FIC: Rewind Forward (D1) 54/63
Title: Rewind Forward (54/63)
Author: Ociwen
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: Konomi owns all.
Summary: Niou, meet Yagyuu.
Author's Notes: Spoilers for everything.
With Yagyuu's mom at home, intimacy just isn't the same. It's an invasion, even with the door closed. Niou eats supper, sitting between Yagyuu and his mom at the table-she's flustered by his presence and flutters around, aimless and useless as she hunts for a spare set of chopsticks for Yagyuu's guest. But at the same time, she smiles at Niou and speaks to him instead of her own son. In some ways, she seems grateful for Niou being there.
Niou sits on the wall of tension between Yagyuu and his mother. They attack from both sides with half-hidden sneers and rolling eyes when they turn their heads-more on Yagyuu's part, though, because his mother is too busy telling Niou, telling someone about the fabulous new manicure centre in MM21 where she had her nails done. The smell of tropical shampoo radiates off her hair. Niou is brought back nearly ten years. He's a kid again, in kindergarden, with his young, beautiful teacher whispering in his ear that it's okay if he skips naptime.
As much as he might want to otherwise, Niou can't help but be swept up by her. His smiles are easier, more often and he laughs a little louder, until Yagyuu scrapes his chair back and excuses himself, polite to a tee even when he's seething inside.
They walk to the bus stop. Yagyuu lets the breath out he's been holding all through dinner. Niou picks at the bits of pickle and strings of fish caught between his teeth. The bento was tasty, expensive, the sort his family wouldn't throw money away on unless it was for his father's partners in the architectural firm during Oseibo
"Please don't encourage her," Yagyuu says.
Niou says, "Puri."
Yagyuu stops. The cicadas are shrill and keening at this hour. A purple band of light settles, deep and velvety on the horizon. The humid air is palpable on Niou's skin, a film on his arms and legs. The light is indirect now, coming at him from all angles.
Except from the Yagyuu direction, where the shadows hang from the cement retaining wall he stands under. Under his glasses, his eyes are hooded.
Niou laughs it off under his breath. He walks back to Yagyuu and leans down, stuffs his hands in his pockets and looks up. His breath is fishy and Yagyuu turns away. "Don't be jealous," Niou says.
He means it as a joke, but Yagyuu's jaw only tightens.
"Tomorrow we're going for ramen," he says. It's not a request.
Having someone-even Yagyuu-cage him in like this by telling and not asking, Niou hates it. He grinds his back teeth and he knows he must be bristling, because Yagyuu's hard look softens a bit. Niou bounces his anger off with another joke, sorta but not really, when he says, "What if I feel like katsudon instead?"
Serve.
"Do you feel like katsudon?" Yagyuu asks.
Volley.
Niou shrugs. "I might."
Tight-rope walking ball, rolling along the net, neither side chosen.
A bus comes and Niou forfeits the game. It's right on cue, because the trees and vines dripping from fenced-in cement walls begin to swish; that tell-tale sound of rain approaches, and then the first patters dance across the roof of a passing car. Niou steps onto the bus just as the rain hits his arm, warm and sticky. He reaches into his pocket for his wallet, juggling his tennisbag over his shoulder, and glances back to Yagyuu.
"See ya," he says.
Yagyuu nods. As Niou climbs another step, out of the corner of his eye he can see Yagyuu pulling am umbrella out over his head.
Yagyuu's face disappears under the rain-splattered plastic as the bus drives off. It's not a direct bus and Niou waits by the back door, hopping off at the train station to catch another and get home. He could walk, but the rain keeps him slinking under the cement piers of the bus depot. Everything smells wet and machinistic-dampness seeps through the pavement and the cement walls, oil spilled from buses and cars thickens the air, as does the rain, grey and drizzly and gummy. Niou's scalp crawls. He itches the sides, then the back, loosening the hair tie. The rat tail brushes the back of his neck, vaguely reminiscent of Yagyuu's trailing fingertips and Niou shivers.
He creeps between the bus stops. Number 15 pulls out, en route to Kanni. Number 18 should be here in ten minutes. Number 23, another 12. Niou checks his watch and frowns. His t-shirt is glued to his back from the muggy ick, pregnant and bloated with rain. The minutes cloy like the dampness, rewinding and pausing as Niou taps his foot on the curb.
He wanders back the other direction, aimless and meandering between the cement piers, brushing his fingers on the cement. His eyes make out the shapes of posters; they advertise this and that, grocery sales and antique markets, English tutors and cram schools. But his eyes linger on one announcement, just under an ad for the new McDonald's seasonal special.
Cosplay Convention.
In the local park, the one by the elementary school across from the convenience store, near the local shrine, the place where Niou met Yagyuu the day of the regionals.
Niou murmurs the details under his breath, memorizing them in a chant. Saturday at eleven. It looks like a local thing-hell, the poster tacked up is peeling and ripped at the edges, spotted with moisture that makes the edges curl too. Niou presses his index finger to the side, holding it down as he reads one last time.
He and Yagyuu could go.
His lips curl up, a private smile, as he turns to the sight of wavering headlights approaching, gilding the patches of water and oil that stain the pavement. In the watery reflection, Niou can make out the backwards numbers of his bus.
Saturday at eleven. It's perfect.
When Niou slinks in through the front door of his house, the faint sounds of the tv announce the upcoming weather report: sunny this weekend, less than 10% chance of rain.
It's even better than perfect, really.
***
Tuesday and it's not hot enough that Niou wakes up from a sticky, restless sleep that leaves his eyes gummy and his limbs exhausted. Instead, Niou wakes up on his own from the faint sensation of light. It bothers his eyes, hovering soft under the periphery of his eyelids.
The last moments of a dream linger and he rolls over, playing them over in his mind as the emotion fades. Still, contentment laps at his memory from walking with Yagyuu on a beach-it doesn't matter where, the white sand could be anywhere and the blue sky, too. Kamakura, maybe, or the Izu Peninsula. There are never seagulls shitting on their heads in his dreams. There is never a gross fishy smell, or sweat or scorching sand between their toes, gritty and damp as it wedges up Niou's sandals. No, dreams are idealized and that suits Niou just fine to walk with a too-good-to-be-true Yagyuu who floats instead of trips in the sand. Niou laughs. Yagyuu fixes his glasses. Niou looks at him and their t-shirts disappear. Yagyuu leans in to kiss Niou's neck and Niou touches Yagyuu's skin, feeling the warmth and solidity of his body that slowly fades as he wakes…more and more…
It's comfortable enough that he could lie abed awhile longer, but Niou can hear his cellphone beeping. He cracks an eye open. The clock reads past eleven. He's slept through the start of morning practice.
Niou flops back onto his pillow, willing the fragments of his dream to return. A nagging prod to the back of his head reminds him that Sanada and Yukimura will be pissed. The Nationals are in less than two weeks and they still have blah blah blah training to do to kick Seigaku's ass for real this time.
Not as though I lost, Niou thinks as he rolls himself out of bed.
Shower, masturbate, think of Yagyuu, do his hair-Niou follows his routine and makes a point to ignore his cellphone when it rings. He trots downstairs to the smell of something frying in the kitchen. Thank God today isn’t as sweltering as yesterday, the gyoza his mother pushes around a frying pan smell divine. Niou plunks himself into his seat at the table and bangs his fists down, chopsticks at the ready.
"Masaharu," she says. It's that unimpressed tone and she frowns at him when she turns, shaking her head at Niou's snicker.
"Your friends called," his mother says. "You had tennis practice-"
"Yeah," Niou says. He fakes a yawn and stretches his arms above his head. His mother sets down an oblong plate of gyoza, steaming and sizzling on the sides, browned and shiny with the oil from the pan. Niou pops a dumpling into his mouth and chews.
He shrugs. "It's the holiday," he says. Dumpling sprays across the table. His mother sighs and wipes it up. Her glasses slip down her nose and she smells like the flowers in the garden.
Niou might be late for practice, but he's not going to skip it entirely. Gulped down tea, gyoza stuffed into his belly, a quick piss and another check in the mirror in the bathroom, just in case Yagyuu left…marks on his neck, or something. But his skin is free from blemishes, except for the couple of little pimples under his nose, popping up where the sweat collects. Niou pokes at them. He jabs a pin into the one and hisses. No puss. Nothing but a throbbing red lump that will have to wait until later.
He runs his hand through his hair again, cocking his head at the reflection in the mirror. Yagyuu can't resist him like this…Niou hopes. The temperature will probably melt the wax in his hair later-but for now, the mess of bleached chunks looks good.
Out the door, under the dim shade of the porch, Niou checks his messages. The only one he bothers with is Yagyuu's. The rest-Yanagi, Sanada, Yukimura, even one from the fatty, oddly enough-he deletes.
We're not at school. Important practice in Kamakura. Take the train to Inamuragasaki. Please call when you get to the station.
Niou blinks at the message. He looks up at the sky, shielding his eyes from the intense and vivid blue that blinds his LCD screen and makes him see things that Yagyuu doesn't actually have written.
Except, Yagyuu does.
Niou walks to the bus to catch the first one going the direction of the main train station. Somehow, he's not so certain that bringing his tennisbag is what he should be doing at the moment.
Inamuragasaki is a beach.
Everyone knows that.
And yet, when Niou's train pulls into the station, in the middle of the afternoon heat and the hoards of tourists from Tokyo, Yagyuu is waiting by the exit. Niou nearly bursts out laughing at the sight.
Yagyuu has a little visor on.
And a button-down plaid shirt, along with his tennis uniform shorts, which make him look oddly mismatched.
Niou rolls his eyes. Megane dorkwad, he thinks. But, in a weird way, Yagyuu is kinda hot-if he swapped the tennis shorts for khaki and added some chains and rings instead of wristweights.
"You realize this is a beach," Niou says. It's the first thing he says as they step out of the station and cross the main road. The air is thick with the smell of fish and squawking seagulls circle overhead. Yagyuu just nods. They walk past ramen joints and shops selling tacky tourist junk-hats, beach umbrellas, carved wooden crap that says Kamakura. Yagyuu doesn't seem to notice. He makes a beeline for the general direction of the beach, the same direction that the rest of the masses are headed.
"Yes," he says, slow and steady. Traffic rushes by. Niou tastes the salt in the air. It's cooler here than in the city, although the crowds of people are dense and thick with cooking sweat and sunscreen.
"But," Yagyuu adds, "we're doing important training here."
"For tennis?" Niou asks.
Yagyuu nods again. He pushes his glasses up. "Of course, tennis. Yanagi-kun made some special exercises for us…"
And that is approximately the point Niou tunes Yagyuu out. Instead of crossing the set of lights like Yagyuu, Niou pops into the conbini on the corner. The 7-11 is cold and the freezer is frosted along the edges. Niou runs his fingers over the ridge of ice, savouring the numb freeze on his fingertips before he pulls out a popsicle. It's blue flavour-Niou's favourite colour. He grabs it and the packaging crinkles.
Yagyuu lingers by the jellies. So you showed up after all, Niou thinks. Yagyuu's eyes lift to the top of his frames and catch Niou. Niou's lips quirk into a smirk. He can't help it. Yagyuu's jelly fixation, the way his eyes return, hungry and lingering to the neat little rows of fruit jellies and yogurts, inevitably searching for tokoroten make Niou snicker under his breath. At least until Yagyuu shakes his head.
He holds up a tote bag. "I bought some tokoroten this morning," he says. "At the grocery store back home."
Niou's snigger staggers. Just for that, he hands Yagyuu his popsicle. Niou slides the cold, moisture-beaded packaging over Yagyuu's bare arm. Yagyuu shivers and the hairs on his arms stand up, glistening with condensation. He clicks his tongue. Niou flashes him a grin.
"Would ya, partner?" he asks. He leers. He hovers over Yagyuu by the drink section as Yagyuu mulls over the green teas. Shizuoka tea, special summer season variety. Yagyuu makes a grab for one and Niou wedges a second under Yagyuu's arm. With a small sigh, Yagyuu frowns and pays.
It's not far to the beach. There is a steady, constant stream of people in bathing suits and flip-flop sandals. The street is lined with bicycles and vending machines. Niou squints into the light-it's sunny here, but not direction. There is a certain fishy smell to the air, one that is only found along beaches. Niou keeps a half-step behind Yagyuu, whose tote bag swings as he walks. It's heavy, by the looks of it. Niou cocks his head. Yagyuu's not wearing swimming trunks and neither is Niou. Watching Yagyuu walk, with his bubblebutt moving under his shorts, straining the fabric ever so slightly, makes Niou feel flushed. His dick is hot and sweaty in his underpants. He's not entirely sure he wants to go swimming like this, if everyone on the team would be able to see and know about his sicko fantasies…
…like Yagyuu, prancing along the beach in that dorky visor, splashing seawater onto his glasses and smiling. "Come on, Niou-kun!" he might say. His chest, his tan nipples, his awful farmer's tan and his arm pit hair, all damp with the ocean, smelling salty and fishy and of Yagyuu, in all his megane dork glory…
Niou's head spins.
And not just from the harsh glare of the sun on the water.
Niou narrows his eyes until they hurt. Yagyuu has a small smile, just a twitch of his lips, underneath the shade from his visor brim. I hate you, Niou thinks. The back of his neck is wet; Niou stands here, melting at the edge of the beach as people stream past.
Somehow, Niou can't really buy that the team is here to practice something tennis-related for the Nationals. It's just too…lame. He scratches the back of his head, smearing sweat across the collar of his shirt before he shakes the hair and sprays the sweat onto a passing girl in a halter bikini top. She glowers at him. She curls her lip up as she leans into a friend to whisper about that silver haired scary freak. The girls might be pretty-nice lips, swelling breasts, small dainty feet-if Niou were into that sort of thing.
But Niou just has to take one side glance toward Yagyuu, with his plaid shirt and uniform shorts, his long legs with dark hairs, his glasses and his visor, even the Burberry handkerchief that he dabs at the side of his neck with…
Niou's mouth is dry like the sand under their shoes. He closes his eyes, for a brief moment, and tries to remember the salty taste, the heat of Yagyuu's skin, the way it felt under his tongue. His knees shake a bit, but he plays it off with a faked stretch, airing his armpits out to Yagyuu.
"Shall we?" he asks.
Yagyuu stands, expressionless for a moment or two before he finally nods once. "The others should be just down this way," he says, nodding to his right. Seagulls circle above them as their feet sink into the sand. It burns between Niou's toes. He's got his sandals on today but the grit still finds a way under his feet, scratching the callouses on his soles. Niou manages twenty, thirty feet before he stops. Yagyuu takes another three steps, then he waits for Niou to peel off the sandals and run.
The air is filled with the sounds of people and the rush of waves, rolling gently over the pebbly edge of the beach. There are several crappy little dogs-dachshunds with long beige fur, little pugs and poodles, all immaculately groomed-running along the water's surface. Umbrellas, red, green, yellow, all colours are hoisted up, territory staked out among the sea of people.
Too many people for Niou, really.
Like he wants to see the middle-aged salaryman in the small red speedo picking his bathing suit from his hairy ass.
Or the girl with the big tits, nipples thrusting through the thin material of her bikini top as her boyfriend leers.
And Yagyuu…
Niou watches him. Yagyuu's head turns to the girl in the bikini, her skin gilded and glistening from the water. She looks like a gravure idol. If Marui were around, he'd been salivating his fat ass off. The longer Yagyuu is turned in the girl, the more Niou's belly tightens. He should be more confident with what they have, but it's a constant test.
Yagyuu never said he was this way, just that…
Niou swallows hard. He doesn't realize he's been touching his mole until his hand drops to his side and smacks his thigh.
Yagyuu calls his name. Vaguely, Niou hears it. Mostly, Niou wants to grab that girl by the neck and twist her nipples off, yell at her to put them away and leave Yagyuu alone. He shakes. Tension is thick in his gut and his dick seems to pool with blood, growing harder and harder as the rage bubbles through his body, hot and feverish.
"Niou-kun!" Yagyuu snaps.
Niou whips his head around. "What?" he snaps, right back at Yagyuu.
Yagyuu frowns. "There is everyone," he says. His voice is forced and clipped, the words terse and deliberate, as though he's talking down to a little child.
Sure enough, by the water's lapping edge, where a bar of white sand spreads into the distance, blinding and smooth, are the fatty and Jackal, playing with the wonderchibi. It's just beyond bikini girl's shoulder that Niou can see Kirihara shriek and shout and splash a wave of water at Marui in all his pasty, spongy glory, poured into a pair of checkered swimming shorts.
Niou's shoulders fall; the tension dissipates into the soft rush of the waves. A tide of water washes over his toes, cool and tickling. He gasps. Then he looks at Yagyuu and feels a little dumb.
Oh.
It doesn't help, either, that Yagyuu has the tiniest of smirks playing at his mouth and a cold little glint toying with his glasses. He pushes them up his nose. The bag on his arm rattles, plastic swishing as Yagyuu's footsteps sink into the sand. Jackal notices, waves and his teeth are blinding when he smiles and shouts, "You guys just missed Akaya dunk Bunta!"
Niou blows at his hair. It is stringy and sweaty in his eyes.
Like he cares about Marui and Kirihara.
Still, it might have been funny to see the fat Genius sputtering and drenched with the wonderchibi running off cackling. Niou thinks about it for a moment: Marui's round face slowly changing from shocked wet to furious red, the same shade as his hair….
A snort escapes Niou's lips. Yagyuu looks over at him and raises an eyebrow. Niou raises his eyebrow right back at Yagyuu, then offers him a shrug as well.
The sun is hot, but the humidity isn't as bad by the sea as it would be back home. Niou eyes the umbrellas studding the sand. As much as Jackal is happy in all his brown glory to bask under the summer swelter, Niou can already feel his arms bake. His skin is too hot, flushed and sweaty and he shifts his weight uncomfortably. Sand scorches his toes. He pants, and his dick is hard and damp in his underpants.
As soon as Yagyuu walks in the direction of a lone umbrella-a rental, judging by the stripes and generic faded appearance-Niou struggles through the sand as well. He flops down under the semi-shade. It's not perfect, but it'll do.
Yagyuu sits down beside him and Niou's throat feels drier than ever, closing up in the baking sunlight. Dappled light dances over his toes as he kicks his sandals off, adding them to the smelly, raunchy pile sitting on top of a towel patterned with cupcakes. Knowing exactly whose towel it belongs to makes Niou lean back, satisfied and smiling despite the erection in his shorts. Niou squirms a little, trying to shift his dick without being too obvious.
Somehow, though, Yagyuu always seems to know. His eyes flick, flicker down Niou's front. The skin of his belly crawls, even though the look lasts only a fraction of a second. His dick swells and Niou has to bite down a gasp. Shudders course down his spine, twitching his toes and pulsing through his balls, dick, thighs, everywhere.
And then Yagyuu pops on his pair of clip-on sunglasses. He sits up straight and rummages through his department store bag, pulling out a novel. Niou rolls his eyes.
"Another Agatha?" he asks. Niou likes to think his pronounciation is rather good today, too.
Yagyuu turns, but his eyes don't meet Niou's-through the sunglasses, he can't. For all Niou knows, that short pause, that little hesitation before Yagyuu answers might be his rolling eyes, too.
"No," he says. Yagyuu's words are slow and thick like the humidity. In the dripping pause, the air is filled with the sounds of cackling laughter, splashing water and even the distant hum of scooter engines. "It's Michael Chrichton," Yagyuu says.
Niou can't really see Yagyuu as the type into Jurassic Park, but then he didn't see Yagyuu as a smoker last year either. Niou says nothing, instead digging his feet into a shady patch of sand, and leaning back even further on his elbows. Niou makes a noise in the back of his throat. Yagyuu turns a page and falls silent.
Niou kicks up some sand. Underneath the surface, it's cool and damp-heavenly in this melting weather. Breezes off the ocean lessen the scorch, but not by much. Niou can feel his body cooking and his insides curdling. He glances around. Kirihara streaks past them, followed by the stumbling fatty and Jackal, last of all, whose legs outrun them both into the ocean.
Niou scratches the back of his neck. His hair drips. He closes his eyes and whistles. Yagyuu turns another page.
"Where're those three?" Niou mutters. Slowly, slowly, his body continues to sink into the sand. His limbs are too lethargic to move much, but he half-wishes the spray of water and the splash of hundreds of swimmers would reach this far up the beach.
Yagyuu hums. Another turn of a page and a wet sound: he licks his fingertip and peruses the characters, his eyes running down the page, left, then down again. "They're at school," he murmurs.
Niou snorts. "So much for practice here," he says.
Yagyuu makes another noise, generic agreement. His face is a mask, but the sunlight flickers across his lips and lenses. "Heat endurance, Niou-kun," he says.
"Or an excuse to come to the beach," Niou says.
He's not entirely convinced that the wonderchibi came to the beach today on the pretense of practice when the kid plunks himself down a few feet from the water and starts to dig, a bit like a dog. Niou squints. Through narrowed eyes, he watches Kirihara dig a hole and then shift his eyes toward Marui, prancing down the beach toward the hole. Niou follows his line of vision-of course, he should have known that it was either a) a group of high school girls in tight little frilly bikinis or b) a food stand. The fact it's a group of girls, maybe their age or a little older, all with popsicles, in frilly bikinis and tiny bottoms makes Niou huff. Their butts hang out of their bottoms and they giggle as blue popsicle dribbles down their fingers and chins.
Niou clears his throat. Yagyuu stops, in the middle of a page turn, and looks up over the spine of his book. Niou's face flushes, hot and red, even under the umbrella. As Yagyuu glances over his shoulder, seeing those girls and the fatty trip and fall right into the wonderchibi's predictable hole, he gets it.
One tap of Yagyuu's naked toes to Niou's foot is all that it takes. Niou sucks in a breath. His throat closes up, tight and dry and wollen as Yagyuu sets his book down. For a moment, Niou is frozen to the spot. Sweat dribbles down the side of his nose. His dick swells, painfully hard between his legs and his balls are so tight that his knees shake. All the sounds around them-the shouting people, the water, the gulls, the sounds of food frying and ice crunching-are so far away and swirl into a din as Yagyuu leans over. He says something, but Niou is too tense to hear. He blinks, like an idiot, and his knee twitches again. This time, his leg bumps Yagyuu's.
Goosepimples break out over his body, a sudden flush across his skin.
Yagyuu flips his sunglasses up. Everything in the moment that was sexy and tense and jelly-knee-inducing before seems to crash down into a dorky reality as Yagyuu looks at Niou with those lame clip-ons. "I'm going for a swim, Niou-kun," he says, as though nothing has happened.
Yagyuu is as bland and boring as ever.
"Are you coming?"
The way Niou's balls and dick are about to explode, throbbing and overheated in his shorts, Niou has to hold back from saying anything about coming right now. Besides, Yagyuu might be willing to kiss him, Yagyuu might be willing to touch his chest and his belly, but Yagyuu's never been willing to jerk Niou off yet.
"Puri," Niou mutters. He squirms. His dick throbs. His balls twist up tighter. Niou bites his lip to stop himself from wincing.
"It's too hot to sit here," Yagyuu says.
Duh, Niou thinks. Still, he is the one who sits as Yagyuu stands up. His knees creek and this close, they look a little knobby under the dark hair that covers them. Niou watches Yagyuu's long motions as he lifts his arms above his head and pulls his shirt off. A waft of sour teenage sweat oozes off Yagyuu's skin. Niou drinks it in. It's a little gross, sure, but it's Yagyuu. There is something that he reeks of. Sex appeal, or something. Niou knows it's sick and weird, but he can't stop himself from inhaling.
One day, Niou will ask Yagyuu outright what he thinks about when he masturbates, if he thinks of Niou when he comes the way Niou thinks of Yagyuu as soon as his clammy hand wraps around his dick at night, but for now, Niou gets to his feet and tosses his shirt off too.
He can ignore his erection in the flashing moment from beach to water. The cold, fluid sea lapping at his calves makes Niou jump and run harder, deeper into the water. Yagyuu's glasses drip with the spray of the sea that Niou kicks up. Niou laughs and plows deeper, further still, loving the feeling as the water washes over his too-hot skin.
Not that he cares either way-much-if the ass and Yukimura and the Data Master are pissed that the five of them are spending valuable training time playing at the beach. Niou relishes the sensation of floating around the water, his ears filling with the gurgling of fish below. He relishes the sensation of the shifting, sandy seafloor under his feet. He relishes the sensation of diving under the surface and swimming around Yagyuu's legs until Yagyuu moves and Niou's lungs are about to burst. He pops to the surface and Yagyuu is there. A split-second later and Niou had a wave of water in his face and Yagyuu laughing at him, splashing him, playing with him.
It's some sort of different training: the water resists movement, its thickness makes it harder to move, it slows Niou down, makes his limbs sluggish and his breathing harder. Yagyuu is there, solid under the surface. There are a hundred, a thousand people around but as time swirls, they become one and nothing once more.
It's just them.
Niou swallows. Yagyuu's throat bobs, too. He touches the frame of his glasses, his hand dripping from the surf. The hairs on his arm all cascade the same direction, down down down toward his chest and belly. His skin is pale. His nipples are brownish. His chest rises and falls, easier and slower than Niou. Niou's heart pounds against his ribs and he can't stop his body from taking a step closer to Yagyuu.
Niou's shorts stick to his thighs. It's hard to move, but he doesn't care. Time pulses, like his dick. Each second passes like an hour as Yagyuu looks at him with dark, deep eyes. His gaze caresses Niou's arms, floating over his skin. Niou shivers.
Yagyuu is close enough now that as the waves rise and fall around them, and their bodies bob in the swells, Niou's shorts billow under the water and lap against Yagyuu's legs. The sands sink and rise, pushing Niou closer to Yagyuu, closer and closer and closer.
But that doesn't explain the swollen, aching feeling in Niou's chest, replaced with an echoing, rippling wave of contact. His dick hardens, stiffens until Niou doubles over at the waist with a sharp gasp. His eyes snap open and he realizes, he gets, that the trembles and the shuddered sobs as he falls forward…
…is orgasm.
Under the water, Yagyuu's hand touches him. Yagyuu touches him, his cock, his balls, Niou! It's not much more than a brush, a lingering thumb over the front of his shorts, but it’s more than enough. Niou squeezes his eyes shut. He groans as the last waves of pleasure course through his veins. He can't think, but he wants to, he needs to. His body is feverish in the water. His feet slip, sliding through the sand and he's falling into Yagyuu, shaking and gasping and red in the face.
No! he thinks. Niou shakes his head. No no NO!
He's tried so hard and this is what happens. It could have been an accidental touch and he's done it again.
Niou wants to sink under the sand, deep under the ocean and bury himself in pity, disgust for what he's done again. He can't lift his head to Yagyuu. His eyes sting. Saltwater drips off his skin and his chest shudders. He can't move away fast enough. His legs don't work. His body shivers. His arms reach out instead of away and Yagyuu…
Yagyuu grabs his arm. "Here," he mumbles as his long fingers clasp Niou's bicep, digging enough deep enough for Niou to catch his balance-almost enough to hurt, but not quite. Niou struggles. He yanks his arm away, but Yagyuu won't let go. Niou hisses. Another wave pushes them closer, together, bumping their legs and knocking their arms.
"Are you all right?" Yagyuu asks.
Don't you get it? Niou thinks. Don't you fucking get it, you megane blind loser?!?
His eyes flash up to Yagyuu's. Through his salt-stained lenses, Yagyuu's eyes aren't black and hard-and it takes Niou aback. He blinks. He rocks back on his heel and he looks again, refusing to believe his eyes that Yagyuu's forehead is furrowed.
And his eyes…
Yagyuu's eyes are soft at the side when he murmurs, "I'm sorry for that." His gaze falls to the water, where flickering gilt sunlight shines over the endless blue. "Niou-kun," he says.
For a second time, under the water, Yagyuu's hand touches Niou. Only this time, he reaches for Niou's hand, pruny fingertips to pruny fingertips that curl and weave together, threading through Niou's limp hand as his mouth hangs open.
The sun is too bright. The weather is too hot. The beach is too loud and too crowded, especially when the fatty paddles out to them and asks Yagyuu about lunch time, but…
Inside, Niou smiles to himself.
This is okay.
***
On the way home no one has enough money to stop for ramen or tempura. The shaved ice at the beach was a bit of a rip-off: 400 yen for a dinky little cup and Marui ate three. Niou says nothing on the train. His eyes droop. His limbs are so sluggish from the swimming, exhausted in a way tennis never seems to manage. Kirihara naps on Yagyuu's shoulder, head flung back as his mouth catches flies. Niou pokes the kid in the side of the mouth. Kirihara smacks his lips and nuzzles Yagyuu's shoulder.
"Comfy," Jackal says. His smile is dry. He's the only one of them really awake. Even Yagyuu's head hangs low.
It's a local train, one that stops at each and every station along the tracks. Niou's ears perk up at the announcements, but they're all for small little farm towns or suburbs in the middle of nowhere. The rice fields blur and the lights of Yokohama grow brighter and better. The bag between Niou's feet falls over. His umbrella rolls out. It taps Yagyuu's sandal.
Niou lets himself droop onto Yagyuu's other shoulder. If Kirihara can steal the left, Niou is more than entitled to the right. He closes his eyes. It's easy to settle his head on Yagyuu's arm this way, pretending he's nothing more than a pest. Yagyuu's arm is warm-maybe a little sticky, too-and comfortable. One day, Niou wouldn't mind sleeping like this, the two of them, pressed together thigh to thigh and chest to chest, naked. A shiver of pleasure stiffens his back, but the jostle of the train hides his reaction.
But Yagyuu moves, too. Away from Niou. Niou's head hangs, lost in space for a moment before it falls onto his chest. He blinks. Out of the corner of his eye, he looks at Yagyuu. Yagyuu's eyes droop, sure, but in the reflection on the window across the aisle, his pupils are dark and alive. They stare out at the blackened landscape, hard under the sheen of his lenses. The train jolts again. Niou lets his body slump that extra half-inch to rest on Yagyuu once more.
He waits and holds a breath. The train pulls into another stop and illuminates the signs on the platform. Marui wakes up enough to mumble something about a vending machine he sees, but Jackal holds him back. "It's almost supper," he says. "I thought we were going to go for ramen at my house…?"
Marui sniffs. "Oh yeah. Hakata ramen."
"Maybe. Depends on what my mom makes," Jackal says. "The Hokkaido stuff is pretty good too."
"No beans or manguavas or weird shit," Marui says. He yawns and his eyes glaze over, whether from exhaustion, or thoughts of food, Niou can't tell for sure.
Niou waits. Yagyuu wiggles in his seat as the train pulls away; the opportunity is there for him to move closer to Niou or further away and into the wonderchibi, but he does neither. Yagyuu sighs deeply. Niou glances down at his watch. Seven.
Supper will be cold by the time he gets home.
About as cold as the air between Yagyuu and himself. With each passing stop, Niou's skin grows cooler and cooler from the A/C. Each time the train chugs, slow and steady on the tracks, rattling and jostling, Yagyuu's body moves away from Niou until their sticky knees don't touch and the little jolts and zaps that pool in Niou's belly stop. He frowns inside. His stomach turns over and his mouth is dry.
Maybe the sun melted his head with the idea-the remote idea-that Yagyuu didn't mind Niou accidentally coming against his hand. Purpled light fades from the west as the train travels east. Pachinko parlours light up the train, blinking kaleidoscopes that catch Yagyuu's glasses and mock Niou. Niou unfolds his arms and shifts on the seat, away from Yagyuu.
He curls up in the free seat at the end of the bench. Despite the hour, there aren't many people on the train, other than a few university students with iPods, lost in their own personal bubbles, and tired looking housewives with strollers. Niou pulls his legs onto the seat and rests his chin on top of his knees. Finally, Yagyuu looks over at him. He gives Niou with a frown and a small shake of his head. It's improper to have your feet on the seat, Niou-kun-Niou has heard it all before and frankly, he doesn't care. His toes twitch in his sandals. He closes his eyes. His chin bobs on his knees, hair falling into his eyes.
Their section of the train carriage smells of stale sweat and that faintly fishy scent of the sea. There is a little pile of grit under Kirihara's sandals, combed and raked over the linoleum panels of the floor by the motions of the train.
Niou's is the first stop. He listens to the announcement, vaguely. Will Yagyuu get off with me? The thickening in his throat is answer enough. Yagyuu doesn't move. He pushes his glasses up his nose, but as the train pulls into the station and the name rolls across the screen over the door, exit, left side, Yagyuu makes no indication that he even knows Niou is going to leave.
For Niou's part, he waits, chest swelling until the last moment and the doors open with a hiss and the little chime. A gust of humid air blasts into the train. Niou's heart pounds against his ribs. His hand is clammy on his bag as he bends to grab it. Without a word, he steps off the train, ignoring the sleepy tingle in his leg.
So maybe now that everything has sunk in, Yagyuu's still not cool with all this.
Niou stands on the platform, his shoes sticking to the pavement. People mill around him, all headed one direction, for the exit. It's a suburban stop, nothing special, but there is an elevator for the lazy and the tourist to the local shrine. The early evening swirls up and around Niou as he stands there, shoulders sinking. He didn't say goodbye to anyone else and no one said goodbye to him.
Still, his chest aches. His hand goes limp. Not until his ears pick up a dull thud and rustle does Niou even notice that he's dropped the bag. It hurts to exhale, but he can't go back and change things. He didn't mean to come like that. His face burns at the memory. His insides are on fire with hot shame. His fingers go cold and he starts to cough, throat so thick and dry that his tongue sticks like glue in the back of his mouth.
"Here."
Niou freezes.
Yagyuu hands him the bag Niou dropped. The train is gone, off chugging and rattling tatan tatan into the twinkling distance, deep blue stretched beyond the train station. The last passengers clear the platform, walking up the stairs toward the exit.
They are alone except for a glowing vending machine. KIRIN labels the side. Niou's mouth is dry, but he's not thirsty. The night drips with moisture. It cloys to Niou's skin, the same way that Yagyuu's fingers do.
There is too much about Yagyuu for Niou to figure out, even now. He walks ahead and stretches his arms above his head. He tries, but he can't really play off the growing pit of hot nerves in his belly. Yagyuu's footsteps fall into perfect rhythm with his own. Niou's chest flutters. He finds himself gasping at the air to breathe and quell the dizziness that swirls and spins in his head.
You're not mad…?
Yagyuu's eyes flick to the peeling posters along the corridor walls. They move constantly, never resting the way his thin lips do.
But you’re not happy either…?
"Yagyuu…" Niou mouths. It's so faint, barely a motion, just unconscious reaction. A confirmation to himself that Yagyuu is here with him and slipping his ticket into the slot of the gates, walking through right next to Niou.
His bag is infinitely heavy in his hand. Niou cracks his knuckles. The bag rustles. His shorts bunch up on his thighs, caught by the sweat on his skin in all the wrong ways. Yagyuu put his visor away hours ago. Now, his plaid shirt is unbuttoned at the top. A hint of his chest peeks out: his collarbones, his pale skin so different from the tan on his arms. He's so confident as he walks out into the night. His gait is straight and even, the same as always. Niou slouches. He stuffs his left hand in his pocket, the same side his dick hangs, half-hard, the same as always.
The bus stop is empty, half-way down the road towards the main street. It's a ten, fifteen minute walk to Niou's house. The rows of suburban houses stretch for miles. Yagyuu's home is no where near here. Niou wonders, but he says nothing. Yagyuu's eyes on the schedule don't drift towards the number for Niou's bus, but instead for the 23, 82, 54B…
All buses to Yagyuu's.
Niou scratches the back of his neck. He wipes the sweat into his shirt collar. "Why did you get off here?" His voice is rougher than he'd hoped. All the confidence he wanted to project, all the nonchalance of his slouched shoulders and ragdoll shifting is gone in the instant he speaks. Niou swallows hard. His words ring in the thick air.
Yagyuu fixes his glasses. He sets his bag down on the bench. The empty bento containers click softly. "Would you rather I not have?" he asks.
It's a kick to Niou's middle. He sucks a breath in through his nostrils. The hum of the cicadas hide the noise. Niou tightens his lips. The hand on the back of his neck digs into the slippery skin. He stinks, he knows, of BO and fishy sea water, probably come and shaved ice that dripped onto his fingers, too.
He lowers his eyes and lifts his chin. Through slitted eyes, he looks at Yagyuu. Then, Niou shrugs. His shoulders are stiff, heavy and they creek on the way down. He horks a wad of mucus, but it doesn't ease the dryness in his throat one bit. Niou steps to the side, a little dance toward the shadows away from the streetlamp. He pretends to check for a bus. Really, he knows it will come in a few minutes. He's done this a hundred times before.
Niou feigns the motions of tennis. He hasn't practiced all day. All he's managed to do is come on Yagyuu's hand and eat shaved ice and Yagyuu's bento and the half-dozen vending machine drinks they bought periodically all afternoon. Niou swings his arm back, keeping his elbow tight and low to the ground. He leans deeper and jerks his body. It might be fun to imitate other players in the Nationals. Niou smiles to himself at the thought. All the southpaw players-all the best southpaw players…he could do it. He flicks his wrist. Tezuka's drop shot, the Zero Shiki. He pulls back and stands up, swinging his arm wide in the darkness. That Shitenhoji captain Yanagi has mentioned-what are his moves?
Niou lifts his arm. The air is so thick and humid that it's like moving through water. He's sweating harder, his body flushes hotter. Niou shifts his weight to the other side. He straightens his back. He swings back with his right arm this time. He shakes his hair out, loosening the tendons in his neck.
His favourite move to steal has always been the La-
Yagyuu grabs him. Yagyuu's hands dig into Niou's biceps faster than he himself can react. Yagyuu pushes him into the shadows, right into a hard cement retaining wall. The vines rustle under Niou's back. And Yagyuu is there, in his face, faster than Niou, kissing Niou.
Niou opens his mouth. It's instinctive. Yagyuu's tongue is hot and wet, pushing in deep and choking the air off. Niou gasps. He moans. He melts into Yagyuu's force. His body is limp and pliable. Yagyuu's teeth bite his lips. Yagyuu is here, everywhere, cutting off the world from Niou with a fierce, fast, hot kiss.
Yagyuu grunts. The sound vibrates all the way through Niou's body, down to his toes and his fingertips.
Then Yagyuu pulls back. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. His back is turned to Niou. It rises and falls as he breathes hard. Yagyuu half-turns, enough for his glasses to flash.
Niou remains against the vines. They curl around his body, shaking with the aftershocks of Yagyuu's kiss. His mind attempts to rewind and fast forward, to play the scene over again: Yagyuu randomly walking up to him, Yagyuu randomly pushing him against the cement wall, Yagyuu randomly kissing the air from Niou's lungs.
Niou takes a deep breath.
He can't replay the sensations. There is nothing left but the lingering, throbbing thud in his chest and the rush of blood to his head. Niou's legs give out and he jerks down the fence until he's crouched at the ground. His skin skims the damp pavement. His shorts strain, his dick swells between his legs, pulsing through his clothes. Niou closes his eyes and squeezes his legs together. It's uncomfortable, this, but he can't bring himself to get up yet.
Not with Yagyuu's eyes on him. He can feel them boring through his body, sharp and distinct, like nails to his chest. His breathing shudders. Niou exhales carefully. A bead of sweat slithers down his forehead and his hair clings to his face. His lips still tingle, still flush hot and cold from the sensation of Yagyuu's kiss.
But there is nothing more than that, just the memory, the idealizing, flitting memory in his body that Yagyuu was there, imprinting his mark.
A cat howls in the distance, low and mournful and desperate. Looking for a piece of action too, Niou thinks.
Cicadas hum, mixing with the sound of traffic several streets over. There is a crackle and then brief burst of light-someone is playing with firecrackers in a parking lot, or maybe along one of the abandoned train tracks, not too far from here. Niou drips with sweat. It's muggy and gross out. His body oozes into the atmosphere as the heat percolates from the vines and fragrant flowers that peek out from planters and gated yards.
Niou loses himself in thought, replaying the day in his mind. It was nothing and everything. He didn't mean for it to happen but maybe Yagyuu did. They ate from Yagyuu's bento and the tempura lotus root was soggy, but it still crunched when Niou ate and talked. There was nothing sexual at any point, not even when Yagyuu's feet brushed his, or his hand skimmed Niou's thigh, until now, with that kiss Niou can't stop thinking about.
Why?
Isn't Yagyuu the uncomfortable one, who has to think and wait and decide if he can be a faggot? Niou frowns. He blows at a piece of hair. It doesn't move from his face. He blows harder, but it's glued to his skin. He sighs.
He's not entirely comfortable with this either. If he was, he might walk up to Yagyuu right now and grab his shoulder. He might spin Yagyuu around or dig his fingers into the soft part of Yagyuu's shoulder blades to make him cringe. Or he might just lick the salty sweat from Yagyuu's neck, no warning, no reason, except that he can.
Yagyuu makes no effort to show his emotions. He's as straight and tightly drawn as ever, standing there, motionless. The bag in his hand sways gently, but there is nothing more than that. He doesn't shift his weight. His back doesn't seem sweaty, he just is…
Niou shakes his head. As he rises, the lights of a bus draw closer-it’s his.
Yagyuu gives nothing away when he murmurs, "Have a good night." His lips move, but his voice is distant and a little cold. He doesn't even touch his glasses, or offer Niou his hand. Bitterness stings Niou's throat. He sniffs and climbs onto the bus.
Puri.
On purpose, Niou sits on the opposite side of the bus. He ignores Yagyuu as the bus pulls away. He doesn't wave, he doesn't look, he doesn't try to catch Yagyuu's shadowy form receding into the inky suburbs.
Niou curls up in his seat. There's almost no one else on the bus. The air conditioning is weak and does nothing to hide the wet strands of hair at the back of his head. He toys with his cellphone, half-hoping for a call, or a text, or something that shows Yagyuu isn't quite the contrary, cold bastard he proves himself to be more often than not.
But there's nothing.
With a grumble, Niou flips his cellphone closed. He shuts his eyes and he doesn't nap.
***
In Niou's opinion, it's never a very good thing when his mother lingers in the kitchen, washing dishes and wiping the countertop with a sponge. There's a place at the table for him when he comes home and dumps his bags: macaroni salad, cold fish, cold soup, cold somen, lukewarm tea. His mom smiles at him and asks how his day was. Niou glares at her.
He chews his food and glares at her back. She's got her cardigan buttoned up all the way, even though the air conditioning isn't on in the kitchen. It smells like stale fish in here. Niou makes a face. His mother putters around him, asking asinine questions as though she expects him to answer that yeah, he frolicked at the beach and by the way, he has a tendency to come in Yagyuu's hand.
Niou snorts under his breath.
"All right?" his mother asks.
Niou narrows his eyes even more. With his mouth open, full of half-chewed fish, he says, "Don't ask me stupid things like that."
She clicks her tongue. For a moment, the sponge stops. "Masaharu!" But she never means it. She always lets things slide, no matter how obnoxious Niou acts. And that suits him just fine. He excuses himself from the table with a loud belch. From the living room, his father calls out his name, another reprimand for another thing.
It's too hot to care. Niou slinks upstairs and flops down on his bed. He stares out the window, wishing that it would rain to ease the stagnant heat. Someone, maybe his sister, is running the bath. Niou drags fingernails over his forearm. A tiny blackened line of scum forms under the nail: his scum.
Dimly, Niou sucks on it. It's gross, yeah, but he doesn't care. He stares at his ceiling. He touches his cellphone, still in his pocket, still quiet and neglected by Yagyuu. Niou could call, but that'd seem desperate and lame. Sorry for coming on you today, is it okay if you jerk me off tomorrow? Even kissing's just fine…
Yeah right. He shakes his head. The puri that blows off his lips is natural, silent, and lost in the air as soon as Niou flicks on his A/C. He lays there under the cold, rattling air, moaning under his breath. His hand lingers at the top of his waistband, then his fingers dip under. His skin is feverishly hot. His dick is half-hard and when he imagines Yagyuu murmuring in his ear, Yagyuu's mouth on his lips-or maybe his mole-and Yagyuu's hand skimming his balls, just barely…
Niou shifts. Heat flares in his dick, his balls, his belly. He masturbates until he's grunting and coming a second time, Yagyuu's name always on his tongue.
Author: Ociwen
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: Konomi owns all.
Summary: Niou, meet Yagyuu.
Author's Notes: Spoilers for everything.
With Yagyuu's mom at home, intimacy just isn't the same. It's an invasion, even with the door closed. Niou eats supper, sitting between Yagyuu and his mom at the table-she's flustered by his presence and flutters around, aimless and useless as she hunts for a spare set of chopsticks for Yagyuu's guest. But at the same time, she smiles at Niou and speaks to him instead of her own son. In some ways, she seems grateful for Niou being there.
Niou sits on the wall of tension between Yagyuu and his mother. They attack from both sides with half-hidden sneers and rolling eyes when they turn their heads-more on Yagyuu's part, though, because his mother is too busy telling Niou, telling someone about the fabulous new manicure centre in MM21 where she had her nails done. The smell of tropical shampoo radiates off her hair. Niou is brought back nearly ten years. He's a kid again, in kindergarden, with his young, beautiful teacher whispering in his ear that it's okay if he skips naptime.
As much as he might want to otherwise, Niou can't help but be swept up by her. His smiles are easier, more often and he laughs a little louder, until Yagyuu scrapes his chair back and excuses himself, polite to a tee even when he's seething inside.
They walk to the bus stop. Yagyuu lets the breath out he's been holding all through dinner. Niou picks at the bits of pickle and strings of fish caught between his teeth. The bento was tasty, expensive, the sort his family wouldn't throw money away on unless it was for his father's partners in the architectural firm during Oseibo
"Please don't encourage her," Yagyuu says.
Niou says, "Puri."
Yagyuu stops. The cicadas are shrill and keening at this hour. A purple band of light settles, deep and velvety on the horizon. The humid air is palpable on Niou's skin, a film on his arms and legs. The light is indirect now, coming at him from all angles.
Except from the Yagyuu direction, where the shadows hang from the cement retaining wall he stands under. Under his glasses, his eyes are hooded.
Niou laughs it off under his breath. He walks back to Yagyuu and leans down, stuffs his hands in his pockets and looks up. His breath is fishy and Yagyuu turns away. "Don't be jealous," Niou says.
He means it as a joke, but Yagyuu's jaw only tightens.
"Tomorrow we're going for ramen," he says. It's not a request.
Having someone-even Yagyuu-cage him in like this by telling and not asking, Niou hates it. He grinds his back teeth and he knows he must be bristling, because Yagyuu's hard look softens a bit. Niou bounces his anger off with another joke, sorta but not really, when he says, "What if I feel like katsudon instead?"
Serve.
"Do you feel like katsudon?" Yagyuu asks.
Volley.
Niou shrugs. "I might."
Tight-rope walking ball, rolling along the net, neither side chosen.
A bus comes and Niou forfeits the game. It's right on cue, because the trees and vines dripping from fenced-in cement walls begin to swish; that tell-tale sound of rain approaches, and then the first patters dance across the roof of a passing car. Niou steps onto the bus just as the rain hits his arm, warm and sticky. He reaches into his pocket for his wallet, juggling his tennisbag over his shoulder, and glances back to Yagyuu.
"See ya," he says.
Yagyuu nods. As Niou climbs another step, out of the corner of his eye he can see Yagyuu pulling am umbrella out over his head.
Yagyuu's face disappears under the rain-splattered plastic as the bus drives off. It's not a direct bus and Niou waits by the back door, hopping off at the train station to catch another and get home. He could walk, but the rain keeps him slinking under the cement piers of the bus depot. Everything smells wet and machinistic-dampness seeps through the pavement and the cement walls, oil spilled from buses and cars thickens the air, as does the rain, grey and drizzly and gummy. Niou's scalp crawls. He itches the sides, then the back, loosening the hair tie. The rat tail brushes the back of his neck, vaguely reminiscent of Yagyuu's trailing fingertips and Niou shivers.
He creeps between the bus stops. Number 15 pulls out, en route to Kanni. Number 18 should be here in ten minutes. Number 23, another 12. Niou checks his watch and frowns. His t-shirt is glued to his back from the muggy ick, pregnant and bloated with rain. The minutes cloy like the dampness, rewinding and pausing as Niou taps his foot on the curb.
He wanders back the other direction, aimless and meandering between the cement piers, brushing his fingers on the cement. His eyes make out the shapes of posters; they advertise this and that, grocery sales and antique markets, English tutors and cram schools. But his eyes linger on one announcement, just under an ad for the new McDonald's seasonal special.
Cosplay Convention.
In the local park, the one by the elementary school across from the convenience store, near the local shrine, the place where Niou met Yagyuu the day of the regionals.
Niou murmurs the details under his breath, memorizing them in a chant. Saturday at eleven. It looks like a local thing-hell, the poster tacked up is peeling and ripped at the edges, spotted with moisture that makes the edges curl too. Niou presses his index finger to the side, holding it down as he reads one last time.
He and Yagyuu could go.
His lips curl up, a private smile, as he turns to the sight of wavering headlights approaching, gilding the patches of water and oil that stain the pavement. In the watery reflection, Niou can make out the backwards numbers of his bus.
Saturday at eleven. It's perfect.
When Niou slinks in through the front door of his house, the faint sounds of the tv announce the upcoming weather report: sunny this weekend, less than 10% chance of rain.
It's even better than perfect, really.
***
Tuesday and it's not hot enough that Niou wakes up from a sticky, restless sleep that leaves his eyes gummy and his limbs exhausted. Instead, Niou wakes up on his own from the faint sensation of light. It bothers his eyes, hovering soft under the periphery of his eyelids.
The last moments of a dream linger and he rolls over, playing them over in his mind as the emotion fades. Still, contentment laps at his memory from walking with Yagyuu on a beach-it doesn't matter where, the white sand could be anywhere and the blue sky, too. Kamakura, maybe, or the Izu Peninsula. There are never seagulls shitting on their heads in his dreams. There is never a gross fishy smell, or sweat or scorching sand between their toes, gritty and damp as it wedges up Niou's sandals. No, dreams are idealized and that suits Niou just fine to walk with a too-good-to-be-true Yagyuu who floats instead of trips in the sand. Niou laughs. Yagyuu fixes his glasses. Niou looks at him and their t-shirts disappear. Yagyuu leans in to kiss Niou's neck and Niou touches Yagyuu's skin, feeling the warmth and solidity of his body that slowly fades as he wakes…more and more…
It's comfortable enough that he could lie abed awhile longer, but Niou can hear his cellphone beeping. He cracks an eye open. The clock reads past eleven. He's slept through the start of morning practice.
Niou flops back onto his pillow, willing the fragments of his dream to return. A nagging prod to the back of his head reminds him that Sanada and Yukimura will be pissed. The Nationals are in less than two weeks and they still have blah blah blah training to do to kick Seigaku's ass for real this time.
Not as though I lost, Niou thinks as he rolls himself out of bed.
Shower, masturbate, think of Yagyuu, do his hair-Niou follows his routine and makes a point to ignore his cellphone when it rings. He trots downstairs to the smell of something frying in the kitchen. Thank God today isn’t as sweltering as yesterday, the gyoza his mother pushes around a frying pan smell divine. Niou plunks himself into his seat at the table and bangs his fists down, chopsticks at the ready.
"Masaharu," she says. It's that unimpressed tone and she frowns at him when she turns, shaking her head at Niou's snicker.
"Your friends called," his mother says. "You had tennis practice-"
"Yeah," Niou says. He fakes a yawn and stretches his arms above his head. His mother sets down an oblong plate of gyoza, steaming and sizzling on the sides, browned and shiny with the oil from the pan. Niou pops a dumpling into his mouth and chews.
He shrugs. "It's the holiday," he says. Dumpling sprays across the table. His mother sighs and wipes it up. Her glasses slip down her nose and she smells like the flowers in the garden.
Niou might be late for practice, but he's not going to skip it entirely. Gulped down tea, gyoza stuffed into his belly, a quick piss and another check in the mirror in the bathroom, just in case Yagyuu left…marks on his neck, or something. But his skin is free from blemishes, except for the couple of little pimples under his nose, popping up where the sweat collects. Niou pokes at them. He jabs a pin into the one and hisses. No puss. Nothing but a throbbing red lump that will have to wait until later.
He runs his hand through his hair again, cocking his head at the reflection in the mirror. Yagyuu can't resist him like this…Niou hopes. The temperature will probably melt the wax in his hair later-but for now, the mess of bleached chunks looks good.
Out the door, under the dim shade of the porch, Niou checks his messages. The only one he bothers with is Yagyuu's. The rest-Yanagi, Sanada, Yukimura, even one from the fatty, oddly enough-he deletes.
We're not at school. Important practice in Kamakura. Take the train to Inamuragasaki. Please call when you get to the station.
Niou blinks at the message. He looks up at the sky, shielding his eyes from the intense and vivid blue that blinds his LCD screen and makes him see things that Yagyuu doesn't actually have written.
Except, Yagyuu does.
Niou walks to the bus to catch the first one going the direction of the main train station. Somehow, he's not so certain that bringing his tennisbag is what he should be doing at the moment.
Inamuragasaki is a beach.
Everyone knows that.
And yet, when Niou's train pulls into the station, in the middle of the afternoon heat and the hoards of tourists from Tokyo, Yagyuu is waiting by the exit. Niou nearly bursts out laughing at the sight.
Yagyuu has a little visor on.
And a button-down plaid shirt, along with his tennis uniform shorts, which make him look oddly mismatched.
Niou rolls his eyes. Megane dorkwad, he thinks. But, in a weird way, Yagyuu is kinda hot-if he swapped the tennis shorts for khaki and added some chains and rings instead of wristweights.
"You realize this is a beach," Niou says. It's the first thing he says as they step out of the station and cross the main road. The air is thick with the smell of fish and squawking seagulls circle overhead. Yagyuu just nods. They walk past ramen joints and shops selling tacky tourist junk-hats, beach umbrellas, carved wooden crap that says Kamakura. Yagyuu doesn't seem to notice. He makes a beeline for the general direction of the beach, the same direction that the rest of the masses are headed.
"Yes," he says, slow and steady. Traffic rushes by. Niou tastes the salt in the air. It's cooler here than in the city, although the crowds of people are dense and thick with cooking sweat and sunscreen.
"But," Yagyuu adds, "we're doing important training here."
"For tennis?" Niou asks.
Yagyuu nods again. He pushes his glasses up. "Of course, tennis. Yanagi-kun made some special exercises for us…"
And that is approximately the point Niou tunes Yagyuu out. Instead of crossing the set of lights like Yagyuu, Niou pops into the conbini on the corner. The 7-11 is cold and the freezer is frosted along the edges. Niou runs his fingers over the ridge of ice, savouring the numb freeze on his fingertips before he pulls out a popsicle. It's blue flavour-Niou's favourite colour. He grabs it and the packaging crinkles.
Yagyuu lingers by the jellies. So you showed up after all, Niou thinks. Yagyuu's eyes lift to the top of his frames and catch Niou. Niou's lips quirk into a smirk. He can't help it. Yagyuu's jelly fixation, the way his eyes return, hungry and lingering to the neat little rows of fruit jellies and yogurts, inevitably searching for tokoroten make Niou snicker under his breath. At least until Yagyuu shakes his head.
He holds up a tote bag. "I bought some tokoroten this morning," he says. "At the grocery store back home."
Niou's snigger staggers. Just for that, he hands Yagyuu his popsicle. Niou slides the cold, moisture-beaded packaging over Yagyuu's bare arm. Yagyuu shivers and the hairs on his arms stand up, glistening with condensation. He clicks his tongue. Niou flashes him a grin.
"Would ya, partner?" he asks. He leers. He hovers over Yagyuu by the drink section as Yagyuu mulls over the green teas. Shizuoka tea, special summer season variety. Yagyuu makes a grab for one and Niou wedges a second under Yagyuu's arm. With a small sigh, Yagyuu frowns and pays.
It's not far to the beach. There is a steady, constant stream of people in bathing suits and flip-flop sandals. The street is lined with bicycles and vending machines. Niou squints into the light-it's sunny here, but not direction. There is a certain fishy smell to the air, one that is only found along beaches. Niou keeps a half-step behind Yagyuu, whose tote bag swings as he walks. It's heavy, by the looks of it. Niou cocks his head. Yagyuu's not wearing swimming trunks and neither is Niou. Watching Yagyuu walk, with his bubblebutt moving under his shorts, straining the fabric ever so slightly, makes Niou feel flushed. His dick is hot and sweaty in his underpants. He's not entirely sure he wants to go swimming like this, if everyone on the team would be able to see and know about his sicko fantasies…
…like Yagyuu, prancing along the beach in that dorky visor, splashing seawater onto his glasses and smiling. "Come on, Niou-kun!" he might say. His chest, his tan nipples, his awful farmer's tan and his arm pit hair, all damp with the ocean, smelling salty and fishy and of Yagyuu, in all his megane dork glory…
Niou's head spins.
And not just from the harsh glare of the sun on the water.
Niou narrows his eyes until they hurt. Yagyuu has a small smile, just a twitch of his lips, underneath the shade from his visor brim. I hate you, Niou thinks. The back of his neck is wet; Niou stands here, melting at the edge of the beach as people stream past.
Somehow, Niou can't really buy that the team is here to practice something tennis-related for the Nationals. It's just too…lame. He scratches the back of his head, smearing sweat across the collar of his shirt before he shakes the hair and sprays the sweat onto a passing girl in a halter bikini top. She glowers at him. She curls her lip up as she leans into a friend to whisper about that silver haired scary freak. The girls might be pretty-nice lips, swelling breasts, small dainty feet-if Niou were into that sort of thing.
But Niou just has to take one side glance toward Yagyuu, with his plaid shirt and uniform shorts, his long legs with dark hairs, his glasses and his visor, even the Burberry handkerchief that he dabs at the side of his neck with…
Niou's mouth is dry like the sand under their shoes. He closes his eyes, for a brief moment, and tries to remember the salty taste, the heat of Yagyuu's skin, the way it felt under his tongue. His knees shake a bit, but he plays it off with a faked stretch, airing his armpits out to Yagyuu.
"Shall we?" he asks.
Yagyuu stands, expressionless for a moment or two before he finally nods once. "The others should be just down this way," he says, nodding to his right. Seagulls circle above them as their feet sink into the sand. It burns between Niou's toes. He's got his sandals on today but the grit still finds a way under his feet, scratching the callouses on his soles. Niou manages twenty, thirty feet before he stops. Yagyuu takes another three steps, then he waits for Niou to peel off the sandals and run.
The air is filled with the sounds of people and the rush of waves, rolling gently over the pebbly edge of the beach. There are several crappy little dogs-dachshunds with long beige fur, little pugs and poodles, all immaculately groomed-running along the water's surface. Umbrellas, red, green, yellow, all colours are hoisted up, territory staked out among the sea of people.
Too many people for Niou, really.
Like he wants to see the middle-aged salaryman in the small red speedo picking his bathing suit from his hairy ass.
Or the girl with the big tits, nipples thrusting through the thin material of her bikini top as her boyfriend leers.
And Yagyuu…
Niou watches him. Yagyuu's head turns to the girl in the bikini, her skin gilded and glistening from the water. She looks like a gravure idol. If Marui were around, he'd been salivating his fat ass off. The longer Yagyuu is turned in the girl, the more Niou's belly tightens. He should be more confident with what they have, but it's a constant test.
Yagyuu never said he was this way, just that…
Niou swallows hard. He doesn't realize he's been touching his mole until his hand drops to his side and smacks his thigh.
Yagyuu calls his name. Vaguely, Niou hears it. Mostly, Niou wants to grab that girl by the neck and twist her nipples off, yell at her to put them away and leave Yagyuu alone. He shakes. Tension is thick in his gut and his dick seems to pool with blood, growing harder and harder as the rage bubbles through his body, hot and feverish.
"Niou-kun!" Yagyuu snaps.
Niou whips his head around. "What?" he snaps, right back at Yagyuu.
Yagyuu frowns. "There is everyone," he says. His voice is forced and clipped, the words terse and deliberate, as though he's talking down to a little child.
Sure enough, by the water's lapping edge, where a bar of white sand spreads into the distance, blinding and smooth, are the fatty and Jackal, playing with the wonderchibi. It's just beyond bikini girl's shoulder that Niou can see Kirihara shriek and shout and splash a wave of water at Marui in all his pasty, spongy glory, poured into a pair of checkered swimming shorts.
Niou's shoulders fall; the tension dissipates into the soft rush of the waves. A tide of water washes over his toes, cool and tickling. He gasps. Then he looks at Yagyuu and feels a little dumb.
Oh.
It doesn't help, either, that Yagyuu has the tiniest of smirks playing at his mouth and a cold little glint toying with his glasses. He pushes them up his nose. The bag on his arm rattles, plastic swishing as Yagyuu's footsteps sink into the sand. Jackal notices, waves and his teeth are blinding when he smiles and shouts, "You guys just missed Akaya dunk Bunta!"
Niou blows at his hair. It is stringy and sweaty in his eyes.
Like he cares about Marui and Kirihara.
Still, it might have been funny to see the fat Genius sputtering and drenched with the wonderchibi running off cackling. Niou thinks about it for a moment: Marui's round face slowly changing from shocked wet to furious red, the same shade as his hair….
A snort escapes Niou's lips. Yagyuu looks over at him and raises an eyebrow. Niou raises his eyebrow right back at Yagyuu, then offers him a shrug as well.
The sun is hot, but the humidity isn't as bad by the sea as it would be back home. Niou eyes the umbrellas studding the sand. As much as Jackal is happy in all his brown glory to bask under the summer swelter, Niou can already feel his arms bake. His skin is too hot, flushed and sweaty and he shifts his weight uncomfortably. Sand scorches his toes. He pants, and his dick is hard and damp in his underpants.
As soon as Yagyuu walks in the direction of a lone umbrella-a rental, judging by the stripes and generic faded appearance-Niou struggles through the sand as well. He flops down under the semi-shade. It's not perfect, but it'll do.
Yagyuu sits down beside him and Niou's throat feels drier than ever, closing up in the baking sunlight. Dappled light dances over his toes as he kicks his sandals off, adding them to the smelly, raunchy pile sitting on top of a towel patterned with cupcakes. Knowing exactly whose towel it belongs to makes Niou lean back, satisfied and smiling despite the erection in his shorts. Niou squirms a little, trying to shift his dick without being too obvious.
Somehow, though, Yagyuu always seems to know. His eyes flick, flicker down Niou's front. The skin of his belly crawls, even though the look lasts only a fraction of a second. His dick swells and Niou has to bite down a gasp. Shudders course down his spine, twitching his toes and pulsing through his balls, dick, thighs, everywhere.
And then Yagyuu pops on his pair of clip-on sunglasses. He sits up straight and rummages through his department store bag, pulling out a novel. Niou rolls his eyes.
"Another Agatha?" he asks. Niou likes to think his pronounciation is rather good today, too.
Yagyuu turns, but his eyes don't meet Niou's-through the sunglasses, he can't. For all Niou knows, that short pause, that little hesitation before Yagyuu answers might be his rolling eyes, too.
"No," he says. Yagyuu's words are slow and thick like the humidity. In the dripping pause, the air is filled with the sounds of cackling laughter, splashing water and even the distant hum of scooter engines. "It's Michael Chrichton," Yagyuu says.
Niou can't really see Yagyuu as the type into Jurassic Park, but then he didn't see Yagyuu as a smoker last year either. Niou says nothing, instead digging his feet into a shady patch of sand, and leaning back even further on his elbows. Niou makes a noise in the back of his throat. Yagyuu turns a page and falls silent.
Niou kicks up some sand. Underneath the surface, it's cool and damp-heavenly in this melting weather. Breezes off the ocean lessen the scorch, but not by much. Niou can feel his body cooking and his insides curdling. He glances around. Kirihara streaks past them, followed by the stumbling fatty and Jackal, last of all, whose legs outrun them both into the ocean.
Niou scratches the back of his neck. His hair drips. He closes his eyes and whistles. Yagyuu turns another page.
"Where're those three?" Niou mutters. Slowly, slowly, his body continues to sink into the sand. His limbs are too lethargic to move much, but he half-wishes the spray of water and the splash of hundreds of swimmers would reach this far up the beach.
Yagyuu hums. Another turn of a page and a wet sound: he licks his fingertip and peruses the characters, his eyes running down the page, left, then down again. "They're at school," he murmurs.
Niou snorts. "So much for practice here," he says.
Yagyuu makes another noise, generic agreement. His face is a mask, but the sunlight flickers across his lips and lenses. "Heat endurance, Niou-kun," he says.
"Or an excuse to come to the beach," Niou says.
He's not entirely convinced that the wonderchibi came to the beach today on the pretense of practice when the kid plunks himself down a few feet from the water and starts to dig, a bit like a dog. Niou squints. Through narrowed eyes, he watches Kirihara dig a hole and then shift his eyes toward Marui, prancing down the beach toward the hole. Niou follows his line of vision-of course, he should have known that it was either a) a group of high school girls in tight little frilly bikinis or b) a food stand. The fact it's a group of girls, maybe their age or a little older, all with popsicles, in frilly bikinis and tiny bottoms makes Niou huff. Their butts hang out of their bottoms and they giggle as blue popsicle dribbles down their fingers and chins.
Niou clears his throat. Yagyuu stops, in the middle of a page turn, and looks up over the spine of his book. Niou's face flushes, hot and red, even under the umbrella. As Yagyuu glances over his shoulder, seeing those girls and the fatty trip and fall right into the wonderchibi's predictable hole, he gets it.
One tap of Yagyuu's naked toes to Niou's foot is all that it takes. Niou sucks in a breath. His throat closes up, tight and dry and wollen as Yagyuu sets his book down. For a moment, Niou is frozen to the spot. Sweat dribbles down the side of his nose. His dick swells, painfully hard between his legs and his balls are so tight that his knees shake. All the sounds around them-the shouting people, the water, the gulls, the sounds of food frying and ice crunching-are so far away and swirl into a din as Yagyuu leans over. He says something, but Niou is too tense to hear. He blinks, like an idiot, and his knee twitches again. This time, his leg bumps Yagyuu's.
Goosepimples break out over his body, a sudden flush across his skin.
Yagyuu flips his sunglasses up. Everything in the moment that was sexy and tense and jelly-knee-inducing before seems to crash down into a dorky reality as Yagyuu looks at Niou with those lame clip-ons. "I'm going for a swim, Niou-kun," he says, as though nothing has happened.
Yagyuu is as bland and boring as ever.
"Are you coming?"
The way Niou's balls and dick are about to explode, throbbing and overheated in his shorts, Niou has to hold back from saying anything about coming right now. Besides, Yagyuu might be willing to kiss him, Yagyuu might be willing to touch his chest and his belly, but Yagyuu's never been willing to jerk Niou off yet.
"Puri," Niou mutters. He squirms. His dick throbs. His balls twist up tighter. Niou bites his lip to stop himself from wincing.
"It's too hot to sit here," Yagyuu says.
Duh, Niou thinks. Still, he is the one who sits as Yagyuu stands up. His knees creek and this close, they look a little knobby under the dark hair that covers them. Niou watches Yagyuu's long motions as he lifts his arms above his head and pulls his shirt off. A waft of sour teenage sweat oozes off Yagyuu's skin. Niou drinks it in. It's a little gross, sure, but it's Yagyuu. There is something that he reeks of. Sex appeal, or something. Niou knows it's sick and weird, but he can't stop himself from inhaling.
One day, Niou will ask Yagyuu outright what he thinks about when he masturbates, if he thinks of Niou when he comes the way Niou thinks of Yagyuu as soon as his clammy hand wraps around his dick at night, but for now, Niou gets to his feet and tosses his shirt off too.
He can ignore his erection in the flashing moment from beach to water. The cold, fluid sea lapping at his calves makes Niou jump and run harder, deeper into the water. Yagyuu's glasses drip with the spray of the sea that Niou kicks up. Niou laughs and plows deeper, further still, loving the feeling as the water washes over his too-hot skin.
Not that he cares either way-much-if the ass and Yukimura and the Data Master are pissed that the five of them are spending valuable training time playing at the beach. Niou relishes the sensation of floating around the water, his ears filling with the gurgling of fish below. He relishes the sensation of the shifting, sandy seafloor under his feet. He relishes the sensation of diving under the surface and swimming around Yagyuu's legs until Yagyuu moves and Niou's lungs are about to burst. He pops to the surface and Yagyuu is there. A split-second later and Niou had a wave of water in his face and Yagyuu laughing at him, splashing him, playing with him.
It's some sort of different training: the water resists movement, its thickness makes it harder to move, it slows Niou down, makes his limbs sluggish and his breathing harder. Yagyuu is there, solid under the surface. There are a hundred, a thousand people around but as time swirls, they become one and nothing once more.
It's just them.
Niou swallows. Yagyuu's throat bobs, too. He touches the frame of his glasses, his hand dripping from the surf. The hairs on his arm all cascade the same direction, down down down toward his chest and belly. His skin is pale. His nipples are brownish. His chest rises and falls, easier and slower than Niou. Niou's heart pounds against his ribs and he can't stop his body from taking a step closer to Yagyuu.
Niou's shorts stick to his thighs. It's hard to move, but he doesn't care. Time pulses, like his dick. Each second passes like an hour as Yagyuu looks at him with dark, deep eyes. His gaze caresses Niou's arms, floating over his skin. Niou shivers.
Yagyuu is close enough now that as the waves rise and fall around them, and their bodies bob in the swells, Niou's shorts billow under the water and lap against Yagyuu's legs. The sands sink and rise, pushing Niou closer to Yagyuu, closer and closer and closer.
But that doesn't explain the swollen, aching feeling in Niou's chest, replaced with an echoing, rippling wave of contact. His dick hardens, stiffens until Niou doubles over at the waist with a sharp gasp. His eyes snap open and he realizes, he gets, that the trembles and the shuddered sobs as he falls forward…
…is orgasm.
Under the water, Yagyuu's hand touches him. Yagyuu touches him, his cock, his balls, Niou! It's not much more than a brush, a lingering thumb over the front of his shorts, but it’s more than enough. Niou squeezes his eyes shut. He groans as the last waves of pleasure course through his veins. He can't think, but he wants to, he needs to. His body is feverish in the water. His feet slip, sliding through the sand and he's falling into Yagyuu, shaking and gasping and red in the face.
No! he thinks. Niou shakes his head. No no NO!
He's tried so hard and this is what happens. It could have been an accidental touch and he's done it again.
Niou wants to sink under the sand, deep under the ocean and bury himself in pity, disgust for what he's done again. He can't lift his head to Yagyuu. His eyes sting. Saltwater drips off his skin and his chest shudders. He can't move away fast enough. His legs don't work. His body shivers. His arms reach out instead of away and Yagyuu…
Yagyuu grabs his arm. "Here," he mumbles as his long fingers clasp Niou's bicep, digging enough deep enough for Niou to catch his balance-almost enough to hurt, but not quite. Niou struggles. He yanks his arm away, but Yagyuu won't let go. Niou hisses. Another wave pushes them closer, together, bumping their legs and knocking their arms.
"Are you all right?" Yagyuu asks.
Don't you get it? Niou thinks. Don't you fucking get it, you megane blind loser?!?
His eyes flash up to Yagyuu's. Through his salt-stained lenses, Yagyuu's eyes aren't black and hard-and it takes Niou aback. He blinks. He rocks back on his heel and he looks again, refusing to believe his eyes that Yagyuu's forehead is furrowed.
And his eyes…
Yagyuu's eyes are soft at the side when he murmurs, "I'm sorry for that." His gaze falls to the water, where flickering gilt sunlight shines over the endless blue. "Niou-kun," he says.
For a second time, under the water, Yagyuu's hand touches Niou. Only this time, he reaches for Niou's hand, pruny fingertips to pruny fingertips that curl and weave together, threading through Niou's limp hand as his mouth hangs open.
The sun is too bright. The weather is too hot. The beach is too loud and too crowded, especially when the fatty paddles out to them and asks Yagyuu about lunch time, but…
Inside, Niou smiles to himself.
This is okay.
***
On the way home no one has enough money to stop for ramen or tempura. The shaved ice at the beach was a bit of a rip-off: 400 yen for a dinky little cup and Marui ate three. Niou says nothing on the train. His eyes droop. His limbs are so sluggish from the swimming, exhausted in a way tennis never seems to manage. Kirihara naps on Yagyuu's shoulder, head flung back as his mouth catches flies. Niou pokes the kid in the side of the mouth. Kirihara smacks his lips and nuzzles Yagyuu's shoulder.
"Comfy," Jackal says. His smile is dry. He's the only one of them really awake. Even Yagyuu's head hangs low.
It's a local train, one that stops at each and every station along the tracks. Niou's ears perk up at the announcements, but they're all for small little farm towns or suburbs in the middle of nowhere. The rice fields blur and the lights of Yokohama grow brighter and better. The bag between Niou's feet falls over. His umbrella rolls out. It taps Yagyuu's sandal.
Niou lets himself droop onto Yagyuu's other shoulder. If Kirihara can steal the left, Niou is more than entitled to the right. He closes his eyes. It's easy to settle his head on Yagyuu's arm this way, pretending he's nothing more than a pest. Yagyuu's arm is warm-maybe a little sticky, too-and comfortable. One day, Niou wouldn't mind sleeping like this, the two of them, pressed together thigh to thigh and chest to chest, naked. A shiver of pleasure stiffens his back, but the jostle of the train hides his reaction.
But Yagyuu moves, too. Away from Niou. Niou's head hangs, lost in space for a moment before it falls onto his chest. He blinks. Out of the corner of his eye, he looks at Yagyuu. Yagyuu's eyes droop, sure, but in the reflection on the window across the aisle, his pupils are dark and alive. They stare out at the blackened landscape, hard under the sheen of his lenses. The train jolts again. Niou lets his body slump that extra half-inch to rest on Yagyuu once more.
He waits and holds a breath. The train pulls into another stop and illuminates the signs on the platform. Marui wakes up enough to mumble something about a vending machine he sees, but Jackal holds him back. "It's almost supper," he says. "I thought we were going to go for ramen at my house…?"
Marui sniffs. "Oh yeah. Hakata ramen."
"Maybe. Depends on what my mom makes," Jackal says. "The Hokkaido stuff is pretty good too."
"No beans or manguavas or weird shit," Marui says. He yawns and his eyes glaze over, whether from exhaustion, or thoughts of food, Niou can't tell for sure.
Niou waits. Yagyuu wiggles in his seat as the train pulls away; the opportunity is there for him to move closer to Niou or further away and into the wonderchibi, but he does neither. Yagyuu sighs deeply. Niou glances down at his watch. Seven.
Supper will be cold by the time he gets home.
About as cold as the air between Yagyuu and himself. With each passing stop, Niou's skin grows cooler and cooler from the A/C. Each time the train chugs, slow and steady on the tracks, rattling and jostling, Yagyuu's body moves away from Niou until their sticky knees don't touch and the little jolts and zaps that pool in Niou's belly stop. He frowns inside. His stomach turns over and his mouth is dry.
Maybe the sun melted his head with the idea-the remote idea-that Yagyuu didn't mind Niou accidentally coming against his hand. Purpled light fades from the west as the train travels east. Pachinko parlours light up the train, blinking kaleidoscopes that catch Yagyuu's glasses and mock Niou. Niou unfolds his arms and shifts on the seat, away from Yagyuu.
He curls up in the free seat at the end of the bench. Despite the hour, there aren't many people on the train, other than a few university students with iPods, lost in their own personal bubbles, and tired looking housewives with strollers. Niou pulls his legs onto the seat and rests his chin on top of his knees. Finally, Yagyuu looks over at him. He gives Niou with a frown and a small shake of his head. It's improper to have your feet on the seat, Niou-kun-Niou has heard it all before and frankly, he doesn't care. His toes twitch in his sandals. He closes his eyes. His chin bobs on his knees, hair falling into his eyes.
Their section of the train carriage smells of stale sweat and that faintly fishy scent of the sea. There is a little pile of grit under Kirihara's sandals, combed and raked over the linoleum panels of the floor by the motions of the train.
Niou's is the first stop. He listens to the announcement, vaguely. Will Yagyuu get off with me? The thickening in his throat is answer enough. Yagyuu doesn't move. He pushes his glasses up his nose, but as the train pulls into the station and the name rolls across the screen over the door, exit, left side, Yagyuu makes no indication that he even knows Niou is going to leave.
For Niou's part, he waits, chest swelling until the last moment and the doors open with a hiss and the little chime. A gust of humid air blasts into the train. Niou's heart pounds against his ribs. His hand is clammy on his bag as he bends to grab it. Without a word, he steps off the train, ignoring the sleepy tingle in his leg.
So maybe now that everything has sunk in, Yagyuu's still not cool with all this.
Niou stands on the platform, his shoes sticking to the pavement. People mill around him, all headed one direction, for the exit. It's a suburban stop, nothing special, but there is an elevator for the lazy and the tourist to the local shrine. The early evening swirls up and around Niou as he stands there, shoulders sinking. He didn't say goodbye to anyone else and no one said goodbye to him.
Still, his chest aches. His hand goes limp. Not until his ears pick up a dull thud and rustle does Niou even notice that he's dropped the bag. It hurts to exhale, but he can't go back and change things. He didn't mean to come like that. His face burns at the memory. His insides are on fire with hot shame. His fingers go cold and he starts to cough, throat so thick and dry that his tongue sticks like glue in the back of his mouth.
"Here."
Niou freezes.
Yagyuu hands him the bag Niou dropped. The train is gone, off chugging and rattling tatan tatan into the twinkling distance, deep blue stretched beyond the train station. The last passengers clear the platform, walking up the stairs toward the exit.
They are alone except for a glowing vending machine. KIRIN labels the side. Niou's mouth is dry, but he's not thirsty. The night drips with moisture. It cloys to Niou's skin, the same way that Yagyuu's fingers do.
There is too much about Yagyuu for Niou to figure out, even now. He walks ahead and stretches his arms above his head. He tries, but he can't really play off the growing pit of hot nerves in his belly. Yagyuu's footsteps fall into perfect rhythm with his own. Niou's chest flutters. He finds himself gasping at the air to breathe and quell the dizziness that swirls and spins in his head.
You're not mad…?
Yagyuu's eyes flick to the peeling posters along the corridor walls. They move constantly, never resting the way his thin lips do.
But you’re not happy either…?
"Yagyuu…" Niou mouths. It's so faint, barely a motion, just unconscious reaction. A confirmation to himself that Yagyuu is here with him and slipping his ticket into the slot of the gates, walking through right next to Niou.
His bag is infinitely heavy in his hand. Niou cracks his knuckles. The bag rustles. His shorts bunch up on his thighs, caught by the sweat on his skin in all the wrong ways. Yagyuu put his visor away hours ago. Now, his plaid shirt is unbuttoned at the top. A hint of his chest peeks out: his collarbones, his pale skin so different from the tan on his arms. He's so confident as he walks out into the night. His gait is straight and even, the same as always. Niou slouches. He stuffs his left hand in his pocket, the same side his dick hangs, half-hard, the same as always.
The bus stop is empty, half-way down the road towards the main street. It's a ten, fifteen minute walk to Niou's house. The rows of suburban houses stretch for miles. Yagyuu's home is no where near here. Niou wonders, but he says nothing. Yagyuu's eyes on the schedule don't drift towards the number for Niou's bus, but instead for the 23, 82, 54B…
All buses to Yagyuu's.
Niou scratches the back of his neck. He wipes the sweat into his shirt collar. "Why did you get off here?" His voice is rougher than he'd hoped. All the confidence he wanted to project, all the nonchalance of his slouched shoulders and ragdoll shifting is gone in the instant he speaks. Niou swallows hard. His words ring in the thick air.
Yagyuu fixes his glasses. He sets his bag down on the bench. The empty bento containers click softly. "Would you rather I not have?" he asks.
It's a kick to Niou's middle. He sucks a breath in through his nostrils. The hum of the cicadas hide the noise. Niou tightens his lips. The hand on the back of his neck digs into the slippery skin. He stinks, he knows, of BO and fishy sea water, probably come and shaved ice that dripped onto his fingers, too.
He lowers his eyes and lifts his chin. Through slitted eyes, he looks at Yagyuu. Then, Niou shrugs. His shoulders are stiff, heavy and they creek on the way down. He horks a wad of mucus, but it doesn't ease the dryness in his throat one bit. Niou steps to the side, a little dance toward the shadows away from the streetlamp. He pretends to check for a bus. Really, he knows it will come in a few minutes. He's done this a hundred times before.
Niou feigns the motions of tennis. He hasn't practiced all day. All he's managed to do is come on Yagyuu's hand and eat shaved ice and Yagyuu's bento and the half-dozen vending machine drinks they bought periodically all afternoon. Niou swings his arm back, keeping his elbow tight and low to the ground. He leans deeper and jerks his body. It might be fun to imitate other players in the Nationals. Niou smiles to himself at the thought. All the southpaw players-all the best southpaw players…he could do it. He flicks his wrist. Tezuka's drop shot, the Zero Shiki. He pulls back and stands up, swinging his arm wide in the darkness. That Shitenhoji captain Yanagi has mentioned-what are his moves?
Niou lifts his arm. The air is so thick and humid that it's like moving through water. He's sweating harder, his body flushes hotter. Niou shifts his weight to the other side. He straightens his back. He swings back with his right arm this time. He shakes his hair out, loosening the tendons in his neck.
His favourite move to steal has always been the La-
Yagyuu grabs him. Yagyuu's hands dig into Niou's biceps faster than he himself can react. Yagyuu pushes him into the shadows, right into a hard cement retaining wall. The vines rustle under Niou's back. And Yagyuu is there, in his face, faster than Niou, kissing Niou.
Niou opens his mouth. It's instinctive. Yagyuu's tongue is hot and wet, pushing in deep and choking the air off. Niou gasps. He moans. He melts into Yagyuu's force. His body is limp and pliable. Yagyuu's teeth bite his lips. Yagyuu is here, everywhere, cutting off the world from Niou with a fierce, fast, hot kiss.
Yagyuu grunts. The sound vibrates all the way through Niou's body, down to his toes and his fingertips.
Then Yagyuu pulls back. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. His back is turned to Niou. It rises and falls as he breathes hard. Yagyuu half-turns, enough for his glasses to flash.
Niou remains against the vines. They curl around his body, shaking with the aftershocks of Yagyuu's kiss. His mind attempts to rewind and fast forward, to play the scene over again: Yagyuu randomly walking up to him, Yagyuu randomly pushing him against the cement wall, Yagyuu randomly kissing the air from Niou's lungs.
Niou takes a deep breath.
He can't replay the sensations. There is nothing left but the lingering, throbbing thud in his chest and the rush of blood to his head. Niou's legs give out and he jerks down the fence until he's crouched at the ground. His skin skims the damp pavement. His shorts strain, his dick swells between his legs, pulsing through his clothes. Niou closes his eyes and squeezes his legs together. It's uncomfortable, this, but he can't bring himself to get up yet.
Not with Yagyuu's eyes on him. He can feel them boring through his body, sharp and distinct, like nails to his chest. His breathing shudders. Niou exhales carefully. A bead of sweat slithers down his forehead and his hair clings to his face. His lips still tingle, still flush hot and cold from the sensation of Yagyuu's kiss.
But there is nothing more than that, just the memory, the idealizing, flitting memory in his body that Yagyuu was there, imprinting his mark.
A cat howls in the distance, low and mournful and desperate. Looking for a piece of action too, Niou thinks.
Cicadas hum, mixing with the sound of traffic several streets over. There is a crackle and then brief burst of light-someone is playing with firecrackers in a parking lot, or maybe along one of the abandoned train tracks, not too far from here. Niou drips with sweat. It's muggy and gross out. His body oozes into the atmosphere as the heat percolates from the vines and fragrant flowers that peek out from planters and gated yards.
Niou loses himself in thought, replaying the day in his mind. It was nothing and everything. He didn't mean for it to happen but maybe Yagyuu did. They ate from Yagyuu's bento and the tempura lotus root was soggy, but it still crunched when Niou ate and talked. There was nothing sexual at any point, not even when Yagyuu's feet brushed his, or his hand skimmed Niou's thigh, until now, with that kiss Niou can't stop thinking about.
Why?
Isn't Yagyuu the uncomfortable one, who has to think and wait and decide if he can be a faggot? Niou frowns. He blows at a piece of hair. It doesn't move from his face. He blows harder, but it's glued to his skin. He sighs.
He's not entirely comfortable with this either. If he was, he might walk up to Yagyuu right now and grab his shoulder. He might spin Yagyuu around or dig his fingers into the soft part of Yagyuu's shoulder blades to make him cringe. Or he might just lick the salty sweat from Yagyuu's neck, no warning, no reason, except that he can.
Yagyuu makes no effort to show his emotions. He's as straight and tightly drawn as ever, standing there, motionless. The bag in his hand sways gently, but there is nothing more than that. He doesn't shift his weight. His back doesn't seem sweaty, he just is…
Niou shakes his head. As he rises, the lights of a bus draw closer-it’s his.
Yagyuu gives nothing away when he murmurs, "Have a good night." His lips move, but his voice is distant and a little cold. He doesn't even touch his glasses, or offer Niou his hand. Bitterness stings Niou's throat. He sniffs and climbs onto the bus.
Puri.
On purpose, Niou sits on the opposite side of the bus. He ignores Yagyuu as the bus pulls away. He doesn't wave, he doesn't look, he doesn't try to catch Yagyuu's shadowy form receding into the inky suburbs.
Niou curls up in his seat. There's almost no one else on the bus. The air conditioning is weak and does nothing to hide the wet strands of hair at the back of his head. He toys with his cellphone, half-hoping for a call, or a text, or something that shows Yagyuu isn't quite the contrary, cold bastard he proves himself to be more often than not.
But there's nothing.
With a grumble, Niou flips his cellphone closed. He shuts his eyes and he doesn't nap.
***
In Niou's opinion, it's never a very good thing when his mother lingers in the kitchen, washing dishes and wiping the countertop with a sponge. There's a place at the table for him when he comes home and dumps his bags: macaroni salad, cold fish, cold soup, cold somen, lukewarm tea. His mom smiles at him and asks how his day was. Niou glares at her.
He chews his food and glares at her back. She's got her cardigan buttoned up all the way, even though the air conditioning isn't on in the kitchen. It smells like stale fish in here. Niou makes a face. His mother putters around him, asking asinine questions as though she expects him to answer that yeah, he frolicked at the beach and by the way, he has a tendency to come in Yagyuu's hand.
Niou snorts under his breath.
"All right?" his mother asks.
Niou narrows his eyes even more. With his mouth open, full of half-chewed fish, he says, "Don't ask me stupid things like that."
She clicks her tongue. For a moment, the sponge stops. "Masaharu!" But she never means it. She always lets things slide, no matter how obnoxious Niou acts. And that suits him just fine. He excuses himself from the table with a loud belch. From the living room, his father calls out his name, another reprimand for another thing.
It's too hot to care. Niou slinks upstairs and flops down on his bed. He stares out the window, wishing that it would rain to ease the stagnant heat. Someone, maybe his sister, is running the bath. Niou drags fingernails over his forearm. A tiny blackened line of scum forms under the nail: his scum.
Dimly, Niou sucks on it. It's gross, yeah, but he doesn't care. He stares at his ceiling. He touches his cellphone, still in his pocket, still quiet and neglected by Yagyuu. Niou could call, but that'd seem desperate and lame. Sorry for coming on you today, is it okay if you jerk me off tomorrow? Even kissing's just fine…
Yeah right. He shakes his head. The puri that blows off his lips is natural, silent, and lost in the air as soon as Niou flicks on his A/C. He lays there under the cold, rattling air, moaning under his breath. His hand lingers at the top of his waistband, then his fingers dip under. His skin is feverishly hot. His dick is half-hard and when he imagines Yagyuu murmuring in his ear, Yagyuu's mouth on his lips-or maybe his mole-and Yagyuu's hand skimming his balls, just barely…
Niou shifts. Heat flares in his dick, his balls, his belly. He masturbates until he's grunting and coming a second time, Yagyuu's name always on his tongue.