirds of the notes, Nishikido puts on his coat. “I’ll follow you home, Panda-eyes.”
It’s raining, and they walk with their arms pressed together under the one umbrella. Shige silently scolds himself for forgetting his own at home, clutching his briefcase to his chest, but then Nishikido’s arm is around his shoulders and Shige feels quite grateful anyway.
: :
When Shige holds up the kitten-a tiny thing, all soft fur in brown and white with a minuscule pink nose and a small rough tongue-Koyama just stares at it for a moment, speechless.
“It’s yours. If you want it, that is,” Shige says nervously, feeling the kitten wriggle and mew in his hands.
Koyama’s expression changes to that of astonishment as he accepts. He holds the kitten reverently, his hands looking large and awkward around the small ball of fluff.
“I’ll name it after you,” Koyama smiles. “Cat-o,” he adds in stilted English. Shige swats him over the head. Koyama grins.
: :
Shige doesn’t really have a choice in the matter. After an evening class Nishikido hastily asks him if he’s free and pulls Shige along with him without waiting for an answer. When Shige asks where they’re going Nishikido flashes him a smirk that really shouldn’t make heat curl in Shige’s stomach and says: “You need to loosen up.”
They end up in a dimly lit bar with loud rock music in the background that forces Shige to lean in close to Nishikido to hear what he’s saying. He’s introduced to Pi-at least that’s what Shige thinks Nishikido says, and the boy doesn’t object-who has no sense of personal space and to Jin who is all glossy lips and lopsided smile.
Shige takes care not to drink too much (because he has to get up in the morning, and really, drinking is really bad for you, really) but he seems to end up doing it anyway, because soon the one who is called Pi is slumped all over him, warm and heavy, and Shige doesn’t mind. He asks if Pi really loves math so much, and the other laughs, rich and warm into Shige’s neck.
“It’s pi as in pink,” he says, but before Shige can form a question about Pi’s affection to the colour chart, Pi is pulled away by a pouting Jin, making Pi slouch over him instead. Shige blinks and tilts his head to the side as Jin’s arms curl around Pi’s torso, tanned hands dark against the white of Pi’s shirt, almost tinted blue in the weak light.
The next moment, Nishikido is dragging Shige away to the bathroom, where the light stings Shige’s eyes and the tiled wall of the stall is cold against his back. But Nishikido’s mouth is hot on Shige’s neck, and Shige, flushed with alcohol, moans out Nishikido’s name when he puts his hand on Shige’s cock.
“It’s Ryo, damnit,” he growls, eyes dark, and Shige thinks (or says, he doesn’t know) yes, as long as you keep doing that, and then Ryo’s tongue is in his mouth and whatever Shige says next becomes muffled moans, but he doesn’t know if he is even saying anything at all.
: :
For the first time ever, Shige doesn’t understand Koyama. Sadness lingers in the corner of his mouth when he smiles, the skittering quality of his laughter makes Shige’s breath hitch, and he wonders if he really knows Koyama at all.
Not in the sense that he doesn’t know that Koyama still lives with his parents, or that he has a thin scar on the underside of his chin from where he knocked into his own bedpost once, or that he makes small almost purring noises when he reads; but that maybe Shige has been wrong about a lot of things all along.
Shige asks if it’s a girl. Koyama looks at him for a long moment before shifting his gaze away. Shige feels hollow.
: :
When Ryo pushes him down into the couch cushions, Shige closes his eyes. This is truth.
: :
Despite everything, sometimes Shige hopes. Like when Koyama comes over to Shige’s small apartment and they scrunch together on Shige’s futon, watching movies with popcorn crumbs falling onto the covers. When Koyama’s hand is warm and heavy on Shige’s hip, when everywhere they touch becomes too hot but neither of them pull away.
When Koyama hugs Shige from behind Shige’s heart thumps so hard it hurts, Koyama’s breath burns the skin of his shoulder through the shirt, and Shige would gladly be consumed by the heat if only they could stay that way. Forever, his heart whispers.
Then, when Koyama pulls away Shige chokes on the thickness in his throat and doesn’t answer the “I’ll see you,” Koyama utters as he leaves.
: :
When Shige opens his eyes Koyama is in his doorway. In three seconds flat his fingers have untangled from Ryo’s hair, he’s pushed Ryo himself a few inches away, and he is frantically trying to button up his shirt, stuttering Koyama’s name nervously.
Ryo’s raised eyebrow and lazy “I’ll be in the bathroom,” doesn’t help, even though Koyama seems a little less tense when the door closes behind Ryo’s bare back.
Shige tries to explain. He really does. “I should… I didn’t know, I mean, that is-”
“What’s so special about him?” Koyama interrupts, and Shige can only stare, slack-jawed, because if he has ever imagined a scenario where he had just been outed to his best friend, that had never been the first question asked. If at all.
Three steps, and Koyama is right in front of Shige, his hands heavy on Shige’s shoulders. “Why are you with him?” He asks, voice thin, brittle.
Because he wants me, Shige almost says, but then he doesn’t, because when he looks into Koyama’s eyes there is something broken there, like crumbled hope.
“Why can’t you see me?” Koyama whispers, then he is kissing Shige, lips soft and quivering, and Shige closes his eyes, because maybe they’re both a bit broken.
When Koyama pulls away he looks like a drooping flower. “Sorry,” he says, too quietly. When he dares to raise his gaze to Shige’s face he doesn’t meet Shige’s eyes. When Shige doesn’t speak Koyama’s jaw trembles, and when he slowly turns away, Shige’s hands fist in the front of Koyama’s shirt, pulling him back and fitting their lips together clumsily.
It’s too hard, too wet, too desperate. They cling to each other, Koyama’s hands hot and shaking on Shige’s chest, Koyama’s back silky soft beneath Shige’s fingers.
Shige feels as though he’s drunk, dizzy with the sensation of Koyama’s mouth and Koyama’s skin and Koyama’s hands on his body, pushing away clothes with hurried fingers. It’s Koyama, and Shige almost wants to laugh with the exhilaration of it. His belly tingles, he feels warm and happy and free. As it is, his smile breaks the kiss and when he leans back to look, Koyama’s face looks softer than it has in weeks, the doubt wiped off his brow.
Their clothes are in a tangled heap on the floor, the air slightly chilly on their skin and Shige pulls Koyama down on the futon, both of them semi-hard and flushed, and suddenly there are too many awkward limbs and odd places and they still have their socks on-
“I can’t believe you guys started without me,” Ryo says, standing above them, hand on his hip, a displeased expression on his face.
Koyama stills, withdraws a little. “G-gomen,” he says slowly, and Shige feels like an idiot. A very, very sad idiot when Koyama starts to pull away, face unreadable.
“That’s okay, I can deal,” Ryo comments loftily, and the next moment they’re all on the futon, an even wilder tangle of limbs, and Shige isn’t exactly certain exactly whom he is touching where. He can see Koyama’s face though, turned towards him (and Shige knows that he is going to say that he wants to leave), but just as Koyama is about to speak, Ryo moves, and whatever Koyama was about to say is lost in a moan as he closes his eyes.
Shige starts moving then, one of his hands sliding over the small of Ryo’s back, down along the hem of his jeans, the other slowly moving down Koyama’s torso to curl around his cock. Koyama’s gaze is lazy and low-lidded and Shige burrows closer, laying his head on Koyama’s shoulder, pressing his face into Koyama’s neck.
“Good?” he mumbles, voice heavy somehow, and Koyama makes a small noise of assent. Ryo’s fingers tangle a bit with Shige’s as he tries to unbutton Ryo’s jeans and his knee slides between Shige’s thighs, Ryo’s hardness pressing against his hip through the denim.
“Who’s topping who?” Ryo asks, words muffled as his teeth scrape across Koyama’s collarbone. There is a moment of stillness and Shige awkwardly meets Koyama’s eyes. Only a few seconds pass before Ryo quickly adds, “Right. I choose.”
“But-”
“Too late,” Ryo grins, fishing a tube out of his pocket before discarding his jeans to the pile of scattered clothes on the floor. He lowers himself over Shige, mouthing his nipple, fingers cold on Shige’s cock. Koyama’s hands are different from Ryo’s. Koyama’s hands are hot and a bit sweaty, hesitant in their touches where Ryo’s are firm and strong. “On your side,” he says, guiding Shige’s hips until he’s lying facing Koyama, Ryo a warm presence along his back.
Shige’s hand is still on Koyama’s cock, the angle a bit more manageable now, and Koyama moans deep in his throat as Shige’s thumb slides over the slit to the tip. Ryo brushes a kiss to the back of Shige’s neck, and then his hands are all over Shige, sliding over his back, massaging his upper thighs, fingers pressing into him, slick with lube. He tries not to cringe with the discomfort and pain, breathing out in a rush over Koyama’s collarbones. The next moment Koyama’s hand is on his cock, stroking him, slanting the sensations away from the pain.
One of Shige’s arms is trapped under him, but he manages to wiggle it out enough for his fingers to grapple on to Koyama’s hip for stability as Ryo’s fingers push into him with increasing speed and ease. A minute later the fingers are gone, Ryo’s breath is hot and wet on Shige’s neck, and he is pushing inside. It burns, and Shige winces a little and cries out, but then Koyama is kissing him again, sloppily, and Ryo is fully inside him.
They start rocking together slowly, and when Ryo brushes against his prostate, Shige breaks away from the kiss to gasp, raising his leg to curl around Koyama’s thigh, pulling him even closer. The perspiration makes their bodies slick, each brush and touch and breath making heat pool in Shige’s groin. Ryo’s fingers clutching to his hips, Koyama pressing fluttering kisses on his shoulder and neck, face close to Ryo’s, so close that their noses brush with every move.
They’re panting, getting closer to the edge, movements speeding up, becoming more frantic by the moment. Shige’s wrist is starting to ache a little, and his hand is slipping on Koyama’s hip, but it is only a little while later that Ryo grunts and angles just right again, and Shige comes, body tensing and he sees a little gold in the edges of his closed eyes and it’s so good.
When he opens his eyes again his vision is a little fuzzy. Koyama’s cock is still hard in his unmoving hand, though Ryo is panting heavily behind him, (his breath a little chilling on Shige’s back from a short distance away,) slipping out from between Shige’s legs. It only takes a few strokes to make Koyama come, breathy and close. They don’t move much, exhaustion heavy in their limbs, the light from the streetlight outside peeking in through the window making their bodies shine a light night silver.
They fall asleep like that, curled against each other, mussed hair and sticky warm skin.
: :
When Shige wakes up it is to a kind of silence. Koyama lies curled up against him, all warm skin along Shige’s side and unruly hair tickling Shige’s neck. Ryo is dressed, sitting on the floor next to them, tying his shoes.
“Leaving?” Shige asks, the question more of a croak so soon after waking.
Ryo’s smile is crooked as he looks over. “You’re awake,” he says, soft. Weak morning sunlight dances on his face as he leans over Shige. “I didn’t have too dreadful a time.” They kiss, slowly, and to Shige it feels so much like a goodbye that he wants to grab a hold of Ryo, push him down against the bed sheets, make him stay-
Still, Koyama is sleepy warmth pressed against him, and when Ryo pulls away Shige thinks that maybe his heart breaks a little less this way.
When the door snicks closed, when Ryo and his beautiful, beautiful smile are gone, Koyama’s arm tightens around Shige’s waist.
Shige traces Koyama’s spine with his fingertips, all the way up to his nape, and then into his hair, finger-combing the tangled tresses.
“I’m not sleeping,” Koyama says, the words hot on Shige’s skin.
Shige smiles.
: :
fin.
From: grunhilda
SEASON'S GREETINGS!
Title: But I Digress
Pairing/Group: Koyato/Nishikato, (Pin?)
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: teh bad pr0nz.
Notes: I didn’t mean to make it angsty. Honest. :( After a while I stopped questioning my brain. Great thank yous to X, Q and Y for being lovely and understanding while beta reading. ♥ All remaining mistakes are my own. For anamuan. Darling, I hope you like it.
Summary: Shige doubts, Ryo takes, and Koyama hesitates. AU.
Word Count: ~3000
: :
When they were younger Koyama would crawl up to sit on the window ledge in his room when he was upset, his nose flattened against his knee, cheeks wet with tears. Shige would eventually come and sit facing him, their toes brushing together, and after a while he would poke Koyama’s leg with his foot. I’m sorry, he would say, and Koyama would smile.
They still sit on the window ledge at times, (even though they’re no longer two young boys with awkward long limbs and knobbly knees,) their legs entwined for room, but there are no tears, and Koyama’s fingers tap out rhythms on Shige’s knee.
“Why are we sitting here again?” Shige asks, putting the book down on his lap. The edge of the wall is digging into his back, and the side of him that is pressed against the window is cold.
Koyama’s palm is hot on Shige’s knee. “I like it,” he says, smile easy and light.
Shige doesn’t ask again, and when Koyama starts tracing figures on Shige’s leg, he lets him.
: :
Nishikido is rude, haughty and attractive. The fault lies not in the fact that he is handsome, but that he knows so. Shige doesn’t think much of him at first. Not that he doesn’t notice him (is there really a way to avoid noticing Nishikido?), but that he doesn’t affect Shige’s life more than in attracting his gaze as he comes sauntering in ten minutes after the first lecture has started, an untroubled smile on his face.
Or he shouldn’t, rather, but somehow he manages to anyway, as he sits down next to Shige and peers down at his notes over his shoulder.
Nishikido’s voice is low and smooth, completely at odds with the things he says.
“Hey Lame-brain, can I borrow your notes?” he murmurs, tugging Shige’s notepad from beneath Shige’s left arm, and Shige’s objection stumbles and catches on his lips as Nishikido smiles at him. Devastatingly.
When Ryo looks at him, Shige feels warm.
: :
Being is easy with Koyama. It’s comfortable, safe.
They go to the beach one of the last days of summer weather, the sun hot over their heads. Koyama’s squinting eyes make his smile seem impossibly wider as they run down into the water that splashes around them like a glistening liquid curtain. They wrestle, pushing each other’s head beneath the surface, fingers cool and fearless in the water.
Later they lie panting on the beach, skin sticky with water and sand. Koyama lies on his stomach, giggling close-eyed into his towel, sunrays glowing warm on his back. Shige’s head is at the very edge of his own towel, head tilted, wet hair spilling onto the sand. Koyama’s back, golden in the sun, is the most beautiful back Shige has ever seen, and he finds himself staring, mesmerized. It would be so easy to just reach out and let his palm slide over the smooth warm valley between Koyama’s shoulder blades.
Shige licks his lips. They taste of salt and longing.
: :
Nishikido makes a habit of sitting next to Shige, taking Shige’s pencils and twirling them between his long graceful fingers, hand lingering warm and light on Shige’s arm as he borrows his notebook without asking permission. Shige thinks about taking them, back, ripping them out of Nishikido’s hands, change that smug expression into one of astonishment, anger, anything.
He doesn’t. He doesn’t because he’s mature now, he knows how the world works, and sometimes you just have to put up with people. He ignores the little twinge in him that points out that when Nishikido touches him his skin tingles.
He doesn’t, because sometimes Nishikido smiles at him, all teeth and glittering eyes, and sometimes, sometimes he leans in to murmur something in Shige’s ear, voice like molten chocolate, his breath tickling Shige’s neck.
: :
Koyama’s cat dies, but Koyama doesn’t cry. He stares absently out through the window, his expression a stranger to Shige. Their legs are entwined, toes warm where they’re lodged between thighs and windowpanes. The silence presses down on them, until Shige can’t take it any longer and drags Koyama off to a movie.
In the dark, Koyama’s clammy hand finds Shige’s and clutches it tightly. Shige doesn’t remember much of the movie, but when they exit the theatre his hand feels a little numb, his shoulder is wet, and Koyama’s eyes are red.
: :
He meets Nishikido in a café, their study material a heavy pile on the table between them. Shige pours over books as the waitress pours coffee into their emptying cups, and Nishikido’s gaze spills over the waitress’ bosom, Shige’s hands, and sometimes over Shige’s lecture notes.
After three refills of coffee and two thirds of the notes, Nishikido puts on his coat. “I’ll follow you home, Panda-eyes.”
It’s raining, and they walk with their arms pressed together under the one umbrella. Shige silently scolds himself for forgetting his own at home, clutching his briefcase to his chest, but then Nishikido’s arm is around his shoulders and Shige feels quite grateful anyway.
: :
When Shige holds up the kitten-a tiny thing, all soft fur in brown and white with a minuscule pink nose and a small rough tongue-Koyama just stares at it for a moment, speechless.
“It’s yours. If you want it, that is,” Shige says nervously, feeling the kitten wriggle and mew in his hands.
Koyama’s expression changes to that of astonishment as he accepts. He holds the kitten reverently, his hands looking large and awkward around the small ball of fluff.
“I’ll name it after you,” Koyama smiles. “Cat-o,” he adds in stilted English. Shige swats him over the head. Koyama grins.
: :
Shige doesn’t really have a choice in the matter. After an evening class Nishikido hastily asks him if he’s free and pulls Shige along with him without waiting for an answer. When Shige asks where they’re going Nishikido flashes him a smirk that really shouldn’t make heat curl in Shige’s stomach and says: “You need to loosen up.”
They end up in a dimly lit bar with loud rock music in the background that forces Shige to lean in close to Nishikido to hear what he’s saying. He’s introduced to Pi-at least that’s what Shige thinks Nishikido says, and the boy doesn’t object-who has no sense of personal space and to Jin who is all glossy lips and lopsided smile.
Shige takes care not to drink too much (because he has to get up in the morning, and really, drinking is really bad for you, really) but he seems to end up doing it anyway, because soon the one who is called Pi is slumped all over him, warm and heavy, and Shige doesn’t mind. He asks if Pi really loves math so much, and the other laughs, rich and warm into Shige’s neck.
“It’s pi as in pink,” he says, but before Shige can form a question about Pi’s affection to the colour chart, Pi is pulled away by a pouting Jin, making Pi slouch over him instead. Shige blinks and tilts his head to the side as Jin’s arms curl around Pi’s torso, tanned hands dark against the white of Pi’s shirt, almost tinted blue in the weak light.
The next moment, Nishikido is dragging Shige away to the bathroom, where the light stings Shige’s eyes and the tiled wall of the stall is cold against his back. But Nishikido’s mouth is hot on Shige’s neck, and Shige, flushed with alcohol, moans out Nishikido’s name when he puts his hand on Shige’s cock.
“It’s Ryo, damnit,” he growls, eyes dark, and Shige thinks (or says, he doesn’t know) yes, as long as you keep doing that, and then Ryo’s tongue is in his mouth and whatever Shige says next becomes muffled moans, but he doesn’t know if he is even saying anything at all.
: :
For the first time ever, Shige doesn’t understand Koyama. Sadness lingers in the corner of his mouth when he smiles, the skittering quality of his laughter makes Shige’s breath hitch, and he wonders if he really knows Koyama at all.
Not in the sense that he doesn’t know that Koyama still lives with his parents, or that he has a thin scar on the underside of his chin from where he knocked into his own bedpost once, or that he makes small almost purring noises when he reads; but that maybe Shige has been wrong about a lot of things all along.
Shige asks if it’s a girl. Koyama looks at him for a long moment before shifting his gaze away. Shige feels hollow.
: :
When Ryo pushes him down into the couch cushions, Shige closes his eyes. This is truth.
: :
Despite everything, sometimes Shige hopes. Like when Koyama comes over to Shige’s small apartment and they scrunch together on Shige’s futon, watching movies with popcorn crumbs falling onto the covers. When Koyama’s hand is warm and heavy on Shige’s hip, when everywhere they touch becomes too hot but neither of them pull away.
When Koyama hugs Shige from behind Shige’s heart thumps so hard it hurts, Koyama’s breath burns the skin of his shoulder through the shirt, and Shige would gladly be consumed by the heat if only they could stay that way. Forever, his heart whispers.
Then, when Koyama pulls away Shige chokes on the thickness in his throat and doesn’t answer the “I’ll see you,” Koyama utters as he leaves.
: :
When Shige opens his eyes Koyama is in his doorway. In three seconds flat his fingers have untangled from Ryo’s hair, he’s pushed Ryo himself a few inches away, and he is frantically trying to button up his shirt, stuttering Koyama’s name nervously.
Ryo’s raised eyebrow and lazy “I’ll be in the bathroom,” doesn’t help, even though Koyama seems a little less tense when the door closes behind Ryo’s bare back.
Shige tries to explain. He really does. “I should… I didn’t know, I mean, that is-”
“What’s so special about him?” Koyama interrupts, and Shige can only stare, slack-jawed, because if he has ever imagined a scenario where he had just been outed to his best friend, that had never been the first question asked. If at all.
Three steps, and Koyama is right in front of Shige, his hands heavy on Shige’s shoulders. “Why are you with him?” He asks, voice thin, brittle.
Because he wants me, Shige almost says, but then he doesn’t, because when he looks into Koyama’s eyes there is something broken there, like crumbled hope.
“Why can’t you see me?” Koyama whispers, then he is kissing Shige, lips soft and quivering, and Shige closes his eyes, because maybe they’re both a bit broken.
When Koyama pulls away he looks like a drooping flower. “Sorry,” he says, too quietly. When he dares to raise his gaze to Shige’s face he doesn’t meet Shige’s eyes. When Shige doesn’t speak Koyama’s jaw trembles, and when he slowly turns away, Shige’s hands fist in the front of Koyama’s shirt, pulling him back and fitting their lips together clumsily.
It’s too hard, too wet, too desperate. They cling to each other, Koyama’s hands hot and shaking on Shige’s chest, Koyama’s back silky soft beneath Shige’s fingers.
Shige feels as though he’s drunk, dizzy with the sensation of Koyama’s mouth and Koyama’s skin and Koyama’s hands on his body, pushing away clothes with hurried fingers. It’s Koyama, and Shige almost wants to laugh with the exhilaration of it. His belly tingles, he feels warm and happy and free. As it is, his smile breaks the kiss and when he leans back to look, Koyama’s face looks softer than it has in weeks, the doubt wiped off his brow.
Their clothes are in a tangled heap on the floor, the air slightly chilly on their skin and Shige pulls Koyama down on the futon, both of them semi-hard and flushed, and suddenly there are too many awkward limbs and odd places and they still have their socks on-
“I can’t believe you guys started without me,” Ryo says, standing above them, hand on his hip, a displeased expression on his face.
Koyama stills, withdraws a little. “G-gomen,” he says slowly, and Shige feels like an idiot. A very, very sad idiot when Koyama starts to pull away, face unreadable.
“That’s okay, I can deal,” Ryo comments loftily, and the next moment they’re all on the futon, an even wilder tangle of limbs, and Shige isn’t exactly certain exactly whom he is touching where. He can see Koyama’s face though, turned towards him (and Shige knows that he is going to say that he wants to leave), but just as Koyama is about to speak, Ryo moves, and whatever Koyama was about to say is lost in a moan as he closes his eyes.
Shige starts moving then, one of his hands sliding over the small of Ryo’s back, down along the hem of his jeans, the other slowly moving down Koyama’s torso to curl around his cock. Koyama’s gaze is lazy and low-lidded and Shige burrows closer, laying his head on Koyama’s shoulder, pressing his face into Koyama’s neck.
“Good?” he mumbles, voice heavy somehow, and Koyama makes a small noise of assent. Ryo’s fingers tangle a bit with Shige’s as he tries to unbutton Ryo’s jeans and his knee slides between Shige’s thighs, Ryo’s hardness pressing against his hip through the denim.
“Who’s topping who?” Ryo asks, words muffled as his teeth scrape across Koyama’s collarbone. There is a moment of stillness and Shige awkwardly meets Koyama’s eyes. Only a few seconds pass before Ryo quickly adds, “Right. I choose.”
“But-”
“Too late,” Ryo grins, fishing a tube out of his pocket before discarding his jeans to the pile of scattered clothes on the floor. He lowers himself over Shige, mouthing his nipple, fingers cold on Shige’s cock. Koyama’s hands are different from Ryo’s. Koyama’s hands are hot and a bit sweaty, hesitant in their touches where Ryo’s are firm and strong. “On your side,” he says, guiding Shige’s hips until he’s lying facing Koyama, Ryo a warm presence along his back.
Shige’s hand is still on Koyama’s cock, the angle a bit more manageable now, and Koyama moans deep in his throat as Shige’s thumb slides over the slit to the tip. Ryo brushes a kiss to the back of Shige’s neck, and then his hands are all over Shige, sliding over his back, massaging his upper thighs, fingers pressing into him, slick with lube. He tries not to cringe with the discomfort and pain, breathing out in a rush over Koyama’s collarbones. The next moment Koyama’s hand is on his cock, stroking him, slanting the sensations away from the pain.
One of Shige’s arms is trapped under him, but he manages to wiggle it out enough for his fingers to grapple on to Koyama’s hip for stability as Ryo’s fingers push into him with increasing speed and ease. A minute later the fingers are gone, Ryo’s breath is hot and wet on Shige’s neck, and he is pushing inside. It burns, and Shige winces a little and cries out, but then Koyama is kissing him again, sloppily, and Ryo is fully inside him.
They start rocking together slowly, and when Ryo brushes against his prostate, Shige breaks away from the kiss to gasp, raising his leg to curl around Koyama’s thigh, pulling him even closer. The perspiration makes their bodies slick, each brush and touch and breath making heat pool in Shige’s groin. Ryo’s fingers clutching to his hips, Koyama pressing fluttering kisses on his shoulder and neck, face close to Ryo’s, so close that their noses brush with every move.
They’re panting, getting closer to the edge, movements speeding up, becoming more frantic by the moment. Shige’s wrist is starting to ache a little, and his hand is slipping on Koyama’s hip, but it is only a little while later that Ryo grunts and angles just right again, and Shige comes, body tensing and he sees a little gold in the edges of his closed eyes and it’s so good.
When he opens his eyes again his vision is a little fuzzy. Koyama’s cock is still hard in his unmoving hand, though Ryo is panting heavily behind him, (his breath a little chilling on Shige’s back from a short distance away,) slipping out from between Shige’s legs. It only takes a few strokes to make Koyama come, breathy and close. They don’t move much, exhaustion heavy in their limbs, the light from the streetlight outside peeking in through the window making their bodies shine a light night silver.
They fall asleep like that, curled against each other, mussed hair and sticky warm skin.
: :
When Shige wakes up it is to a kind of silence. Koyama lies curled up against him, all warm skin along Shige’s side and unruly hair tickling Shige’s neck. Ryo is dressed, sitting on the floor next to them, tying his shoes.
“Leaving?” Shige asks, the question more of a croak so soon after waking.
Ryo’s smile is crooked as he looks over. “You’re awake,” he says, soft. Weak morning sunlight dances on his face as he leans over Shige. “I didn’t have too dreadful a time.” They kiss, slowly, and to Shige it feels so much like a goodbye that he wants to grab a hold of Ryo, push him down against the bed sheets, make him stay-
Still, Koyama is sleepy warmth pressed against him, and when Ryo pulls away Shige thinks that maybe his heart breaks a little less this way.
When the door snicks closed, when Ryo and his beautiful, beautiful smile are gone, Koyama’s arm tightens around Shige’s waist.
Shige traces Koyama’s spine with his fingertips, all the way up to his nape, and then into his hair, finger-combing the tangled tresses.
“I’m not sleeping,” Koyama says, the words hot on Shige’s skin.
Shige smiles.
: :
fin.