Title: Quicken to Silver (11/41)
Author: Ociwen
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: Konomi owns all.
Summary: In which time passes and people change and drift, but there is always tennis. Ohtori/Shishido
His computer is returned, virus-free. Ohtori doesn’t try searching for any information and only checks his emails. Shishido-san sometimes sends one or two-liners, asking how he is and if his studying is going well. Nothing of substance. He sounds cold and distant, as though he somehow knows about the accident with the lotion and decided Ohtori was officially way uncool for him.
Ohtori returns them, polite thanks and asks about Shishido’s classes and high school tennis club. He doesn’t want to sound desperate, but he is. Exams are coming and he feels more apathetic towards them than ever. His parents think he shuts himself in his room to study, instead he lies on his back and does nothing. Sometimes he’ll read a tennis magazine, and reread old issues from the summer, memorizing the high school tennis club rankings, memorizing their matches. Sometimes, if he thinks he can get away with it, he’ll fish out the Hyoutei tennis club photograph and stare at Shishido-san, who smirks back at him.
“Romance is for girls and Oshitari,” Shishido-san says.
“Don’t make mooneyes, Choutarou. You look uncool,” Shishido says.
“Why don’t you just call me?” Shishido asks.
Except Shishido isn’t asking. Ohtori imagines these things, whispering Shishido’s answers aloud so it doesn’t feel like he’s talking to himself.
Shishido-san infects his dreams, his nights, every time he masturbates in bed, in the shower, once even in a stall in the school washrooms, it’s not his hand around his hard cock, but now it’s Shishido’s mouth, warm and wet and sucking.
He can come alone at the thought of how good that would be, to be able to look down and see those dark eyes staring at him as he climaxes.
There is one evening at supper when his father waves a newsletter from school and says, “The entrance exams are in two weeks. You should join the cram study club, Choutarou.”
Ohtori doesn’t say anything, and he is enrolled. Two hours after school, in the summers spent at tennis practice, now spent in the library or gymnasium with other seniors, cramming. It’s not cram school- Kabaji was dumped there by his parents and Ohtori never sees him anymore, and when he does, Kabaji looks even more distant, his eyes glazed over from too much studying.
It takes his mind from Shishido, for a little while. He works on the assignments, the practice tests. They aren’t hard, but his marks aren’t spectacular, just barely enough to pass into the senior high school stream of Hyoutei.
He’s not alone there, acquaintances from lessons and music class group together and whisper things when they are supposed to read chapter 5. They go out on Thursdays for supper, roaming the streets near the school complex searching for a ramen stand, or maybe a cheap restaurant.
The air is cold and Ohtori has forgotten to bring his scarf for the second time this week. He shivers and walks faster, close to a group of girls who smile and sigh at him, whispering compliments that mean nothing to him because they aren’t from the right person.
Shops line the streets, sparkling jewel-like with multicoloured signs in the dark autumn evening. Meat bun stands and manga shops and shoe shops and herbal stores that smell a little too much like that lotion for comfort. Ohtori flushes at the memory and ducks his head. If he can’t see the shop, it can’t hurt him.
A flower shop sits across the road. A woman leans over a basket of carnations and a boy in a Hyoutei blazer speaks with a vendor. Ohtori scrunches his brow, thinking the form looks familiar, and when Mukahi-senpai turns, he grins to himself.
“Mukahi-senpai!” he shouts, waving wildly. Mukahi nods and Ohtori ditches his group of acquaintances, who hardly notice when he crosses the crosswalk away from them. He runs up to the flower shop, and takes in the scent of fresh flowers, out of season and wonderfully fresh.
“What are you doing here, Mukahi-senpai?” he asks.
Mukahi eyes him carefully, before answering. “Buying flowers.” Ohtori keeps smiling, until Mukahi adds, “All right, I’m buying them for Yuushi,” he whispers.
“Aa,” Ohtori says, not sure of what he ought to be saying. “Ah- does Oshitari-senpai like flowers?”
Mukahi shrugs. He sets down the bouquet he was holding and picks another one up, a big bunch of bright pinks and fuschia-coloured carnations, with tiny white baby’s breathe and ferns poking through. “I can’t pick flowers out worth shit,” he says. “Do these look okay?”
Ohtori nods. “I thought Oshitari-senpai’s birthday was last month,” he says. It is a little odd to see Mukahi here, picking out flowers like this, and as much as he doesn’t want to be rude, he can’t help but wonder if what Shishido told him at the Nationals about Mukahi and Oshitari is true.
Mukahi rolls his eyes. “Look, they’re for…our anniversary, okay? Yuushi likes romantic crap like flowers and chocolates.”
Ohtori stands and smiles stiffly as Mukahi buys the first bunch of flowers, roses and spotted lilies. He shoves the bouquet into his schoolbag and the paper crunches as they walk down the street together.
“If you want to know about Shishido,” Mukahi leans close to Ohtori, a sly smile crossing his lips, “then I should tell you that he seems pissy lately. Are you two having a fight? He seems so…sexually frustrated.”
“I- we haven’t really spoken in a while,” Ohtori says lamely.
“Maybe that’s why,” Mukahi says. He stops on the sidewalk beside a bus shelter. “This is my stop. Ohtori?”
Ohtori looks down at Mukahi. He can’t help it. Mukahi seems the same height as ever. Mukahi’s eyes narrow at this, but he says, “Just call the prick. He’s too wrapped up in the idea of keeping you pure to do it himself. Either that or he’s scared of what might happen if he did see you sooner.” Mukahi waggles his eyebrows, and disappears into the crowd getting onto the bus that pulls alongside the road.
***
Shishido-san- do you want to play tennis on Sunday at the sports complex at 7pm?
Ohtori clicks ‘send’.
A half hour later, he reads the reply:
Yes.
Ohtori’s heart flutters and he worries that if it doesn’t stop, his heart will fly out of his chest and he’ll die of happiness, bleeding it all over the cream carpet of his bedroom floor.
***
It just so happens that Sunday is a few days away from his first exam.
“Are you sure you should be going out to play tennis, Choutarou?” his mother asks.
Ohtori finishes tying his shoe. “I won’t be gone long. I was studying all afternoon.” That isn’t a complete lie. Between bouncing a tennis ball on his racket in his room, off and on, he did stare at his math notes and some of his geography. “Besides, I’m going to a friend’s to study history afterwards,” he adds.
Okay, that is a lie. Ohtori pushes back the rising feeling of guilt in his stomach and smiles at his mother, a bland, innocent look that says, I would never tell a lie to my own mother.
“Don’t be out too late,” she says, and opens the door for him. When Ohtori has rounded the corner and a tall fence blocks the houses from his view, he grins and pumps his fist in the air.
He meets Shishido-san at the bus stop. Ohtori waves as he steps off the bus, nearly tripping on the last step in his haste. Shishido rolls his eyes. “Don’t get careless,” he says.
“Sorry,” Ohtori says. He can’t help it. Seeing Shishido-san, just standing casually on the sidewalk, a tennis bag slung over one shoulder and a cocky smile on his face, it makes Ohtori’s insides wither and melt and he wants to laugh and smile stupidly. His hands shake from the force of wanting to reach out and touch Shishido’s arm, to pull him close for a kiss, even in public. I’m not pure, he wants to say. I don’t want to be, Shishido-san…
Shishido looks away, behind his shoulder towards the sports complex. “Don’t stare like that,” he mutters.
“Sorry,” Ohtori says. They walk to the complex, not quite side by side. Ohtori hesitates before he says, “I told my mother I would be studying with a friend after this. I hope you don’t mind, Shishido-san.”
“We won’t play long,” Shishido says. “Then you can meet your friend to study.”
Ohtori laughs. Shishido stops walking and scowls. “What’s so funny?”
“I- I meant I was studying with you, Shishido-san!”
Shishido doesn’t move. Ohtori watches as he swallows as lump in his throat before he speaks, his voice so low and breathy that it makes all every feeling, every hope burn between his legs. “Choutarou…”
He steps closer and brings his hand up to the side of Shishido’s face, his hand hovering so close to the skin before Shishido ducks his head out of the way. “Let’s play,” he says. “First.”
“Okay,” Ohtori says.
Shishido has always been the better singles player, but on the court, now, there’s something different. Shishido hits the balls, but they are awful, skimming the net, out of the court, too diagonal, too low, too high.
Ohtori isn’t much better. His body knows tennis, he knows how to hit, but he wants something more right now. Serves whiz past his ears and hit the wall behind him, bouncing softly onto the court. On the other side of the net, Shishido sighs and slings his racket over his shoulder. “You’re awful today, Choutarou,” he says.
“So are you, Shishido-san,” Ohtori counters when he tosses the ball back to Shishido and Shishido completely misses catching it.
“You’re distracted,” Shishido says.
You make me distracted. “Sorry,” Ohtori apologizes. He walks back to midcourt and sets his feet shoulder-width apart, bending low for one of Shishido’s serves. It’s not that he doesn’t want to try to play, it’s just so difficult when all he can think about is how much he wants to lick the trails of sweat down Shishido’s face, and how much he wants those arms, flexing with the throw of the ball, to wrap around his body, to touch him everywhere as he touches Shishido back.
Ohtori drops his racket.
“This is useless!” Shishido shouts. He sighs heavily and shoves his racket into his tennis bag, stomping off the court.
Ohtori runs after him. “Shishido-san!” he yells, pushing open the men’s changeroom door. He grabs Shishido’s shoulder and pulls him around. “I- I’m sorry. I’ll try harder if you want! Please don’t leave-”
The light flickers across Shishido’s eyes. The scowl on his face softens. “You kept distracting me, too” he says, “the way you looked at me like…”
Ohtori flushes.
“Don’t apologize for that,” Shishido snaps. “Let’s just…go back to my house and…”He waves his hand in the air and shrugs. “Maybe.”
Ohtori tries to hide his blush when he wipes the sweat from his forehead off with his hand. In the shower, he stands under the warm spray of water, listening to Shishido’s movements in the stall beside him. If it weren’t for the other people in the changeroom, he might try to slip into Shishido’s shower. He closes his eyes, wondering if Shishido would smile if Ohtori wrapped his arms around his waist and pressed their naked bodies together.
His hand slips down to his cock, slippery with soap. He bites back a groan. Shishido’s shower shuts off, the sound of wet feet slapping on tiles and emerging from the stall. “Are you done yet?” Shishido calls through the curtain.
It’s so thin. Ohtori could push it aside and reach out to Shishido-san…
“Almost,” he says, and grabs his shampoo, instead of himself.
The cold air crystallizes the water droplets still clinging to Ohtori’s hair as they walk to the bus station. Shishido keeps glancing over his shoulder, as though he thinks Ohtori is going to walk off the other direction. Ohtori wants to say he’d never do that, but instead he just smiles. The look in Shishido’s eyes each time their gazes meet accidentally, intentionally, it makes his breath catch in his throat.
They sit beside each other on the bus. Ohtori wiggles closer and taps Shishido’s ankle with his foot. Shishido looks up. “Choutarou?”
Ohtori notices that he’s staring at Shishido’s mouth, leaning closer and opening his mouth, as though he’s going to kiss him. He shakes his head. Get a grip! “I- I really like spending time with you, Shishido-san,” he says. “And…if we play doubles again next year, I promise I won’t be distracted.”
Shishido’s brow furrows. “Uh…okay,” he says. He stretches and grabs the bell. “Next stop. Grab your bag.”
They walk through the streets lined with boxy rows of houses, passing in and out of the shadows of streetlights. Shishido doesn’t say much until he opens the gate to his house and sees figures passing across the windows. “Damn, my brother’s home,” he mutters.
Ohtori says “Hello” and “Thank you” when Shishido’s mother makes them a tray of snacks to take up to Shishido’s room. Shishido throws his dog a few crackers into the hallway and shuts his door. He tosses his tennis bag on the floor and nods for Ohtori to do the same. Ohtori sets the tray of snacks down beside his bag because he doesn’t know what else to do with it.
Shishido grabs his shoulders before he’s stood up again. Shishido is the one to push him against the wall and press their bodies together and reach up on his toes to kiss Ohtori. His hands scramble over Ohtori’s face, pulling them closer. Ohtori gasps as Shishido runs his tongue along his bottom lip, hot and wet and demanding to deepen the kiss.
His hands hang limp beside him, until Shishido reaches down and places one on his hip. “Put your hands on me,” he murmurs, breathless against Ohtori’s chin. “Do something, Choutarou. Anything…” He moans as Ohtori presses his palms right where Shishido’s shirt slides up. His fingertips dance across the warm skin as through Shishido were the piano’s ivories, smooth and just as pale.
Shishido kisses his neck, his chin, his mouth, wherever he can reach. Ohtori throws his head back and their teeth click, painful, as his head blossoms with pain because he’s banged into the wall.
Shishido pulls back for a moment, a smile twitching across his mouth. His lips are shiny with saliva as he runs his tongue across them. “All right?” he asks. His hand snakes across Ohtori’s head, ruffling his hair with an affectionate warmth to his face, softening his features. “You fool.”
A shiver runs down Ohtori’s back, whatever pain of whacking his head on the wall replaced with desire as Shishido kisses him again, pulling him away from the wall and stumbling, awkward, onto his mattress. Shishido tastes of mint gum and smells of soap and deodorant. He’s soft and hard and rough all at once. Slow and fast and new and their legs start to twine and Ohtori rubs himself, careful and testing, against Shishido’s hip, because he wants Shishido to know just how much he wants this, to know just how hard Shishido makes him.
Shishido stiffens. Ohtori grips his shoulders tighter and slides his tongue over Shishido’s, across his teeth and the roof of his mouth. This is what you make me feel.
And then Shishido rubs back, shifting his hips and shoving a knee between Ohtori’s and Ohtori feels something strange and hard against his thigh and his eyes flash open because Shishido is moving just right and the erection pressed against his body is making him even harder. He moans into their kiss. Shishido moans back, the vibrations settling in his belly, intensifying the feeling a hundred times.
When they move and shift and wiggle and shirts ride up and fingers touch skin and their kisses grow deeper, harder, they end up on their sides, twisted like snakes and rubbing just the right way against each other. Ohtori can feel his body shaking. He’s so hard and so turned on and their erections strain through their pants as their legs slip and slide in tune with their mouths.
This is better than tennis.
Something raps at the door. Three knocks followed by a “Ryou, what the hell are you doing in there?”
Shishido shoves himself away from Ohtori and wipes the back of his fist across his mouth as he tries to fix his shirt. He groans and stomps to his door, flinging it open. A boy stand there. Ohtori recognizes immediately that it must be Shishido’s brother. The boy is older and taller and his nose is a different shape and his hair cut differently, but he definitely resembles Shishido.
Except Shishido’s brother smiles. And Shishido scowls darkly.
“What do you want, aniki?” he grumbles.
“Ah,” Shishido’s brother glances over Shishido’s shoulder. He raises an eyebrow at Ohtori and waves. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend, Ryou-chan?”
Even if Ohtori was feeling mean, he wouldn’t snicker at Shishido-san, but the way Shishido’s eye twitches at the suffix, it makes him smile at Shishido’s brother.
Shishido sighs and rolls his eyes. “Fine. Daisuke, this is Choutarou. He’s from school. Now get out.” He pushes his brother out of the doorway, then backtracks and picks up the tray of snacks. “Here,” he says, giving his brother the tray, “leave us alone.”
Shishido’s brother smiles even wider. “You’re not supposed to have your door closed, Ryou-chan,” he says. “We’ll wonder what you’re up to with your poor friend in there.”
Shishido slams his door before his brother can see just how red in the face he is. Ohtori slides off the bed and sits next to Shishido on the floor. “Your brother seems nice,” he says, the most lame and uncool thing he could probably say to break the silence between them.
“The mood’s all ruined now,” Shishido grumbles. “Do you want to play a video game before you have to leave?”
***
They play video games on Shishido’s television. Cars and thieves and pimps and Ohtori is so awful that he’s shot within five minutes.
His mother calls his cellphone. “It’s late, Choutarou. It’s time for you to come home.”
Ohtori signs heavily and thanks Shishido, for the game, for the snacks they didn’t eat. Silence hangs heavy between them, before Shishido leans across his carpet and kisses Ohtori, fast and chaste across the mouth.
“Good luck on your exams,” he says. “Get into Hyoutei senior high, Choutarou.”