Not Something You Can Practice [R; Choutarou/Shishido]
Title: Not Something You Can Practice
Author: worblehat
Genre: Prince of Tennis
Pairing: Choutarou/Shishido
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Characters belong to someone else, k.
Notes: Inspired by episode 112. Also, I assumed Atobe's mansion came with American doors as opposed to slide-screens. If this is incorrect, my apologies. It's not a big plot point, anyway. Um, my usual beta is MIA so I tried to do it myself here.
Summary: Shishido helps Choutarou with his Scud Serve; Choutarou hesitates to ask more of him.
Word Count: 2,535
Shishido's arms were comforting, his chest pressed against Choutarou's back as he tried to guide his swing. Choutarou was still twisting his wrist, despite the numerous tries he'd had at trying to change the way his hand moved during his Scud Serve. They'd been in the abandoned floor just over two hours and while he was getting closer to the target, there was something that still didn't seem right, still didn't click.
Shishido's fingers were firm at his wrist, holding it as they did a few practice strokes together against the empty air. Choutarou was a little surprised that Shishido had been so willing to help him; even more so that he was this close, his voice rough and businesslike, just like his guiding movements. Choutarou hid a smile at the way Shishido's breath felt warm on his neck, the closeness warm and unexpectedly welcome.
The sounds of Choutarou's serves echoed in the basement as they slammed against the walls, each one getting closer to the target but bouncing off. Shishido didn't say much except every now and again, urging Choutarou not to twist his wrist.
The sunlight warmed the dark walls as it streamed in through the open cracks. Choutarou focused, his eyes settling on the small break in the wall: his target of the past few hours. He looked at Shishido, who stared intently back. Choutarou aimed; he served.
It went through.
After several seconds, Choutarou smiled: it had gone in. The twist in his serve was beginning to vanish. Shishido's hands were on his shoulders, a rare, genuine smile on his face. Choutarou smiled at the congratulatory words; at the pressure on his body just before Shishido walked back to his spot at the far edge of the building.
Choutarou smiled, unhidden this time. He felt proud of his advancement, proud with each serve at his progress. His heart raced, though he knew pride wasn't the only thing behind it.
When they left, Shishido slung one arm around Choutarou's neck. He didn't let go until they left the building, each heading in opposite directions.
*
The Seigaku coach, Ryuzaki, had come by, asking for their help. Atobe had done all the talking while the others stood by, out of earshot, wondering what the outcome would be.
When Atobe walked in and announced that they would be playing against Seigaku, Choutarou looked over at Shishido, who was focusing hard. He turned and Choutarou's smile faltered; until Shishido grinned at him, his eyes flashing knowingly, his thoughts all too easy to read:
This time, we'll show them what we're made of.
*
"Shishido-san," said Choutarou after dinner. They walked together, towards the tennis courts. It was dark, the stars lining the sky in vague patterns. Shishido walked just ahead of Choutarou, determination making his stance seem stiff, yet not awkward. His shoulders were set, and though Choutarou couldn't see his face, he knew that the eyes were sharp, the lips drawn tightly together. Shishido's face before a match was always a little frightening, though Choutarou felt oddly warmed by the consistency of his teammate's fighting spirit.
They stopped suddenly, just as they entered the courts. Shishido turned, placing the edge of his racket gently against his shoulder. "What is it, Choutarou?"
The air was still, the wind lightly flapping against their tennis jerseys. Choutarou bowed his head. "Thanks for helping to train with me." When he looked up, he saw Shishido's head bowed in turn. He blushed. Shishido stood straight, his eyes fixed on Choutarou. "I..."
"Let's practice," said Shishido.
Choutarou watched him as he walked towards the opposite end of the court. The lights brightened the space between them.
He served.
*
Impulse wasn't something Choutarou often gave into, especially if he didn't think it would turn out well. He looked down at the doorknob, wondering if he should try it, or if maybe a knock would be more polite. His hand, usually so confident during serves, felt awkward, his fingers fluttering as he wavered between placing his hand on the door and retracting out of fear of waking Shishido.
"Choutarou-kun," said Gakuto as he walked up. "You're still up?"
Choutarou blanched. "Oh...yes. Couldn't sleep."
Gakuto grinned. "Are you excited for the match tomorrow? Against Seigaku?"
The noise of covers pulled back and irritated mumbling reached Choutarou's ears, but he couldn't move - it would look suspicious. He stayed where he was, smiling politely. "Of course," he answered. "It's our chance."
"Our chance, ne?" asked Gakuto, smirking. "You've been spending too much time with Shishido. You're beginning to talk like him."
"What's wrong with that?"
Both turned at the gruff sound of Shishido's voice. Gakuto edged away; Choutarou remained in place, knowing that it would just irritate Shishido if he moved. Above all, Shishido despised a lack of power, of self-confidence; Choutarou didn't like being on the receiving end of Shishido's annoyed look and tried to avoid it as much as possible.
Shishido was looking at Gakuto this way now. Gakuto tried to play it off, laughing in faux amusement. "Nothing," he said in answer to Shishido's question. "If you don't mind a haircut like that."
As Shishido lunged for the quickly-disappearing Gakuto, Choutarou reached out, holding him with one arm. Shishido's look was angry but not disappointed as he was restrained. "You should save your strength," said Choutarou lightly. "For tomorrow."
It took a few seconds, but eventually Shishido relaxed; Choutarou let his hold remain a little longer than was necessary. "You're right," said Shishido, though he still seemed slightly worked up. He frowned as their eyes met. "What were you doing outside my room?"
"Your room?" Choutarou blinked, ignoring the warm flush in his cheeks. Of course Shishido would notice something like that; if he'd just let go, Choutarou could be back in his room already, without having to face Shishido's quizzical stare that burned with curious intensity. "I - I thought you might be up."
Shishido kept staring, his mouth half-open.
"I - I mean," said Choutarou, trying not to let his voice falter, "I thought if you wanted to talk about the match -"
"Sleep is important to a productive game," said Shishido with a grunt.
"Of course - you're right," said Choutarou, feeling more out of place by the second. "Sorry." He turned quickly and headed back to his room.
Shishido stood in his own doorway, watching the retreating form of Choutarou and blinking in confusion.
*
The bed was comfortable, the sheets soft and thin. Choutarou looked up at his ceiling, willing himself to sleep. He sighed, Shishido's confused face wedged in his thoughts. A soft knock made him start; he gripped the sheets, sitting up in concern.
The knock grew louder, yet still too faint to be certain it was intentional. The hiss of Choutarou's name made him stand up and walk to the door. He wished right then that Atobe's cottage wasn't so Western; screens would allow him a better chance of seeing who it was.
He listened for his name again; if it was Gakuto, he would climb right back into bed: he had no desire to talk about tomorrow's match. What he wanted was to fall asleep, peacefully if possible, yanking Shishido's warmth, arms and face out of his mind.
"Choutarou," came the hiss again, this time more insistent. "Open up. It's me, Shishido."
"Shishido," repeated Choutarou in wonder before he could stop himself. He unlocked the door, opening it wide. "What are you doing awake?" he asked.
Shishido's stare was unreadable. He looked at the ground. "I can't sleep," he muttered.
Choutarou smiled; at least he wasn't the only person to have difficulties preparing for the next day. Without a word, he opened the door wider, allowing Shishido to enter. He closed and locked it, watching shishido as he walked towards the bed, staring at it thoughtfully before deciding not to sit. Choutarou smiled at Shishido's quiet discomfort. "Sit down," he said gently, smiling.
Shishido's mouth tightened but he accepted the invitation to relax, resting at the very edge of Choutarou's bed. Choutarou took a seat next to him, far enough away to be respectful but close enough for him. "I was thinking," said Shishido quietly.
"About what?" asked Choutarou, forcing his mind not to leap to conclusions, but with difficulty.
Shishido's gaze rested on Choutarou's face. "On tomorrow's match."
Despite his attempts at curbing his own hope (which he knew to be rather foolish), he felt his heart sink a little bit. Forcing a smile that he didn't quite feel, he nodded. "What about it?"
"Do you feel ready for it?" asked Shishido challengingly.
Choutarou's eyes were serious when he answered. "Yes," he said promptly. "With your help, I've tackled the one weak point in my Scud Serve."
Shishido's face coloured a faint pink. "You would have been able to do it anyway, Choutarou," he said, focusing his eyes on the floor. "I was just paying you back for the favour you did me."
Choutarou tried to ignore the simple way Shishido brushed off his own attempts; and Choutarou himself in the process. Risking another possibly awkward encounter, he let his hand slide across the covers, resting lightly on top of Shishido's callused fingers. His throat felt dry as he tried to come up with the right words - words that would let Shishido see what his help had meant; words that wouldn't scare him off. "I couldn't have done it without your help," he said. "I couldn't have come this far without you to push me to try harder."
Shishido remained quiet. His hands didn't move; neither did his eyes. Choutarou waited, his fingers beginning to feel awkward above Shishido's. He wondered if he should move them; maybe Shishido had fallen asleep right there, or maybe -
The palm turned upward, fingers slipping through Choutarou's and squeezing. Shishido said nothing as he raised his head, slowly, intense determination in his eyes; and something else. Choutarou hadn't ever seen Shishido pause in his decisions; he hadn't seen Shishido wary or afraid.
He saw it now, and wondered at its appearance.
Shishido's grip tightened, almost painful as he leaned in, face warm and red, lips pressing against Choutarou's. Choutarou's eyes widened, wondering if what was happening was actually happening or if it was some strange, wonderful dream he was having. The fingers in his hair, at his neck were rough and shaking a little. Choutarou closed his hands over them, guiding Shishido the way he'd been guided in the warehouse. He had no idea of what he was doing, not really, just that he liked Shishido's hands on his body, shaky or not.
With Choutarou's silent guidance, Shishido began to explore his body a little more, crawling on top of him, keeping the kiss; his hands fumbling a little as they pulled the shirt Choutarou wore to bed upward, fingertips splayed as he touched the giving skin beneath him. Choutarou lie back on the bed, mimicking Shishido's movements, his hands wrapping around Shishido, feeling the tense, fluctuating muscles in Shishido's back as their bodies met hesitatingly. He couldn't help the blush that spread through his cheeks when Shishido rocked his hips against him, his former hesitance nearly gone.
Choutarou wondered if he had been the only one thinking about this when he felt Shishido's hand around him, smooth, quick strokes making him arch upward. It was difficult to focus through the haze of surprise and want, yet Choutarou forced his mind to think of Shishido this time, to let his hands slide under the elastic of Shishido's pants, fingers wrapping around his length.
Their kisses became more erratic, breaths warm and fast-paced as their hands sped up. Choutarou twisted his hand, the way he had done previously for his Scud Serves, mouth curving into a smile when he heard Shishido's muffled moan of appreciation. He felt Shishido bite down onto his lower lip when he came, drinking in the moans and grunts Choutarou expelled as his body shuddered, white pearls of liquid coating Shishido's hand.
He looked up, his eyes wide with surprise as he saw the half-lidded, lustful yet somewhat surprised look in Shishido's eyes. Choutarou felt embarrassed yet aroused as he realised that Shishido had been watching him - watching every movement of his body - as he'd come; that he'd probably memorise it for later, for himself.
Watching Shishido, Choutarou focused on the movements of his hand, twisting and stroking, enjoying the soft blush that had reappeared in Shishido's face. He breathed hard, still excited as Shishido struggled to keep a determined look on his face, which faltered as he got markedly closer to his orgasm.
"Shishido-san..."
The warm spurts of release against Choutarou's hand and stomach made Chotuarou's heart skip a beat. Shishido's face was contorted, a constrained look of pain, or perhaps held-back pleasure dominating his features. Choutarou's hand slowed, not quite stopping, watching Shishido's face, eyes lowering briefly to take in the sight of Shishido's cock moving in and out of his hand as he rode the last waves of his release, Choutarou's name falling softly from his lips.
*
"I need to get back to my room," said Shishido as he stood, walking from the bed. Sunlight filtered into the room, reminding Choutarou of their night in the warehouse. That night, Shishido had helped him - had trained him to learn something new. He wondered if this was another one of those times; or if, perhaps, their roles had been somewhat reversed.
"Right," said Choutarou, sitting up. He watched as Shishido walked toward the door, feeling a vague sadness. He wondered if this was a one-time thing; if Shishido had done it just to pump him up for the game.
Hand on the doorknob, Shishido turned and pulled. He stood there for several seconds, Choutarou's gaze fixed on his back. Choutarou waited for him to say something; instead, Shishido closed the door behind him with an unexpected slam.
Choutarou sighed.
*
Shishido's eyes were bright and encouraging during Choutarou's game against Kawamura. He tried not to let it stir him up as much as it did, but it was no use. The way Shishido kept urging him on, even when Kawamura managed to return his newly-powered Scud Serve was more than Choutarou had expected.
At the abrupt end of his match against Momoshiro, Choutarou watched Shishido gather his fallen necklace from the court.
*
"That's lame."
Choutarou gripped the falling necklace from Shishido's open hand, taking pleasure in the surprised look on his teammate's face as he blinked in confusion at their twin reaction to the name of Momo's serve. "Isn't it?" he asked, smiling.
Shishido opened his mouth as if to say something, his eyes disbelieving; widening a little at the confident, playful look in Choutarou's eyes - eyes that were normally polite and friendly, equipped with an agreeable set of words that didn't use words like "lame." His fingers flexed and relaxed, the way they had before, indecision and confusion fighting with the urge for closeness.
Choutarou smiled to himself, pocketing the necklace; enjoying Shishido's conflicted, silent gaze and the way shy fingers rested against his own - far enough to be polite, but close enough for both of them.
Author: worblehat
Genre: Prince of Tennis
Pairing: Choutarou/Shishido
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Characters belong to someone else, k.
Notes: Inspired by episode 112. Also, I assumed Atobe's mansion came with American doors as opposed to slide-screens. If this is incorrect, my apologies. It's not a big plot point, anyway. Um, my usual beta is MIA so I tried to do it myself here.
Summary: Shishido helps Choutarou with his Scud Serve; Choutarou hesitates to ask more of him.
Word Count: 2,535
Shishido's arms were comforting, his chest pressed against Choutarou's back as he tried to guide his swing. Choutarou was still twisting his wrist, despite the numerous tries he'd had at trying to change the way his hand moved during his Scud Serve. They'd been in the abandoned floor just over two hours and while he was getting closer to the target, there was something that still didn't seem right, still didn't click.
Shishido's fingers were firm at his wrist, holding it as they did a few practice strokes together against the empty air. Choutarou was a little surprised that Shishido had been so willing to help him; even more so that he was this close, his voice rough and businesslike, just like his guiding movements. Choutarou hid a smile at the way Shishido's breath felt warm on his neck, the closeness warm and unexpectedly welcome.
The sounds of Choutarou's serves echoed in the basement as they slammed against the walls, each one getting closer to the target but bouncing off. Shishido didn't say much except every now and again, urging Choutarou not to twist his wrist.
The sunlight warmed the dark walls as it streamed in through the open cracks. Choutarou focused, his eyes settling on the small break in the wall: his target of the past few hours. He looked at Shishido, who stared intently back. Choutarou aimed; he served.
It went through.
After several seconds, Choutarou smiled: it had gone in. The twist in his serve was beginning to vanish. Shishido's hands were on his shoulders, a rare, genuine smile on his face. Choutarou smiled at the congratulatory words; at the pressure on his body just before Shishido walked back to his spot at the far edge of the building.
Choutarou smiled, unhidden this time. He felt proud of his advancement, proud with each serve at his progress. His heart raced, though he knew pride wasn't the only thing behind it.
When they left, Shishido slung one arm around Choutarou's neck. He didn't let go until they left the building, each heading in opposite directions.
*
The Seigaku coach, Ryuzaki, had come by, asking for their help. Atobe had done all the talking while the others stood by, out of earshot, wondering what the outcome would be.
When Atobe walked in and announced that they would be playing against Seigaku, Choutarou looked over at Shishido, who was focusing hard. He turned and Choutarou's smile faltered; until Shishido grinned at him, his eyes flashing knowingly, his thoughts all too easy to read:
This time, we'll show them what we're made of.
*
"Shishido-san," said Choutarou after dinner. They walked together, towards the tennis courts. It was dark, the stars lining the sky in vague patterns. Shishido walked just ahead of Choutarou, determination making his stance seem stiff, yet not awkward. His shoulders were set, and though Choutarou couldn't see his face, he knew that the eyes were sharp, the lips drawn tightly together. Shishido's face before a match was always a little frightening, though Choutarou felt oddly warmed by the consistency of his teammate's fighting spirit.
They stopped suddenly, just as they entered the courts. Shishido turned, placing the edge of his racket gently against his shoulder. "What is it, Choutarou?"
The air was still, the wind lightly flapping against their tennis jerseys. Choutarou bowed his head. "Thanks for helping to train with me." When he looked up, he saw Shishido's head bowed in turn. He blushed. Shishido stood straight, his eyes fixed on Choutarou. "I..."
"Let's practice," said Shishido.
Choutarou watched him as he walked towards the opposite end of the court. The lights brightened the space between them.
He served.
*
Impulse wasn't something Choutarou often gave into, especially if he didn't think it would turn out well. He looked down at the doorknob, wondering if he should try it, or if maybe a knock would be more polite. His hand, usually so confident during serves, felt awkward, his fingers fluttering as he wavered between placing his hand on the door and retracting out of fear of waking Shishido.
"Choutarou-kun," said Gakuto as he walked up. "You're still up?"
Choutarou blanched. "Oh...yes. Couldn't sleep."
Gakuto grinned. "Are you excited for the match tomorrow? Against Seigaku?"
The noise of covers pulled back and irritated mumbling reached Choutarou's ears, but he couldn't move - it would look suspicious. He stayed where he was, smiling politely. "Of course," he answered. "It's our chance."
"Our chance, ne?" asked Gakuto, smirking. "You've been spending too much time with Shishido. You're beginning to talk like him."
"What's wrong with that?"
Both turned at the gruff sound of Shishido's voice. Gakuto edged away; Choutarou remained in place, knowing that it would just irritate Shishido if he moved. Above all, Shishido despised a lack of power, of self-confidence; Choutarou didn't like being on the receiving end of Shishido's annoyed look and tried to avoid it as much as possible.
Shishido was looking at Gakuto this way now. Gakuto tried to play it off, laughing in faux amusement. "Nothing," he said in answer to Shishido's question. "If you don't mind a haircut like that."
As Shishido lunged for the quickly-disappearing Gakuto, Choutarou reached out, holding him with one arm. Shishido's look was angry but not disappointed as he was restrained. "You should save your strength," said Choutarou lightly. "For tomorrow."
It took a few seconds, but eventually Shishido relaxed; Choutarou let his hold remain a little longer than was necessary. "You're right," said Shishido, though he still seemed slightly worked up. He frowned as their eyes met. "What were you doing outside my room?"
"Your room?" Choutarou blinked, ignoring the warm flush in his cheeks. Of course Shishido would notice something like that; if he'd just let go, Choutarou could be back in his room already, without having to face Shishido's quizzical stare that burned with curious intensity. "I - I thought you might be up."
Shishido kept staring, his mouth half-open.
"I - I mean," said Choutarou, trying not to let his voice falter, "I thought if you wanted to talk about the match -"
"Sleep is important to a productive game," said Shishido with a grunt.
"Of course - you're right," said Choutarou, feeling more out of place by the second. "Sorry." He turned quickly and headed back to his room.
Shishido stood in his own doorway, watching the retreating form of Choutarou and blinking in confusion.
*
The bed was comfortable, the sheets soft and thin. Choutarou looked up at his ceiling, willing himself to sleep. He sighed, Shishido's confused face wedged in his thoughts. A soft knock made him start; he gripped the sheets, sitting up in concern.
The knock grew louder, yet still too faint to be certain it was intentional. The hiss of Choutarou's name made him stand up and walk to the door. He wished right then that Atobe's cottage wasn't so Western; screens would allow him a better chance of seeing who it was.
He listened for his name again; if it was Gakuto, he would climb right back into bed: he had no desire to talk about tomorrow's match. What he wanted was to fall asleep, peacefully if possible, yanking Shishido's warmth, arms and face out of his mind.
"Choutarou," came the hiss again, this time more insistent. "Open up. It's me, Shishido."
"Shishido," repeated Choutarou in wonder before he could stop himself. He unlocked the door, opening it wide. "What are you doing awake?" he asked.
Shishido's stare was unreadable. He looked at the ground. "I can't sleep," he muttered.
Choutarou smiled; at least he wasn't the only person to have difficulties preparing for the next day. Without a word, he opened the door wider, allowing Shishido to enter. He closed and locked it, watching shishido as he walked towards the bed, staring at it thoughtfully before deciding not to sit. Choutarou smiled at Shishido's quiet discomfort. "Sit down," he said gently, smiling.
Shishido's mouth tightened but he accepted the invitation to relax, resting at the very edge of Choutarou's bed. Choutarou took a seat next to him, far enough away to be respectful but close enough for him. "I was thinking," said Shishido quietly.
"About what?" asked Choutarou, forcing his mind not to leap to conclusions, but with difficulty.
Shishido's gaze rested on Choutarou's face. "On tomorrow's match."
Despite his attempts at curbing his own hope (which he knew to be rather foolish), he felt his heart sink a little bit. Forcing a smile that he didn't quite feel, he nodded. "What about it?"
"Do you feel ready for it?" asked Shishido challengingly.
Choutarou's eyes were serious when he answered. "Yes," he said promptly. "With your help, I've tackled the one weak point in my Scud Serve."
Shishido's face coloured a faint pink. "You would have been able to do it anyway, Choutarou," he said, focusing his eyes on the floor. "I was just paying you back for the favour you did me."
Choutarou tried to ignore the simple way Shishido brushed off his own attempts; and Choutarou himself in the process. Risking another possibly awkward encounter, he let his hand slide across the covers, resting lightly on top of Shishido's callused fingers. His throat felt dry as he tried to come up with the right words - words that would let Shishido see what his help had meant; words that wouldn't scare him off. "I couldn't have done it without your help," he said. "I couldn't have come this far without you to push me to try harder."
Shishido remained quiet. His hands didn't move; neither did his eyes. Choutarou waited, his fingers beginning to feel awkward above Shishido's. He wondered if he should move them; maybe Shishido had fallen asleep right there, or maybe -
The palm turned upward, fingers slipping through Choutarou's and squeezing. Shishido said nothing as he raised his head, slowly, intense determination in his eyes; and something else. Choutarou hadn't ever seen Shishido pause in his decisions; he hadn't seen Shishido wary or afraid.
He saw it now, and wondered at its appearance.
Shishido's grip tightened, almost painful as he leaned in, face warm and red, lips pressing against Choutarou's. Choutarou's eyes widened, wondering if what was happening was actually happening or if it was some strange, wonderful dream he was having. The fingers in his hair, at his neck were rough and shaking a little. Choutarou closed his hands over them, guiding Shishido the way he'd been guided in the warehouse. He had no idea of what he was doing, not really, just that he liked Shishido's hands on his body, shaky or not.
With Choutarou's silent guidance, Shishido began to explore his body a little more, crawling on top of him, keeping the kiss; his hands fumbling a little as they pulled the shirt Choutarou wore to bed upward, fingertips splayed as he touched the giving skin beneath him. Choutarou lie back on the bed, mimicking Shishido's movements, his hands wrapping around Shishido, feeling the tense, fluctuating muscles in Shishido's back as their bodies met hesitatingly. He couldn't help the blush that spread through his cheeks when Shishido rocked his hips against him, his former hesitance nearly gone.
Choutarou wondered if he had been the only one thinking about this when he felt Shishido's hand around him, smooth, quick strokes making him arch upward. It was difficult to focus through the haze of surprise and want, yet Choutarou forced his mind to think of Shishido this time, to let his hands slide under the elastic of Shishido's pants, fingers wrapping around his length.
Their kisses became more erratic, breaths warm and fast-paced as their hands sped up. Choutarou twisted his hand, the way he had done previously for his Scud Serves, mouth curving into a smile when he heard Shishido's muffled moan of appreciation. He felt Shishido bite down onto his lower lip when he came, drinking in the moans and grunts Choutarou expelled as his body shuddered, white pearls of liquid coating Shishido's hand.
He looked up, his eyes wide with surprise as he saw the half-lidded, lustful yet somewhat surprised look in Shishido's eyes. Choutarou felt embarrassed yet aroused as he realised that Shishido had been watching him - watching every movement of his body - as he'd come; that he'd probably memorise it for later, for himself.
Watching Shishido, Choutarou focused on the movements of his hand, twisting and stroking, enjoying the soft blush that had reappeared in Shishido's face. He breathed hard, still excited as Shishido struggled to keep a determined look on his face, which faltered as he got markedly closer to his orgasm.
"Shishido-san..."
The warm spurts of release against Choutarou's hand and stomach made Chotuarou's heart skip a beat. Shishido's face was contorted, a constrained look of pain, or perhaps held-back pleasure dominating his features. Choutarou's hand slowed, not quite stopping, watching Shishido's face, eyes lowering briefly to take in the sight of Shishido's cock moving in and out of his hand as he rode the last waves of his release, Choutarou's name falling softly from his lips.
*
"I need to get back to my room," said Shishido as he stood, walking from the bed. Sunlight filtered into the room, reminding Choutarou of their night in the warehouse. That night, Shishido had helped him - had trained him to learn something new. He wondered if this was another one of those times; or if, perhaps, their roles had been somewhat reversed.
"Right," said Choutarou, sitting up. He watched as Shishido walked toward the door, feeling a vague sadness. He wondered if this was a one-time thing; if Shishido had done it just to pump him up for the game.
Hand on the doorknob, Shishido turned and pulled. He stood there for several seconds, Choutarou's gaze fixed on his back. Choutarou waited for him to say something; instead, Shishido closed the door behind him with an unexpected slam.
Choutarou sighed.
*
Shishido's eyes were bright and encouraging during Choutarou's game against Kawamura. He tried not to let it stir him up as much as it did, but it was no use. The way Shishido kept urging him on, even when Kawamura managed to return his newly-powered Scud Serve was more than Choutarou had expected.
At the abrupt end of his match against Momoshiro, Choutarou watched Shishido gather his fallen necklace from the court.
*
"That's lame."
Choutarou gripped the falling necklace from Shishido's open hand, taking pleasure in the surprised look on his teammate's face as he blinked in confusion at their twin reaction to the name of Momo's serve. "Isn't it?" he asked, smiling.
Shishido opened his mouth as if to say something, his eyes disbelieving; widening a little at the confident, playful look in Choutarou's eyes - eyes that were normally polite and friendly, equipped with an agreeable set of words that didn't use words like "lame." His fingers flexed and relaxed, the way they had before, indecision and confusion fighting with the urge for closeness.
Choutarou smiled to himself, pocketing the necklace; enjoying Shishido's conflicted, silent gaze and the way shy fingers rested against his own - far enough to be polite, but close enough for both of them.