Happy Santa_Smex, atama_ga_itai!
To: atama_ga_itai
From:asahii
Title: Drag
Recipient's name: atama_ga_itai
Rating: NC17
Pairing(s): Ootori/Shishido, some slight Oshitari/Mukahi hints
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created by Konomi Takeshi. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's Notes: Thanks to T for the extremely quick and superb beta-help, and to M for staying up with me until 6a.m. while I bugged her for feedback.
To the addressee of this gift fic: I hope you enjoy reading, and that there is enough Hyoutei and yearning! Happy Holidays!
Drag
On the morning of the seventh of February, Choutarou is woken by the sudden realisation that Shishido will be leaving school soon. It’s not something he didn’t know before, but somehow in a dream he can’t remember the actual severeness of this seems to have impacted on him.
He stumbles out of his bed and into the shower, still groggy from sleep but also slightly disturbed by the fact that there’s only one month of school left. He nearly falls over his sister’s shoes on the stairs on his way down into the kitchen, and then makes a mess of his shirt when he spills his tea.
His mother asks him whether there is anything wrong, and Choutarou doesn’t think he can actually answer that because it would sound a little weird to tell her that he’s upset because Shishido is leaving soon.
On his way to school he nearly runs into a fire hydrant, and then has to go back one stop because he left his tennis bag at the bus station. He misses the next bus, and is thirteen minutes late to class. By the time the teacher asks him to read from the English textbook, he has, somehow, managed to regain his composure.
He forces himself to be attentive, feeling both bored and anxious all day long. He’s jumpy and makes unnecessary mistakes, and can hardly eat anything during lunch break. When the bell finally rings after the last class, Choutarou is the first to leave, rushing down the hall and towards the tennis courts.
When he enters the changing rooms no-one is here yet. No loud voices, or laughs, or stupid boyish teasing. Choutarou sighs and bites his lip, sits down on one of the benches and breathes in deeply.
The knot in his stomach hasn’t loosened at all, and he feels like punching something hard. He grits his teeth, then, and opens his tennis bag, takes off his shoes, socks, jacket, shirt. And nearly falls off the bench while taking off his trousers when Mukahi and Oshitari enter, noisy and grinning, unable to keep their hands off each other.
"Yo," Mukahi says and flops down besides him. "What’s up, Choutarou-kun?"
"Uhm," Choutarou answers and tries to find something to say to that while watching Oshitari kneel beside Mukahi, one hand on his calf.
Choutarou suddenly feels very naked and very uncomfortable. "Not. Uhm. Not really anything." He reaches for his tennis bag and quickly puts on his tennis shirt before he gets up and changes his into tennis shorts.
Mukahi watches him with an amused look on his face, and Choutarou clears his throat and puts his stuff into his locker. He sorts through his things, and tries not to watch his senpai change because that would mean he’d watch them flirt, and they would notice which in return would mean they’d start making out or something, just to tease him, and that would be really embarrassing.
"Uhm," Choutarou says after a moment. "Mukahi-senpai, if you. I mean -"
"Girl trouble?" Oshitari says, and Choutarou can virtually hear the grin in his voice. He curses himself for not being able to shut up and shrugs.
"Yes?" Mukahi kneels and ties his shoes, looks at him curiously, head tilted.
Choutarou suppresses a sigh and sits down to slip into his shoes and tie them. "No. Yes. Kind of. But never mind."
"Never mind what?" Shishido asks, slamming the door shut behind him, already peeling off his clothes before he’s even stopped to put down his bag. Choutarou very much stops to think and rather starts staring when Shishido tears off his shirt, toes off his shoes, nearly stumbles over the bench.
Mukahi snorts, Oshitari chuckles, and Choutarou turns away, embarrassed because he knows they’re not laughing at Shishido. He sighs and puts his forehead against the cool metal of his locker, trying to ignore Atobe’s loud voice and Kabaji’s usu and everything else.
*
"I’ll walk you home," Choutarou shouts over the sound of the shower. There’s no way he could say that face to face.
"That’s very nice of you, Choutarou-kun," Oshitari’s voice suddenly sounds from the cubicle next to him. "But I think I can find my way home myself."
Choutarou sputters for a moment and then turns the water off. He doesn’t think he can blush any harder.
"I think Shishido already left. He said something about having to tape something for his mother," Oshitari shouts cheerfully from under the shower while Choutarou nearly breaks his neck trying to put on his clothes at mach nine. And he is not seeing Mukahi there, in the same shower stall as Oshitari. Most certainly not.
He leaves without drying his hair properly, and as he’s running across the courts and down the yard and past the school gates, he can feel the water dripping down his neck in tickly, uncomfortable rivulets.
Shishido is sitting at the bus stop, tapping his feet impatiently. The hair poking out from under his cap looks just as wet as Choutarou’s and the collar of his shirt is moist, too. Choutarou sits down next to him and suppresses the urge to touch his neck or reach for his hand.
"I missed the bus," Shishido says, rolling his shoulders, tapping his feet faster. "And that stupid drama starts at seven. Damn."
"Do you know how to tape it?" he asks playing with the strap of his tennis bag.
Shishido kind of nods and kind of shakes his head, and then says: "Can’t be that hard. Just a few buttons."
Choutarou makes an agreeing sound because he can hardly offer to help Shishido with taping a drama for his mother if Shishido says it’s no problem, and had he really expected Shishido to ask for help?
"It’s February already," Choutarou says then for lack of something better to say, and because this is really what has been bugging him all day long.
"Huh. Yeah. Funny." Shishido shifts, shoulders hunching forward, and then jumps. "My bus. Gotta go. See ya tomorrow, Choutarou."
The bus stops and Shishido climbs in and before Choutarou can help himself he’s shouting: "Shishido -" over the noise of the motor.
Shishido turns and looks at him questioningly, smiling even, expectant, and Choutarou swallows and tries to find the right words, and then just shakes his head and answers "Nothing." when he cannot find them.
*
When he wakes from disturbingly real and vivid dreams the next day, after his morning routine, after he’s left the house, a plan somehow has formed in Choutarou’s head. It’s not a good plan, and maybe it doesn’t even deserve to be called that, but it’s something and Choutarou has a general idea of what he’s going to do.
The hours until lunch break drag so slowly and unnervingly that Choutarou gets so immersed in being bored and drawing stupid little stick figures with caps and tennis rackets on his writing pad that he nearly overhears the bell ringing.
When he’s finished stuffing his things into his bag, nearly everyone else is gone, and he rushes down the corridors into the cafeteria. Against all fears, there are still some unoccupied seats left next to Hiyoshi.
Choutarou sits down with a nod and retrieves his bento from his bag. Hiyoshi raises a brow at him and waits until he’s finished unpacking. Choutarou clears his throat, speaks his thanks for the meal and then puts down his chopsticks.
"Hiyoshi-san, excuse the question, but you have a girlfriend, right?"
Hiyoshi sighs, nods and then answers: "You’re not going to ask me how to deal with Shishido-senpai, right? I mean, you are not."
"Uhm," Choutarou answers because this is exactly what he was going to do.
Hiyoshi sighs and puts down his fork. "What exactly is your problem with Shishido?"
"He’s leaving!" Choutarou blurts out without thinking.
Hiyoshi’s mouth twitches and he leans back in his chair. "Is he now?"
Choutarou nods, feeling very much like a little boy.
"And that’s bothering you." Hiyoshi crosses his arms over his chest.
Choutarou nods again, playing with his chopsticks. "Obviously."
"And Shishido doesn’t know this, of course."
Choutarou shrugs and nods and puts his chopsticks down, all at the same time because he seriously doesn’t know what to say. Hiyoshi gives him one of those superior zen-looks that tell people they’re idiots without actually telling them.
"Thanks," he says after a moment, packs up his lunch and gets up. Hiyoshi nods and goes back to eating his curry. Choutarou considers saying more for a moment, but then decides against it and leaves the cafeteria.
Maybe he should just go and hide on the roof and pretend nothing is going on; that would be much easier, not as bothersome and complicated. But then, Choutarou never was someone to give up, and if there’s one thing Shishido taught him it’s that one should never go back on his decisions.
He spends the rest of the lunch break nibbling on his food, not quite hungry but never really full either. When lessons start again he drags himself down for the afternoon classes, and when the bell finally rings freedom his stomach is growling so hard he’s quite sure Mimura-san in the first row has heard it, too.
He pushes his way past the homegoers and runs across the yard towards the changing rooms. He’s late and everyone is already here and changed, and he quickly throws off his clothes and changes into his tennis things.
Atobe gives him a scorching look and Choutarou hurriedly apologises, walking behind him to the courts. Only everyone else, even Kabaji, is already there and he suddenly finds himself walking next to his captain alone. He thinks about running ahead (away), but Atobe is watching him like a bird of prey.
"Ootori-kun." Stops. Continues: "I notice that something seems to be bothering you for quite a while now. This isn’t good for the team, you are endangering our victory."
Choutarou shrugs because he knows that Atobe has his spies and there’s no sense in lying to him, but he also can’t just admit it.
"Let me tell you something," Atobe says. "Raspberry shortcake."
Atobe sounds very meaningful and mysterious, and Choutarou knows this is probably important and fundamental. Yet all he can say is: "What?"
"Raspberry shortcake," Atobe repeats and then skips on ahead towards the courts, shouting at the others to stop idling around and get to work.
Choutarou stops, feeling his mouth hanging open, feeling indeed very stupid.
Right. Raspberry shortcake.
*
Shishido tilts his head a little and leans back, arms splaying out over the back of the bench. His hair is still a little wet, albeit hidden by his cap - but Choutarou knows anyway - and his face is still a little flushed from training and from showering.
Choutarou shifts uncomfortably, moving his tennis bag from one side of the bench to the other and back again. His right foot can’t stop tapping and the urge to jump up and run a few laps is getting more and more overbearing.
"Are you going home right away?" He asks after a moment of mustering up his courage.
"Uhn, yeah. If I don’t manage to tape that drama for my mom today, she’ll kill me." He sighs deeply.
"Oh," Choutarou says and then sighs deeply, too. He could just ask Shishido to go out with him, but. He just can’t. It’s as if all nerves and muscles just suddenly refuse to work as soon as he wants to say something about it to Shishido.
"Seriously, she was waiting with the knife in her hand for me when I came down for breakfast today!" Shishido rants on, gesturing animatedly. His nape looks naked and vulnerable, and Choutarou wants to reach out and touch it.
"So what’s your plan for today?" Shishido asks, pulling his legs up to his chest, resting his chin on his knees.
I wanted to ask you out and have a nice evening and take you home, Choutarou wants to say, but his tongue feels heavy and useless and so he just shrugs and says "Nothing in particular. Some studying and then violin lessons."
"Do you ever do anything else, Ootori-kun?" Shishido continues with a grin, a glint in his eyes that makes Choutarou’s heart jump.
"No. Yes. I." Choutarou sighs and turns his head to look at Shishido. "I, Shishido-"
"Mh? Ah, my bus. See ya tomorrow!" Shishido grabs his bag and is on the bus before Choutarou can even get up to stop him. Not that he’d really have the guts to.
*
"I think I’m going mad," Choutarou tells Jirou, who doesn’t answer and doesn’t show any other reaction either.
"I don’t know what to do anymore," he continues after checking whether Jirou is really fast asleep. "It’s all too complicated. I wish there was a manual. Something like a music sheet, maybe. I’d know what to do then."
He stretches his legs and leans back, supported by his arms. The sun is merciless, stinging harshly in his eyes. Jirou is snoring quietly next to him, curled up like a kitten in front of a hearth. Choutarou wonders why he never gets a cold, always sleeping on roofs and cold floors and outside.
"And he’s leaving soon. And every time I try to say something about it, it feels like my tongue will rot out of my mouth." He wriggles his toes and shivers in the wind. "I never thought I’d be one of those teenagers. It can’t be that hard, right?"
Jirou mumbles something and turns away, scratching his nose in his sleep.
"And instead of talking to him, I go and talk to a sleeping person. Great, Ootori," he continues, gritting his teeth.
"Ngh," Jirou says, turns again to look at him from half-opened eyes, and Choutarou nearly jumps out of his skin.
"His parents are going to the theatre tonight," he mumbles and rubs his eyes.
Choutarou blinks and tilts his head, and tries to find something to say to explain this. All of this. Especially why he’s sitting in his tennis shorts barefoot next to a sleeping senpai telling him all his most secret and embarrassing problems. Oh god, he’s going to die. He must die.
He makes a sound that sounds like "Uhn?" and Jirou yawns and repeats: "Parents. Theatre." He looks very much like an adult trying to explain quantum theory to a child.
"Yes." Choutarou rubs his cheeks and hopes he’s not as red in the face as it feels like. "Yes?"
"Shishido." Yawns. "At home, alone."
"Oh," Choutarou says and then: "Ooooh."
"Yep," Jirou answers, half a grin on his lips before he turns to sleep again.
Ooooh, Choutarou thinks as he gets up and stumbles down the staircase leading to the roof.
Ooooh.
*
Choutarou rolls out of bed the next day, feeling very sore and tired for he hasn’t slept at all, tossing and turning, formulating words, playing through conversations, calculating reactions, trying to make this more possible. The fact that he hasn’t actually managed to come up with a solution doesn’t help at all.
He stumbles under the shower, burns himself with hot water and eventually manages to cut himself while shaving. He’s nearly half an hour late for his English class, and when the teacher asks him to read from the textbook he realises that he’s forgotten both his school bag and his tennis bag at home.
He plans on going home to get his things during lunch break, but Atobe drags him aside and talks about cake for nearly half an hour, and when Choutarou’s stomach growls loudly enough that even Kabaji shows a reaction forces him to eat his rice pudding.
He plays with his trousers rolled up, in his undershirt, barefoot, with a racket borrowed from Oshitari-senpai. He feels as though Shishido is constantly watching him, reading his thoughts and what he’s planning, or trying to plan, and Choutarou plays horribly, puts every second serve out of the field and they lose horridly to Mukahi and Oshitari.
After the training, after changing and showering, Choutarou feels even more miserable as he waits with Shishido at the bus stop. His clothes are uncomfortably sticky, sweaty and moist from the shower water that he wasn’t quite able to dry off with the borrowed towel from Jirou-senpai. He doesn’t have anything to hold onto - a bag is a good source of distraction, indeed - and Shishido is eyeing him suspiciously as if he’s really had a look into his mind.
Strangely enough, though, Choutarou feels more ready to go through with this than any other time before. Maybe it’s because it feels like yet another disaster won’t matter with all that’s happened to him today, or it’s because he’s so frustrated with himself and with this day already that it has made him lose part of his cowardliness.
He inhales, exhales, turns to look at Shishido. "I-" he starts and then stops when he realises he’s forgotten nearly everything he’s prepared beforehand. "Shishido-" Another pause, in which Shishido reaches up to touch his cap and bites his lower lip.
"You parents - theatre-" Choutarou continues, not quite sure what he’s saying and what the exact purpose of it is. "Your parents are going to the theatre tonight, aren’t they? Jirou-senpai told me about it. This is sudden, but would it be okay. If. If I came over?" he blurts out then, quickly and nearly without any pauses because it seems easier that way.
Shishido freezes for a moment, and then flushes nearly unnoticeably, cheeks turning delicately pink, maybe a smile on his lips. He lifts up his tennis bag and lets it thump to the ground again, apparently thinking very hard. He’s gnawing his lip, surprised maybe.
Somewhere distant there’s the sound of a bus stopping, and the sounds of people shuffling to get in, motors roaring, sounds getting softer, and somewhere distant in his mind Choutarou knows this is somehow important - or usually would be - but he cannot bring himself to pay attention.
"You-" Shishido says and points at the street, biting his lip again. "You missed your bus."
"Yes," Choutarou answers, throat dry, Shishido’s presence suddenly nearly unbearably intense next to him, and he nearly reaches for him. "I guess so."
"Was that your last bus?" Shishido asks, clearing his throat, and Choutarou nods, even though it really wasn’t and Shishido must know that, too, because he’s come to visit Choutarou often enough. It surprises him how easy this suddenly seems to be; he’s waiting for the catch, or Shishido to laugh and make a joke about this.
"We could order pizza," Shishido says, and then adds, not quite looking at him: "My brother isn’t home either. University stuff."
Choutarou nods hastily, and reaches for his cell phone to call his mother. She doesn’t pick up, so he leaves a message on the answering machine. Usually she doesn’t want him to stay overnight somewhere without her explicit permission, but these are extraordinary circumstances, and if Choutarou doesn’t act now, he probably never will.
Shishido’s - their - bus arrives merely seconds later, and they get on, not talking, Choutarou carrying Shishido’s tennis bag, both of them walking and sitting uncomfortably close to each other. It’s awkward, and Choutarou doesn’t know what to do with his hands, and Shishido has the window seat, too. He stares at his profile, his neck, ears, feeling unreal and maybe a little swept away. The drive seems agonizingly long, and each stop makes Choutarou’s fingers itch, makes him grit his teeth.
They avoid each other’s glances, and Choutarou wonders, desperately, if Shishido really wants this, too, and if he actually knows what Choutarou wants, and whether this is all imagined. He could have imagined all this. He grinds his teeth and thinks and thinks too much and when Shishido pulls him up by his wrist to drag him out of the bus, he nearly has a heart attack from the sudden contact.
It’s a two minute walk from the bus station to Shishido’s house, and Choutarou trudges behind him, too scared to catch up. When Shishido unlocks the door, he stands a few feet behind, impatient and anxious.
Shishido holds the door open for him and enters after him, tugging his bag from Choutarou’s hands, dropping it gracelessly in the nearest corner with his schoolbag as Choutarou takes off his shoes. It’s kind of calming to see that he looks just as nervous as Choutarou feels.
"Are you hungry now?" Shishido asks, toeing off his shoes. Choutarou doesn’t know what he’s expected to say, so he opts for telling the truth and shakes his head.
"Okay," Shishido says. "You. Do you want to watch TV? We could rent a movie and -" He stops, looking at his feet for a moment, and Choutarou just can’t - physically cannot not touch him anymore and reaches out to take off Shishido’s cap, brushing his fingers over his neck. Shishido’s skin feels hot, which is strange because shouldn’t it be cool from the wind outside? And should his hands really be shaking like that?
Choutarou swallows and then stops thinking because that’s obviously just an obstacle created to keep him from touching Shishido; thinking is bad, touching Shishido is much, much better, no need for thought here. And then he’s kissing Shishido, who’s responding hesitantly, a bit resilient, and it’s probably the most perfect thing in the world, more perfect than any Paganini piece will ever be.
Shishido tastes of boy and toothpaste and peppermint candy and just. Shishido. Choutarou presses forward, kisses Shishido until he stops resisting, until his lips part slightly, tongue flickering out to meet Choutarou’s, their teeth clicking a little.
But then Shishido’s mouth is suddenly gone, and there’s a lot of tumbling down over shoes and Shishido’s bags, until Choutarou can’t tell anymore which are whose limbs, and how to untangle them.
"Ouch," Shishido hisses, against his neck, wriggling a little. "We. Room. We should go to my room."
Choutarou hums in agreement and pulls them both up after figuring out how to get up without dislocating either of their arms, legs or necks. They hurry up the stairs, and Choutarou can’t stop reaching for Shishido’s hands, touching his back, pulling him in for a quick kiss. They stumble into Shishido’s room, all fumbling hands, opening flies, prying open shirt buttons, mouths meeting, tongues hot and wet and slick, grinding, grasping at each other.
"We should have done this so much sooner," Choutarou chokes hoarsely between one kiss and the next, and Shishido bites his lip and says: "You kiss like a girl."
Choutarou bites back, softly, and pushes Shishido towards the bed and down. More tumbling, and maybe some bruises here, but he really doesn’t mind because Shishido’s legs wrap neatly around his waist. Choutarou presses their mouths together, sucks his lower lip, kisses his chin, throat, hands ghosting over the skin of his chest.
"Still like a girl?" he asks, grinning, mouthing against the soft skin on Shishido’s throat.
Shishido’s breath hitches, a little choking noise that shoots straight down to Choutarou’s dick, and answers, voice strained: "Try harder."
Choutarou snorts, wiggles as Shishido’s hands grab his ass to pull him in hard, harder, until their erections are rubbing against each other through the bothersome fabric of their trousers. Shishido’s hands ghost to his neck, and pull him down for a kiss, tongues meeting in rhythm with their thrusts, hard and fast and desperate.
"Wait," Shishido mouths against his lips, then. "Let me -" Pushes and pulls, legs tightening around Choutarou’s waist, turns and tosses until he’s neatly straddling him, skin nearly luminous in the pale light of the lamp on Shishido’s nightstand.
Choutarou wants to say something, anything, but all the comes from his throat is a strangely choked, desperate sound, as he places his hands on Shishido’s thighs, inches closer to his open fly. The erection beneath the fabric is clearly visible, and Choutarou brushes his fingers over it, carefully examining Shishido’s face to make sure this is okay, that’s it’s not too much.
Shishido moans, pelvis moving towards Choutarou’s hand, spine arching back, throat and chest flushed darkly. Choutarou gives his erection another careful stroke through the cloth of his shorts and then, swallowing dryly, his own dick so, so hard against Shishido’s thigh, reaches inside to really touch it.
Shishido jerks, falling forward, suddenly close, pupils dilated, breath coming in short, harsh gasps. He’s making sounds like ngh and ahng and whispering profanities against Choutarou’s mouth, hips following the rhythm of Choutarou’s hand, fucking his fist, desperate, raw.
And then his hands are somehow - when? - down Choutarou’s pants, fingers on his balls, careful, and then on his dick, jerking him off with long, hard strokes, both their rhythms, opposite yet matched, finding each other until Shishido is half riding him, mewling, moaning hoarsely when Choutarou grabs his ass to steady him somehow, while Shishido sucks his lips. Choutarou kisses back, thrusting up into Shishido’s hand, wanting more friction, more heat, more of everything, moaning just as desperately.
Shishido hisses and breaks their kiss, quickening the pace, mouthing something that Choutarou can’t understand, yet does anyway, because it’s there in Shishido’s eyes, his face, the way he bites his lip, sucks on it like a drowning man, while he’s coming, spurting thick semen all over Choutarou’s hand, chest and shirt.
The hand on his dick tightens, strokes faster, harder, and golden heat spreads from his groin through his body, hot and tight and taught, pulling and pushing, filling the palms of his hands and feet with sparkling electricity, sending shockwaves back into his body, until he cannot see or feel or hear anything anymore coming in Shishido’s hand.
Shishido sags against him then, pulling his hands from Choutarou’s sticky pants. Choutarou breathes in deeply, thrice, to make his head stop swimming, and when it doesn’t work, he simply gives up and buries his face in Shishido’s neck, rolling them over into a more comfortable position.
"Ouch," Shishido mumbles and pulls his leg out from under Choutarou’s. "We’re all sticky."
Choutarou can’t help but grin, and Shishido slaps the back of his head.
"Do you know how to use a washing machine and a dryer?" Shishido asks yawning, sitting up, stretching, and then lying down again, moulding against Choutarou despite the stickiness. Choutarou knows they’ll have to deal with quite a few things sooner rather than later, and there’s also school tomorrow, but somehow none of that seems to matter right now. They’ll deal with that later, much later when they’re not as comfortable.
"Hn," Choutarou answers, watching him, reaching out for him, and pulling him close. Shishido doesn’t resist, just kind of tries to keep a bit of a distance from the stickiest parts on Choutarou’s clothing.
"Ew," he says after a moment, but kisses Choutarou tentatively. It’s comfortable, if a little gross, and Choutarou can somehow feel both of them drifting off to sleep. He does know that they’ll have to get up to shower and clean up soon, but. Not yet. A question pops up in his head then: "Hey?"
"What?" Shishido yawns.
"Do you like raspberry shortcake?"
Shishido snorts and shakes his head. "Yuck, no." And a moment later: "Why?"
Choutarou grins again, burying his nose in Shishido’s hair. "No reason." Hugs him and holds him close.
Not raspberry shortcake, then. He knew it.