ambush, strike two to finalize the blow [fic attack] soliloquy
Operation: Soliloquy
Formation: 33+80
Tactic: Seduction (aka fail smut)
Sort of a companion piece to Lost Cause. That I dearly wished I had erased now. Song lyric from Ai No Melody by Kokia.
Breathes, hot and heavy, mingle together and there’s needy lips on his, begging, pleading, wanting. “Slow down, y-you’re going too fast.” It’s more of a groan than an actual sentence and fingernails are digging into his back, proving that even if there is an objection it’s not a real one and they speed up rather than slow down.
Takeshi stared at the white pavement without really seeing it. He could still remember, feel, and taste that first time. Experimenting had been his idea to begin with, but Ryohei had willing went it along with it. There was the typical ‘that sounds extreme!’ from the boxer and that had been that. Rubbing at his arms for warmth, sweat still clinging to his skin, he wondered then why he was out here on the curb of his apartment complex, watching cars go by as that same partner slept away in his bed. It didn’t make sense, not to the casual observer, but for Takeshi it was routine by now. That still didn’t stop him from wondering why he was even allowing that routine to continue. He could end, any time, but yet he couldn’t. He didn’t want to. That first time kept playing over and over in his mind, reminding him exactly why it wasn’t possible.
His body shudders, blood racing and heart pounding, with each thrust. His hands wrap around wrists and pin them above a tossed back head. A tongue explores the contours of an ear and he moans loudly, without restraint, as the body beneath his starts to participate more. There’s a gasp as he rests his head, panting, on the shoulder of his partner. “I-I think that’s it for -” He’s flipped suddenly and without warning, but he can’t say he minds. Especially not when there’s a hand working at his limp erection, nimble fingers working with a talent they shouldn’t possess. He shudders again, but for a completely different reason. “What are you doing, senpai?”
There’s a lull, a long pause, and then a harsh whisper in his ear, “Don’t call me that here.”
That, Takeshi figured, was where things had originally gone wrong. That habit wasn’t one he could break easily. He had always seen Sasagawa Ryohei as a ‘senpai’, someone with more experience and fortitude than he could ever hope to achieve, but to ask him not to do what he had always done was like throwing a bucket of cold water in his face. He had insisted that there was nothing wrong with it. Ryohei had and still deserved the respect that came with that honorific. Thinking about it now, though, maybe that was why the boxer refused to say those three little words he had wanted to hear for so long. If they couldn’t be seen as equals, then their relationship was null and void. Technically speaking, anyway, because their more physical relationship was well intact.
“Nn,” is the incoherent sound in the air, followed closely by, “Faster.” Harder, faster, but definitely harder, he thinks, and his thoughts are answered no sooner than that. He’s a jumbled up mess of incoherency now, mind blanking of anything and everything that isn’t Ryohei. All he sees is pale hair and slick skin. All he feels is hands touching, tongues twining, and breath ghosting against his neck before teeth sink down. There’s a shock of pain and then he grins, almost in a daze, as the movement between them slows down and there’s that familiar tongue again, trailing over an inkling of blood. Soothing comfort is what Ryohei is to him. Nothing is likely to change that.
He makes the mistake of saying it for the first time, then, right then. “Love you.”
Running a hand through his hair, sighing, Takeshi didn’t know whether his past self was just that stupid or if it was generally his own idiocy that led to the destruction the one good thing he could have held onto. Their first fight - it ended in sex. Their first kill - it ended in sex. Their first separation - it ended in sex; phone sex, but still sex. The physical outweighed everything else in their relationship. If that was even what they could all it now. It was more of an arrangement they had now, as if coming to agreement of sorts that this would only last until something more promising or tempting came along. Nothing had, at least not for him. He wasn’t sure anymore when it came to Ryohei, however. The boxer could have had someone else, anyone else, and Takeshi wouldn’t even know about anything until it was the end.
“Say it.”
“No.” Rejection.
“Why not?”
“This isn’t real, is it? No, it’s not to the extreme, Takeshi. I’m not going to say it. And that’s that.” Rebuttal.
“What if I said it was?”
“You’d be extremely lying.” Fact or fiction, neither could say.
It stung every time he remembered that. A cold, permanent reminder of why this was never going to work, why an experiment would stay an experiment and nothing more. He had never been good with the scientific method, but he was fairly sure the negative result wasn’t the correct one. The outcome should have been different. Anything but this. Was it wrong, then, that he didn’t want it to stop despite his own misgivings? It was selfish, but he hadn’t allowed himself much - and this was one of the few things he did want. He would go to anything lengths for this. Although, it wasn’t something that could be obtained as easily as a simple ‘I love you’ could be said.
Emotions were a turbulent affair. It wasn’t as easy to win over a heart as it was to win a fight. Blades were good for cutting flesh, down to the bones and through, but to cause pain emotional was often far worse than any artificial wounds that likely would heal, even if phantom pain lingered. There were a few ways to stop that kind of pain, though, and one of those ways was looking more appealing by the minute. To end what they had, to give up what was making him selfish, it was the outcome that was most probable at this point. When he had walked out that door this time, he had already decided something was going to change. He would start with himself.
It's lovely, happy, sad, painful
Regretful, irritating … the melody of love
“It’s over.” It’s final, it’s decided, and there is not taking it back.
A blanket is wrapped around a thin waist and Takeshi watches as Ryohei approaches him with a wariness he really didn’t anticipate from the sleepy-eyed boxer. “What are you talking about, Takeshi? What’s extremely over?”
“This. Us. I’m tired of it.” He says it casually, as if his heart isn’t break with every word, and then bends down to pick up his shirt before he begins the search for his shoes. “I want to love someone who loves me back and that’s not going to happen with you.” He’s surprised his tone is calm, not even a tell-tale tremor of apprehension sneaking in. “It’s different for you, senpai, and it’s different for me. This just won’t work, you know?”
“What are you -”
“It’s over,” he says one last time. “I have practice with the team, so I’m leaving now. Tonight, I … I’ll expect you to be gone.” The hesitation rears its ugly head at the worst possible moment and he winces, his own inability to act all too clear. “I’ll see you later, senpai.” He leaves before he can take it back, resolve already crumbling. He doesn’t want to regret what he’s just done.
But he does.
Ryohei had been prepared to be told off once more about the issue from earlier, would have even welcomed - especially it after what had really been said. Sinking down onto the bed, he gazed unseeingly at the nearest wall and started rethinking what it happened these past few years; where it had begun and where it had now officially ended. Hold on to what you have, Ryohei, it might be the last thing you ever do. His father’s words rung in his ears and he hung his head in shame. He had protected his sister, his career, and yet he had failed to protect that one thing that made him genuinely happy in that one way he had never predicted. Running after Takeshi now was out of the question. He had had his chances, many times, and he had disregarded them every time. It had felt like a game, almost, a game they were playing with each other than tangled emotion with reality and reality with bittersweet anguish. If he had given in before the other, he would have lost. Though now, he wished he had lost that particular game, at least he wouldn’t have lost something far more important.
Formation: 33+80
Tactic: Seduction (aka fail smut)
Sort of a companion piece to Lost Cause. That I dearly wished I had erased now. Song lyric from Ai No Melody by Kokia.
Breathes, hot and heavy, mingle together and there’s needy lips on his, begging, pleading, wanting. “Slow down, y-you’re going too fast.” It’s more of a groan than an actual sentence and fingernails are digging into his back, proving that even if there is an objection it’s not a real one and they speed up rather than slow down.
Takeshi stared at the white pavement without really seeing it. He could still remember, feel, and taste that first time. Experimenting had been his idea to begin with, but Ryohei had willing went it along with it. There was the typical ‘that sounds extreme!’ from the boxer and that had been that. Rubbing at his arms for warmth, sweat still clinging to his skin, he wondered then why he was out here on the curb of his apartment complex, watching cars go by as that same partner slept away in his bed. It didn’t make sense, not to the casual observer, but for Takeshi it was routine by now. That still didn’t stop him from wondering why he was even allowing that routine to continue. He could end, any time, but yet he couldn’t. He didn’t want to. That first time kept playing over and over in his mind, reminding him exactly why it wasn’t possible.
His body shudders, blood racing and heart pounding, with each thrust. His hands wrap around wrists and pin them above a tossed back head. A tongue explores the contours of an ear and he moans loudly, without restraint, as the body beneath his starts to participate more. There’s a gasp as he rests his head, panting, on the shoulder of his partner. “I-I think that’s it for -” He’s flipped suddenly and without warning, but he can’t say he minds. Especially not when there’s a hand working at his limp erection, nimble fingers working with a talent they shouldn’t possess. He shudders again, but for a completely different reason. “What are you doing, senpai?”
There’s a lull, a long pause, and then a harsh whisper in his ear, “Don’t call me that here.”
That, Takeshi figured, was where things had originally gone wrong. That habit wasn’t one he could break easily. He had always seen Sasagawa Ryohei as a ‘senpai’, someone with more experience and fortitude than he could ever hope to achieve, but to ask him not to do what he had always done was like throwing a bucket of cold water in his face. He had insisted that there was nothing wrong with it. Ryohei had and still deserved the respect that came with that honorific. Thinking about it now, though, maybe that was why the boxer refused to say those three little words he had wanted to hear for so long. If they couldn’t be seen as equals, then their relationship was null and void. Technically speaking, anyway, because their more physical relationship was well intact.
“Nn,” is the incoherent sound in the air, followed closely by, “Faster.” Harder, faster, but definitely harder, he thinks, and his thoughts are answered no sooner than that. He’s a jumbled up mess of incoherency now, mind blanking of anything and everything that isn’t Ryohei. All he sees is pale hair and slick skin. All he feels is hands touching, tongues twining, and breath ghosting against his neck before teeth sink down. There’s a shock of pain and then he grins, almost in a daze, as the movement between them slows down and there’s that familiar tongue again, trailing over an inkling of blood. Soothing comfort is what Ryohei is to him. Nothing is likely to change that.
He makes the mistake of saying it for the first time, then, right then. “Love you.”
Running a hand through his hair, sighing, Takeshi didn’t know whether his past self was just that stupid or if it was generally his own idiocy that led to the destruction the one good thing he could have held onto. Their first fight - it ended in sex. Their first kill - it ended in sex. Their first separation - it ended in sex; phone sex, but still sex. The physical outweighed everything else in their relationship. If that was even what they could all it now. It was more of an arrangement they had now, as if coming to agreement of sorts that this would only last until something more promising or tempting came along. Nothing had, at least not for him. He wasn’t sure anymore when it came to Ryohei, however. The boxer could have had someone else, anyone else, and Takeshi wouldn’t even know about anything until it was the end.
“Say it.”
“No.” Rejection.
“Why not?”
“This isn’t real, is it? No, it’s not to the extreme, Takeshi. I’m not going to say it. And that’s that.” Rebuttal.
“What if I said it was?”
“You’d be extremely lying.” Fact or fiction, neither could say.
It stung every time he remembered that. A cold, permanent reminder of why this was never going to work, why an experiment would stay an experiment and nothing more. He had never been good with the scientific method, but he was fairly sure the negative result wasn’t the correct one. The outcome should have been different. Anything but this. Was it wrong, then, that he didn’t want it to stop despite his own misgivings? It was selfish, but he hadn’t allowed himself much - and this was one of the few things he did want. He would go to anything lengths for this. Although, it wasn’t something that could be obtained as easily as a simple ‘I love you’ could be said.
Emotions were a turbulent affair. It wasn’t as easy to win over a heart as it was to win a fight. Blades were good for cutting flesh, down to the bones and through, but to cause pain emotional was often far worse than any artificial wounds that likely would heal, even if phantom pain lingered. There were a few ways to stop that kind of pain, though, and one of those ways was looking more appealing by the minute. To end what they had, to give up what was making him selfish, it was the outcome that was most probable at this point. When he had walked out that door this time, he had already decided something was going to change. He would start with himself.
It's lovely, happy, sad, painful
Regretful, irritating … the melody of love
“It’s over.” It’s final, it’s decided, and there is not taking it back.
A blanket is wrapped around a thin waist and Takeshi watches as Ryohei approaches him with a wariness he really didn’t anticipate from the sleepy-eyed boxer. “What are you talking about, Takeshi? What’s extremely over?”
“This. Us. I’m tired of it.” He says it casually, as if his heart isn’t break with every word, and then bends down to pick up his shirt before he begins the search for his shoes. “I want to love someone who loves me back and that’s not going to happen with you.” He’s surprised his tone is calm, not even a tell-tale tremor of apprehension sneaking in. “It’s different for you, senpai, and it’s different for me. This just won’t work, you know?”
“What are you -”
“It’s over,” he says one last time. “I have practice with the team, so I’m leaving now. Tonight, I … I’ll expect you to be gone.” The hesitation rears its ugly head at the worst possible moment and he winces, his own inability to act all too clear. “I’ll see you later, senpai.” He leaves before he can take it back, resolve already crumbling. He doesn’t want to regret what he’s just done.
But he does.
Ryohei had been prepared to be told off once more about the issue from earlier, would have even welcomed - especially it after what had really been said. Sinking down onto the bed, he gazed unseeingly at the nearest wall and started rethinking what it happened these past few years; where it had begun and where it had now officially ended. Hold on to what you have, Ryohei, it might be the last thing you ever do. His father’s words rung in his ears and he hung his head in shame. He had protected his sister, his career, and yet he had failed to protect that one thing that made him genuinely happy in that one way he had never predicted. Running after Takeshi now was out of the question. He had had his chances, many times, and he had disregarded them every time. It had felt like a game, almost, a game they were playing with each other than tangled emotion with reality and reality with bittersweet anguish. If he had given in before the other, he would have lost. Though now, he wished he had lost that particular game, at least he wouldn’t have lost something far more important.