A/N: Written for Rae, Hoshi, and Mcat. Subscribes to the fanon notion of plopping boys into a dormitory, though I know full well that in canon, they live at their homes.

by Ruebert

Kneeling upon his bed was the easiest position -- he'd discarded clothing quickly, and found himself shivering in the cold of the room. Callused fingers trailed up from his waist across sensitive skin that already wanted to raise in gooseflesh, ran lightly across his nipples, stroking and rubbing as he closed his eyes. Gods. He wanted to imagine someone else there, someone else touching him. That was what he wanted, but the thought of going beyond this well-worn fantasy was a terrifying one. This was safe. It couldn't be as good as it must feel to share with another person, he knew that in a way that made his chest ache, which was forgotten again in the next moment when he dropped one hand down to his growing erection.

Hiyoshi bit down on his lower lip as he stroked himself, once, twice, before releasing too-sensitive flesh to reach for the small tube of unscented lotion that lay cradled in the depression in the mattress caused by his left knee. He didn't need to look or use his other hand to open it and squeeze a good amount into his palm, dropping the still-open tube to the sheets before he engulfed his arousal in that hand again. The cool lotion was a shock at first, but further friction warmed it. Oh. That felt so damn good.

He kept his eyes closed as he continued to manipulate himself, tugging and pulling and stroking in the different variations he preferred. He didn't want to rush it, and sometimes he paused to let himself calm a little before pursuing it again. Behind his eyes, he built the scene he wanted. It was an old, old fantasy, but the one he was most attached to; sometimes the players changed, but generally he preferred to keep the same cast. Lately, the second lead had been switching, the understudy for the role taking over far more often, but this afternoon he found himself drawn back to the old, familiar and sweet.


It had been a long tennis practice -- there was a tournament coming up soon, and the regulars had played hard. Hiyoshi's muscles ached -- he wanted nothing more than a hot shower to wash away the sweat and grime from playing long hours in the afternoon sun before the light gave way to cooling evening. It was a chore to drag himself up the stairs to the second-year floor. When he closed the door, he went straight to his bed, sitting down upon it heavily. He still wore his club uniform; he hadn't even bothered to stop and change before retreating to the dormitory. There was a reason for that, and that reason had been taunting him all afternoon, from the court just beside his, during exercises, in a practice doubles match that he'd lost miserably because he simply did not play well with others at the best of times, and he was easily distracted by the sun shining from silvered hair. Damn him ... not even tennis had been enough to keep his thoughts from wandering.

Those wandering thoughts were what urged him on now, what caused him to hook his fingers in the waistband of his shorts, lift his hips off the mattress so that he could drag his shorts and briefs down, let them fall to his ankles and step out of them..

This wasn't the first time he'd done this -- he knew his roommate would stay late at practice, helping his doubles partner to train and to pick up any equipment that might be left out still. Choutarou was responsible that way. It'd be even longer while he changed and showered at the club rooms, before he returned to their room. By the time he did, Hiyoshi's own shower would be long since over. He'd never been discovered like this, and he never would be. His roommate was predictable.

Hiyoshi did not bother to grab the dirty clothing and toss it into the laundry as he normally would, instead crossing the room to his dresser in nothing but socks and shirt which smelled of his own sour sweat. He pulled open the top drawer, searching under neatly folded, pristinely-white pairs of briefs until he found what he wanted, and returned to the bed. He sat again, taking only a moment to smear slippery liquid across both palms, work it from shocking cool to warmth before slipping his hand down to take his cock into his hand, stroking it in the fashion he'd been craving, letting himself think of the boy who haunted his daydreams as well as his normal dreams. Let himself relive watching the other boy run and jump, the muscles of his arms as he served, the sleek power hidden within gentleness. Ohtori didn't have a clue.

He didn't make a sound when he jerked off, had learned to silence the soft gasps and moans which wanted to escape. Too many nights he'd worked himself to a climax while his roommate slept, unaware, on the other side of the room. It was risky, yes -- but that was half of the thrill. If Ohtori ever caught him, what would he say? What would he do, if Wakashi ever released one soft word into the darkened room, and he heard? "Choutarou..."

He released himself, moved on the bed, turned so that he faced the wall, could kneel. It was easier this way, more comfortable somehow, knees spread far apart on the blankets as he worked himself again. He was close, getting so close -- he hated rushing it, but though the miniscule risk of being caught was a turn-on, he didn't really want to be caught. It just made his pleasure a bit more fun, to think that Ohtori might return, might see him jerking off in plain sight on his bed. What would the innocent think or say? He was sure Ohtori didn't know a thing about sex. Staring at a pale back in the showers, rivulets of water tracing every curve of muscle beneath skin. Hiyoshi sucked in a breath, releasing it in a moan.

"Choutarou.." Forbidden longing made the name sound both sweet and rough in his low tones.

A hand that was not one of his own covered his upon his arousal, and Hiyoshi's eyes opened. The wall shook crazily for a moment as panicked eyes darted back and forth, the patterns of the drywall texture confusing him before another hand that wasn't his caught his chin, forced him to still. His heart was racing, his stomach curling in on itself. Caught, he'd been caught, who had caught him?

"Let go!" The gasp was half plea, half order. His breathing wouldn't slow, he could hear static in his ears, and he couldn't fight the hands that held him, couldn't pull his head away from the strong grip that held it captive. Someone's chest was pressed against his back, against his shoulders. Who was it? Who was it?

Thirty seconds passed; perhaps a full minute. Hiyoshi's struggles quieted, and he held himself perfectly still, as still as he could be with someone holding him. His eyes rolled in his face, trying to look down, trying to see the hand that covered his upon his cock, to gain a clue of just who it was that held him. The thought that it was Ohtori was immediately discarded; his roommate would never do something like this. But who else had a key to their room? "Let go," he said again, and this time the words came out calm and even, despite the fact that he was still panicking inwardly. The thought that he should feel shamed that he had been caught did not even cross his mind; he was too frightened by the fact that this person had touched him, was still touching him in this proprietary way. Frightened? He was never frightened, he snarled inwardly, but that didn't change reality.

The fingers and thumb that grasped his chin let go, trailing up along the line of his jaw and into his hair, though the hand that covered his own on his penis did not. He was able to look down, and he studied the hand that covered his, stared at the thumb that stroked over his knuckles gently. He knew that hand. He didn't have to turn his head, look over his shoulder, see the face of the last person he expected. He wanted to say 'you don't do things like this!', wanted to protest the fact that his comfortable world had slanted and left him seeing things at angles that were unnatural. In the end he said nothing, simply focused his gaze upon the wrinkles of the sheets bunched beneath one scabbed knee. If he stared hard enough, would he be able to figure out the thread-count?

Silence implied acceptance; his lack of struggle was his acquiescence. Do what you want; I won't stop you.

The owner of that hand, however, did not allow him to look aside, to ignore the reality of what was happening, to simply be a pawn moved as a player would. The mattress shifted beneath his knees, and that same hand that had held his chin now moved away from fine strands of hair to catch his cheek, turning his head as the other boy moved, knelt on the mattress, forced Hiyoshi to look at him as his grip shifted on the smaller boy's penis to accommodate the new position. 'Ohtori,' he tried to say, but the name that left his lips was silent, and the only response he received was a small smile beneath serious eyes that closed as his mouth was covered, preventing him from attempting to speak again.

Hiyoshi did not have much practice with kissing; a few fumbling attempts with girls in grade school before tennis had become a huge part of his life constituted the bulk of his experience. He wasn't sure how to respond, what he was supposed to do, and finally he gave in, closing his eyes, though the vision of the tip of Ohtori's tongue moistening his lips stayed with him, as if burned onto his retinas.

He tried to gauge what he should do from what Ohtori did -- where had his roommate learned to kiss, anyway? -- and when the other shifted his lips against his, he did so as well, finding that he enjoyed the contact more than he recalled from years before. But none of those girls had cradled his erection in their hand, either, none of them had shifted their grip over his so that their thumb could brush lightly over the head of his cock, slick with lotion and precome. his body tensed.

What reaction did Ohtori want? He was thinking too much, he knew, but none of this made sense, and he found that he didn't care as the other's lips parted slightly, and he felt the warm tip of a tongue tracing his upper lip, lightly, then his bottom lip, and he took a breath when he opened his lips. Lightly, he responded back; the tip of his tongue meeting Ohtori's before their lips met again. Warm heat -- did that mean that his mouth seemed cool to the other? -- and Ohtori's tongue following his back into his mouth, slick and invasive, prodding him to respond. He pushed back experimentally, and then more aggressively when it seemed that was what the other expected of him.

At the same time, the fingers on top of his cock lightly pried away his loose hold, took the place of his hand, engulfed him completely in a grip larger than his own; Ohtori was bigger than he was in every way, he thought distractedly, and that extended not just from hands but to other parts of his anatomy as well and he tried to suck in a breath but failed, instead taking in Ohtori's exhalation. There was not enough oxygen to satisfy his lungs.

A shallow moan wanted to leave his throat as that hand upon him began to stroke and slide; it was swallowed by vocal cords that were too tight to allow sound to escape. His tongue did battle with Ohtori's; he didn't know how far was too far, what the other boy preferred. Instead he did what his body insisted it wanted, which was to meet the other's exploration defensively. This wasn't about power, he thought distractedly, or was it?

The hand upon his sex was settling into a rhythm that shook Hiyoshi; it was one that he knew as well as his own hard breathing, as well as the sound of a ball ricocheting from his racket. How could Ohtori know just how he liked to jerk off? Maybe it was a common thing --

The other boy was pulling away from the kiss, withdrawing gently, slowly. He gasped, taking in a shuddering lungful of air that tasted somehow empty, left him unfulfilled. He opened his eyes, peering at Ohtori's face through his hair, staring as he swallowed, the last traces of Ohtori's saliva mixed with his own disappearing into his stomach. Part of him inside of him.

'Do you want me to stop?' Brown eyes seemed to be saying, though he didn't say a word, and Hiyoshi found that strange, because of the two of them, Ohtori was the one more prone to speaking about inconsequential things. He said nothing in return, closing his eyes briefly, then opening them.

The hand that had fallen to his knee when the other boy had brushed it aside lifted, and reached up, across, to touch Ohtori's jersey -- he came to their room after cleaning up after practice, that's how he saw, but he never broke his routine, why had he this one time, why had he caught Hiyoshi like this? -- fingers curled around a broad arm and clamped down as Hiyoshi's face contorted, eyes shutting as a silent whine escaped his lips. Too much; he usually slowed when he reached this point, if he wanted to linger in the experience, let his arousal come down before bringing himself up to the peak again.

The hand upon his cock gentled, slowed, though it did not leave him altogether. He caught his breath in soft panting, then stared at Ohtori, who was not smiling; Hiyoshi knew that expression, treasured it more than the smiles and clumsy shyness that overtook the other junior at times. Ohtori's features were set with determination; a decision had been made that Hiyoshi was not privy to.

The warmth of that hand left his shaft, moved up to Hiyoshi's hip, turned the boy away from him, forcing Hiyoshi to release the bicep he'd latched onto. For a moment, he wondered if he'd done something wrong before he instead felt those fingers sliding across one buttock, leaving a sticky trail as they did so. He froze for a moment, then relaxed. Ohtori didn't want that; he couldn't want that -- hot hard fuck cry whisper scream -- the boy was too innocent. But, his memory prodded him hard, he'd also thought that Ohtori would never kiss him, would never take his cock into his palm and give him the beginnings of a handjob.

Ohtori was moving on the bed, pulling Hiyoshi with him; he cupped the curve of Hiyoshi's ass in his wide hands, gave him a gentle push that resulted in him falling forward, catching himself on his palms. Aware of the way he looked, must look, Hiyoshi focused on his hands, staring down at splayed fingers. "Is that what you want?" he whispered, forcing the words past stone lips. He did not expect an answer, and thus was not surprised when he did not receive one, only a shifting of the mattress behind him, and knees that touched the insides of his calves.

He wasn't sure if it was apprehension or eagerness that caused him to close his eyes; he could hear noises, Ohtori doing something, a soft swish of cloth followed by another sensation upon his legs. His shorts. Ohtori'd pulled them down. "Hurry up," he snarled suddenly, wanting the nervousness to pass, the "will-he won't-he" sensation to go away.

Again silence was his reward, and then he felt it, a slick finger sliding down the crack of his ass, cool with whatever Ohtori'd chosen to use as lubricant - had he found the little bottle of lotion? Did it matter? Then that finger was tracing lightly over the sensitive skin of his asshole, around and around and he sucked in a breath. He'd experimented with his own fingers, but he'd never thought it could be so different when it was someone else touching him, slipping that finger in up to the first knuckle, then pulling out again. He didn't move, waited, and then he felt it again, wet liquid that dribbled between his buttocks, then that finger sliding into him, working its way in, stroking. When it very gently pressed against his prostate he shuddered, fingers closing around handfuls of sheets as the resulting sensation jolted through him, up his spine, caused him to suck in a breath.

He wanted more. Twisting his shoulders, he looked back at Ohtori, at the face that was turned down, eyes intently staring at the working of a long finger as it worked the lubricant into him, then pulled out. What now? Would he hurry up? Did he really want this to happen -- Ohtori inside him, taking him, pounding into him, fuck yes he wanted it. Reality was frightening.

His eyes narrowed as Ohtori looked up, met his gaze, and then was moving, the mattress shifting, and the pale-haired boy had looked away again, brows drawn together as though he were concentrating hard, and Hiyoshi felt it, the thick head of what must be Ohtori's cock, guided by one hand as the other clamped upon Hiyoshi's ass to hold it steady. His eyes widened, and then he looked away, closing them tightly, keeping that image -- Ohtori's cheeks were flushed as if he'd been playing a hard match, and his eyes were so determined and focused upon this goal that Hiyoshi felt something in his stomach knot.

Hiyoshi let out a breath that shook as he felt himself stretched wide, felt the other boy slide into him, pausing to rest for a moment. Then Ohtori continued and as he moved, organs shifted to accommodate the other, and the pressure caused a repetition of the prior resulting sensation. Hiyoshi wanted more, wanted that slick slide against muscles meant to stay closed up and tight. Too slow. He pushed backwards, towards the other, and the message came across, it seemed, for in another motion Ohtori had comfortably seated himself, and he paused, leaning over Hiyoshi, his own breath escaping in a soft groan.

Most of the sensation concentrated on the tight ring of muscle that gripped Ohtori, that held him firm before he began to move, a short thrust followed by another and another. It was similar to when Hiyoshi'd fucked himself with his own fingers, but it was so much more, the delicious sensation of friction combining with each stroke that pressed against the spot that gave him that electrifying sensation. He'd already been hard, and so close to the edge; this was pushing him there faster than he'd thought possible.

He wanted, needed more; sliding down, he freed one hand to reach for himself, take hold, stroke in slow motions that stayed in time with each gasp wrung out of him by Ohtori's cock. Strangled panting tried to escape a throat long since closed up; he did not moan, could not moan, could not speak the name that wanted to seep through his lips. Choutarou, Choutarou, harder, faster, more...

Ohtori complied, without needing to hear the words which refused to drop into air that hung silent, marked only by the soft sounds of two bodies joining and pulling apart, joining and pulling apart; when Ohtori shifted, changed the angle of his penetration, the depth of his strokes, Hiyoshi felt, but didn't hear the scream that strained his vocal cords, pulled free as his body hit that edge, crossed it, spasmed. He could feel each contraction of muscle around Ohtori's cock, and as the other boy continued to thrust into him, too much sensation, far too much. His cock was the center of his world for a few brief seconds as he came, as his body shook and his knuckles whitened around sheets, his hand on his erection pausing as his hips thrust uncontrollably, as his come was released in spurts that decorated sheets, stomach and jersey alike.

As he came down from his high, Ohtori continued to thrust, and he shuddered each time the other boy entered him, pulled out almost completely, slammed home again; it still felt good, still gave him shivery aftershocks as connection was made, stoking against his prostate still. When he heard a soft grunt, and Ohtori's motions stilled momentarily, he knew that the other had found it; the resulting penetrations were shallow, and he didn't hear any names, any words in Ohtori's harsh breathing as his rhythm slowed, finally coming to a stop.

They remained like that for a short while, Ohtori slumping over Hiyoshi's body; he was heavy, but most of his weight did not reach Hiyoshi, only the warmth of his torso against his back, Ohtori's cock still within him, filling him as the other boy's breathing sounded gently in his ears as both of their bodies calmed.

It was strange; Hiyoshi would not have normally ascribed any emotional response to being screwed, not even by Ohtori, but for some reason he did not want the other boy to move, did not want to feel the gentle pulling motions as he withdrew, hear the odd, funny-sounding pop as his cock slid free, leaving Hiyoshi feeling curiously empty. He opened his mouth, wanting to raise hs voice in protest, then closed it again. What was there to say?

More shifting of the mattress, and he suddenly knew Ohtori had stood up. Hiyoshi twisted on his hands and knees, looking up at the other boy, who was dragging his shorts up from his knees, eyes on Hiyoshi as he did so. "Why?" he asked, and Ohtori did not reply, just looked at him, and then he walked across the room, to the bathroom that they shared with the dorm room next door.

The door clicked shut, the tumblers of the lock fell into place. Hiyoshi tumbled over onto his side, and as he heard the shower begin to run in the bathroom, he drew his knees up to his chest.


When he raised his fingers to his lips, he tasted his own come; it had a faintly metallic, salty taste, but that was not unusual, he thought as he rolled his tongue over the tips of the digits, swallowing his own essence. Perhaps it was faintly reminiscent of the dried sweat he licked off his own shoulder just before stepping into the warm spray of the shower after practice; perhaps it was a little like tears. He pulled his fingers free, focused on them, then looked down at his bare stomach, his wilting cock.

It was never quite as good as he hoped it would be, but he'd known it would be that way, too. Even in his fantasies, Hiyoshi could not escape the fact that he was alone.

The End

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