TeniPuri: (FIC) On The Matter of Crushes Sanayuki (NC-17?)
Title: On The Matter of Crushes
Pairing: Sanada/Yukimura
Summary: Seiichi knows this shouldn't turn him on, but it does.
Warning: Possibly tenses...probably.
For: whisper132. Uh. I wrote you a drabble to cheer you up yesterday. It's just under 4,000 words. I think I've included everything we've ever mentioned in chat that should be in a SanaYuki. Possibly only you'll like it. In fact, just you read it.
Long before he ends up in the hospital, Seiichi decides he has bad luck. Or, he amends silently as he watches Genichirou run laps, bad taste.
When he was twelve, and in a haze of youth and hormones, he met Genichirou, a very tall, very muscular, very quiet boy his age. He didn't give much thought to him other than a potential rival…that is until one day when he was a little less filled with youth and a lot filled with useless hormones.
Genichirou had removed his towel after emerging from the showers to dry off and change. It was no different than any other day in which they got changed in the locker room, except for the fact that his body was stupid and wouldn't listen to his mind, which was telling it to get a grip. And by get a grip he wasn't referring to Genichirou's hand on any insistent part of his body.
For lack of any more graceful way to put it, Seiichi stared. Blatantly. And he kept staring until Renji nudged his arm with an elbow, snickering quietly at the blush that threatened to emerge at not only getting caught by Renji but the fact that Genichirou chose this moment to turn and face him. He stood there, wearing his hat, which he put on first, and nothing else, and sent a questioning glance at the two of them. Seiichi knew at that moment, he was in trouble.
The weird way he feels for Genichirou as a first year doesn’t stop or go away, it gets worse, more complicated. It’s not just that he finds himself looking at Genichirou at odd times, especially certain parts, especially when all he can see is endless skin. It’s that he likes being in his presence, his scowling, cranky, silent presence. He likes that they value the same things like winning and hard work and tennis and he also likes the way he looks when he sweats, muscles taut and eyes filled with determination. This doesn’t stop in his first year, this doesn’t stop in his second-it gets worse and weirder, actually-it most certainly doesn’t stop in his third, which, by this time, it’s morphed into something altogether undeniably awkward and awful and to a degree that is idiotic.
In hindsight, Seiichi knows that it was stupid to develop what he begrudgingly refers to as a crush on someone he hadn't spoken much with. Incredibly stupid. If he only had an inkling of to the degree of dork that Genichirou was, he would have worn a blindfold in the locker room, ignoring the likelihood of him groping around in his self-imposed darkness. He admits, also very begrudgingly, that he if felt Genichirou's body at that time, the crush would have happened anyhow.
Crushes are named thusly, Seiichi knows, because they crush any remaining good sense a person has and leaves them with mush for brains and incredibly ridiculous thinking. He knows this because the first time he overhears Genichirou explaining to Renji about the proper type of cloth to polish his dojo floor, Seiichi is harder than he can ever remember being. That, he decides, is not normal.
The point is further proven when he walks into the locker room late one evening, having practiced later than anyone else, and hears Genichirou still in the shower. His hope in avoiding staring at him naked by procrastinating with the ball machine is shot. Another thing shot is his mind, because when he edges closer to the showers, he hears Genichirou singing and he's harder than the time he heard Renji and Genichirou discuss trigonometry during lunch.
Genichirou, apparently, likes singing bad English pop music. He's belting the lyrics out, not at the top of his lungs, but loudly and in this monotone voice that should have made any normal person cringe. It's making him horny.
"Hit me baby one more time," Genichirou croons and Seiichi feels faint and hurries off to the bathroom to relieve himself. When he comes out, Genichirou is wrapped in a towel, and looking at him with that slight smile. Seiichi wonders if it's normal for his body to be reacting so quickly, but it doesn't matter, because it is, and there's only so much he can do about it.
Genichirou mentions that he'll wait for him, and he nods, tells Genichirou that his backhand sucked and walks steadily to the showers as if nothing was happening at all.
Seiichi knows that he truly has lost it when he nearly comes in his pants listening to Genichirou inform Akaya and Renji about the extols of the new grip tape he found and why they should use it, helpfully giving Renji all the details he can think of regarding width, length, consistency, feel, and a lot of other nonsense that doesn't matter, because all he can think is that Genichirou is quite possibly the biggest dork he knows, and it turns him on terribly.
He glances over to Renji, who is smiling at him with that infuriating knowing grin, and he decides that wrist and ankle weights will be added to the two on one match Renji will be participating in against Jackal and Bunta.
The glare sent his way after he announces this promises payback. He doesn't care, though, as he watches Renji sweat for each point. It'll be worth it.
Except that he's, in all likelihood, underestimated how much of sadist Renji can be when he wants.
Lunch is almost unbearable, and he has no more orders to give or criticism to make, so he sits there and pretends to eat and tries to ignore the way his stomach is in a knot and his pants are tight and damn Renji to hell for asking Genichirou to practice English with him by reading what he claims to be love poems.
He doesn't know how Renji manages it, the ass, but they really just sound like lyrics to crappy pop music. He's sure that no respectable poet would ever come up with a line like, "When I think about you, I touch myself." He's sure of it. He wonders if Genichirou knows what he's saying or if he just knows enough about grammar and structure to make out basic pronunciation. His English is thick and accented and he wants Genichirou to say all these same things while naked and looking at him. He doesn't think this is what he's supposed to be thinking about during lunch.
All he knows is that his body is ridiculous and his fascination with Genichirou is even more so.
The showers, he realises a little too late, are a dangerous place. Even when he's in the safety of his own home, and in his own bed, his traitorous dreams seem to want to take a stroll through the slightly musty smelling damp rooms, and have many a varied scenarios involving him, Genichirou, the bench, the wall, and one time, tennis racquets, grip tape, and Genichirou's hat. That dream will never be told to anyone, even under threat of torture or death.
They're particularly awful and wonderful and dreadful because of what he seeing right now. He was lulled into a sense of security when he had walked in. There was no singing. It was quiet, and empty and he should have known then to be cautious. Instead, he smiles and takes off his clothes, and almost steps inside before he stops dead in his tracks.
Genichirou's in the showers now, one hand against the tile, the other hand around his cock and Seiichi is torn between the desire to go in there and show him how to do it right and the equally irrational desire to go home and hide in his room until he's sane again.
He does neither of these things, and instead stays still and watches, eyes burning because he refuses to even blink, not wanting to miss a second of the way Genichirou's ass clenches or the way he can hear the soft ragged breath being panted out with each stroke.
He's so caught up in watching that he doesn't even realise his own hand has traveled down until he breathes out a moan himself. Before he can be seen, he's in bathroom, like the coward he swears to death he isn't and finishes, not even considering until later that it might be telling when Genichirou sees his clothes on the bench.
Seiichi can't describe the relief he feels when it goes unmentioned. Perhaps he was lucky, or perhaps it's so embarrassing that they both would rather not discuss it. He's fine either way.
The first time he gets an erection during a practice match, Seiichi swears to god that everyone on the team will pay. Somehow, someway, he knows if he makes them run enough laps and do enough swing reps and have enough practice with the ball machine, everything will be right in his world.
He may get a reputation for being a demon captain, a smiling demon captain that people still admire, respect, but fear nonetheless, but at least the end result will be his own ability to stop being turned on by Sanada Genichirou.
Seiichi doesn't believe in failure or losing or being unable to do something he sets his mind to. He will win a third time at Nationals. He will defeat all teams that face him across the court. How difficult can a little thing like telling his cock to stay quiet be? Genichirou comes up next to him, offering him a drink out of his water bottle and he discovers the answer is incredibly.
It's to the point where he figures he might as well say something. His dreams are strange and his mind is gone and maybe if he says it out loud or perhaps kisses Genichirou, this stupid obsession will pass and he can focus on tennis or focus on ignoring the way his body isn't right any more, weak in a way that is nothing at all like the way the loud awkwardness of Genichirou's laugh makes his knees.
Seiichi leans against the tile, letting the sweat wash away from practice. He's tired and cranky and he wants his body to cooperate and his heart to stop beating so fast when all Genichirou is doing is standing next to him. Seeing him smack a fellow teammate should not give him an erection. If he thinks about it, hearing Genichirou read the line up shouldn't give him an erection, but it does. And he's sure that the conversation he's overhearing right now, one about the virtues of different brands of nori, would give him an erection if he didn't already have one.
When he finally emerges, Genichirou is there, waiting for him. He stalks over to him, still tired and cranky and hard and half-out of his mind, obviously, because the first thing out of his mouth when he reaches him is, "Kiss me, now."
He's not sure what annoys him more, that Genichirou obeys immediately and in such a way that suggests that he would have done it before or that it feels perfect even though his face is wet from it, his lip was bitten and their noses bumped twice. Failing at something so simple as a kiss shouldn't make his skin tingle like that or make him want to do it again, make him want more. Something so obviously a failure should have killed his crush and allowed sense to return to him.
Genichirou pulls back, looking for the first time unsure with a slight flush to his cheeks, and Seiichi finds it horrendously sexy and he doesn't even know why. He kisses him again, and doesn't bother asking or demanding. This time he realises that his towel is on the floor when Genichirou's hand creeps down his back, and onto his ass and his body decides it's the best thing ever, because his body is stupid.
"Have dinner with me tonight," Genichirou asks, and he nods his agreement without considering anything more than the possibility of Genichirou's bed being softer and warmer than the locker room bench seems to be.
It's another miscalculation, he knows, the second he sees Genichirou in his hakama, practicing in the dojo. He's hard and horny and wondering if he can convince Genichirou to wear the hakama all the time. His plan, he realises, was stupid and something likely planted into his mind by his body, the traitorous bastard that it is. If anything, kissing has made the little crush he has worse, and the sight of Genichirou in hakama has turned him into a full-blown pervert.
He's still not thinking too clearly when the dinner invitation becomes one for a sleepover. If he took a second to think at all, he'd be at home jerking off in the sanctity of his own room instead of playing through every single one of his fantasies involving Genichirou and nudity, sometimes just his own or Genichirou's.
It takes him a few moments to realise that Genichirou is, in fact, half-naked as he changes into a pair of pajamas. The ones that he forgot he was holding are limp in his hands. He grips them tighter and doesn't stop staring.
"Seiichi," Genichirou asks, hand on his shoulder. The feel of Genichirou's hand on him, regardless of the innocence of the touch, makes him snap.
Seiichi scowls and pushes him toward the futon and crawls on top of him, hands roaming every inch of his bare chest, mouth attached to his neck, and his cock pressing against Genichirou's. This, his body decides to amend, is the best thing ever. Better than kissing in the locker room, better than Genichirou's hands on his bare ass, because although they are on his ass, every other part of him is touching Genichirou and that is what makes it worth all the erections and the stupid hormones and where in the hell did Genichirou learn to do that with his tongue and since when was he on his back.
First times, he thinks, are supposed to come after a decent time dating and affirming mutual feelings and not less than five hours after a first kiss. This theory is kicked aside, however, when an insistent finger is pressing inside of him, and his reaction isn't wait, instead it's hurry up, damn it. He looks up at Genichirou and kisses him. If this is going to be his first time, it's going to satisfy as many fantasies as he's had in his mind, just it case it's the only time.
It hurts a little, not that he's surprised, but slightly less than it would have had his masturbatory fantasies had not led him to become more adventurous than he suspects most boys are when jerking off. Something about the fact that it's Genichirou's cock inside of him and Genichirou's lips on his skin, and Genichirou's body on top of his makes the whole thing surreal and brilliant and terrifying all at the same time. Seiichi worries that he'll fail at this like he's failed to stop wanting him. He worries that Genichirou isn't quite as obsessed with Seiichi as Seiichi is with him. What worries him most, however, is that they'll stop. And that cannot happen.
"Seiichi," Genichirou breathes in his ear. He wraps his arms around Genichirou tightly, and shifts his legs a bit, tries not to moan too loudly when it makes everything in his body shake. It may just be his overly-imaginative brain, but the way Genichirou says his name sounds an awful lot like I love you. He almost laughs then, because he knows he's being silly.
This time Seiichi kisses him to stop himself from hearing any more words that aren't being said. Also, because he knows that if he says Genichirou's name, it'll sound the same. And that's even sillier.
Genichirou rocks his hips, slowly thrusting his cock inside of him. For all the frantic preparation, the act itself is slow and intense and driving him crazy in a different way than he's been driven before. He tilts his hips, wanting more and wanting it now. He grabs Genichirou's ass, making him move a little faster, a little deeper, and he throws his head back against a pillow and bites his lip instead of Genichirou's shoulder like he wants to, not knowing if it's all right to leave marks.
And then there're lips on his neck, and teeth, and tongue and suction, so when another moan threatens to fall from his lips again, he bites down on that beautifully muscular shoulder, having been given tacit permission to leave all the marks he wants.
Their hands are everywhere, feeling everything. He traces the small scar on Genichirou’s back, almost healed, and Seiichi feels the way he shudders at the touch. The hands on him are hard and scratchy, tantalizing his skin in a way that he wishes he could do in return. They’re on his nipples, his sides, his hips, his cock. Feeling each part of him until his breathing is a lot like moaning, and he wants more, thinks more, says more.
They’re not even moving fast, but there’s all this sweat between them, making their skin slick, sliding against each other. It makes the side of Genichirou’s neck salty and even more delicious on his tongue. He can feel every part of his body, even parts he doesn’t usually think about because something about Genichirou’s touch makes it all electric. He can feel the way his body coils and tenses, needing release but not wanting to let it end just yet. He can feel the way he teeters on the edge, teasing him with the thrill of release without letting himself get it.
Genichirou kisses his lips, hard and with teeth, rougher than his thrusts, and then everything tightens at once and it’s better than anything he’s felt on his own. Loud and quiet at the same time, brilliant to the point of almost pain, he feels more awake than ever for just one second before he’s exhausted and panting, eyes closed, enjoying the way Genichirou is still moving inside of him; he doesn’t want it to stop.
Minutes later, Genichirou comes and all he can do is watch, riveted to his face, eyes closed, mouth open, and smiles a little. No one has a right to look sexy wearing such a ridiculous expression. But his mind is more addled than usual, hazy from sex and sweat and everything about Genichirou, and he’s given up on sane thinking the moment they first kissed.
The logical part of his mind is telling him to get up and wash before things have a chance to get gross and itchy and stuck to his skin, but he can’t even find the will because Genichirou places his head on his chest and holds him, kissing his skin every few seconds. Both of them try to not even breathe too harshly, not wanting this peace to end, not wanting the awkwardness or the need to clarify certain things and face things he’s not sure he wants to face quite yet.
“Seiichi.” It’s that tone again. That tone that makes him think stupid things and he likes it a little too much for it to be anything good.
He runs his fingers through Genichirou’s hair, contemplating how to steal that hat now that he’s discovered that it does feel as good as it looks. “Genichirou,” he replies, and knows instantly that his voice is betraying him.
Genichirou looks up at him, smiling that small smile he was whenever he’s pleased, and kisses the corner of his mouth. He seems reluctant to get up, but that’s no matter because Seiichi’s a little reluctant to let go. Genichirou throws on a yukata and leaves the room for a moment. There’s a muffled shut up before he returns with two hand-cloths.
Most of the time he likes doing as much as he can for himself, dependency is not nearly as attractive as independence, but he can’t help allowing Genichirou to wash his skin, just like he’s allowed Genichirou to do things for him a thousand times before, against any sensibilities he has that protest.
When Genichirou crawls back onto the futon, he rests his head on Seiichi’s chest again, and allows him to play with his hair. He thinks of the kiss and the way Genichirou is doing something remarkably close to snuggling, and recalls the lubricant that was tucked in a drawer, as if this wasn't just an accident of hormones, but something that Genichirou's wanted, maybe as long as he has. It makes him a little at ease. It’s then that he speaks. “Akaya needs to work on control and Renji should get in some doubles practice with you.”
“Yes, Seiichi,” Genichirou replies, lips brushing against his chest as he speaks. “Niou needs more discipline.”
“You mean you want to make him suffer through a few practices,” Seiichi says, amusement in his tone. Genichirou’s likely still upset about the incident with the knickers and the stockings that were placed in his locker.
Genichirou grunts in reply, but doesn’t deny it. “Ankle and wrist weights? Ball machine?”
Shaking his head, Genichirou looks up at him with a smirk on his face. “I was thinking a few matches with Akaya.”
He laughs, kissing Genichirou on the lips. Seiichi’s always liked that about him; the way how he always knows the most effective way to get their teammates to behave, even if only for a few days. “With ankle and wrist weights?”
“Of course.” Genichirou looks at him bemusedly as if there couldn’t be any other option.
He falls asleep shortly after, dreams of his team running laps in the rain in his head.
Seiichi watches as Genichirou runs laps, feeling a vague sense of déjà vu. Little has changed, really, when he thinks about it. He still stares, unabashedly, at Genichirou any time he feels like it. Most of the horribly dorky things he does turn Seiichi on terribly. There’s nothing he likes better than to watch Genichirou shower, listening to him sing those horrid songs, and if he’s lucky, watching him masturbate, knowing very well that he’s looking.
His rationality is still shot, and he still gets hard listening to Genichirou speak about rock formations over lunch with Renji, but now he can make him stay late after practice and make out with him in the showers, or on the bench or against a locker. He may still feel like coming whenever Genichirou smacks somebody across the face or yells Tarundoru, but now he has an open invitation for sleepovers and can indulge in his favourite pastime of memorizing just how nice hakama makes Genichirou’s already sexy ass look.
He knows he may be ridiculous, and his crush may have worsened into something more permanent and irreversible, and Seiichi knows that there’s nothing normal about what turns him on, but he thinks, as he stares at Genichirou’s ass as he bends over to pick up a water bottle, that he can definitely live with it.
Pairing: Sanada/Yukimura
Summary: Seiichi knows this shouldn't turn him on, but it does.
Warning: Possibly tenses...probably.
For: whisper132. Uh. I wrote you a drabble to cheer you up yesterday. It's just under 4,000 words. I think I've included everything we've ever mentioned in chat that should be in a SanaYuki. Possibly only you'll like it. In fact, just you read it.
Long before he ends up in the hospital, Seiichi decides he has bad luck. Or, he amends silently as he watches Genichirou run laps, bad taste.
When he was twelve, and in a haze of youth and hormones, he met Genichirou, a very tall, very muscular, very quiet boy his age. He didn't give much thought to him other than a potential rival…that is until one day when he was a little less filled with youth and a lot filled with useless hormones.
Genichirou had removed his towel after emerging from the showers to dry off and change. It was no different than any other day in which they got changed in the locker room, except for the fact that his body was stupid and wouldn't listen to his mind, which was telling it to get a grip. And by get a grip he wasn't referring to Genichirou's hand on any insistent part of his body.
For lack of any more graceful way to put it, Seiichi stared. Blatantly. And he kept staring until Renji nudged his arm with an elbow, snickering quietly at the blush that threatened to emerge at not only getting caught by Renji but the fact that Genichirou chose this moment to turn and face him. He stood there, wearing his hat, which he put on first, and nothing else, and sent a questioning glance at the two of them. Seiichi knew at that moment, he was in trouble.
The weird way he feels for Genichirou as a first year doesn’t stop or go away, it gets worse, more complicated. It’s not just that he finds himself looking at Genichirou at odd times, especially certain parts, especially when all he can see is endless skin. It’s that he likes being in his presence, his scowling, cranky, silent presence. He likes that they value the same things like winning and hard work and tennis and he also likes the way he looks when he sweats, muscles taut and eyes filled with determination. This doesn’t stop in his first year, this doesn’t stop in his second-it gets worse and weirder, actually-it most certainly doesn’t stop in his third, which, by this time, it’s morphed into something altogether undeniably awkward and awful and to a degree that is idiotic.
In hindsight, Seiichi knows that it was stupid to develop what he begrudgingly refers to as a crush on someone he hadn't spoken much with. Incredibly stupid. If he only had an inkling of to the degree of dork that Genichirou was, he would have worn a blindfold in the locker room, ignoring the likelihood of him groping around in his self-imposed darkness. He admits, also very begrudgingly, that he if felt Genichirou's body at that time, the crush would have happened anyhow.
Crushes are named thusly, Seiichi knows, because they crush any remaining good sense a person has and leaves them with mush for brains and incredibly ridiculous thinking. He knows this because the first time he overhears Genichirou explaining to Renji about the proper type of cloth to polish his dojo floor, Seiichi is harder than he can ever remember being. That, he decides, is not normal.
The point is further proven when he walks into the locker room late one evening, having practiced later than anyone else, and hears Genichirou still in the shower. His hope in avoiding staring at him naked by procrastinating with the ball machine is shot. Another thing shot is his mind, because when he edges closer to the showers, he hears Genichirou singing and he's harder than the time he heard Renji and Genichirou discuss trigonometry during lunch.
Genichirou, apparently, likes singing bad English pop music. He's belting the lyrics out, not at the top of his lungs, but loudly and in this monotone voice that should have made any normal person cringe. It's making him horny.
"Hit me baby one more time," Genichirou croons and Seiichi feels faint and hurries off to the bathroom to relieve himself. When he comes out, Genichirou is wrapped in a towel, and looking at him with that slight smile. Seiichi wonders if it's normal for his body to be reacting so quickly, but it doesn't matter, because it is, and there's only so much he can do about it.
Genichirou mentions that he'll wait for him, and he nods, tells Genichirou that his backhand sucked and walks steadily to the showers as if nothing was happening at all.
Seiichi knows that he truly has lost it when he nearly comes in his pants listening to Genichirou inform Akaya and Renji about the extols of the new grip tape he found and why they should use it, helpfully giving Renji all the details he can think of regarding width, length, consistency, feel, and a lot of other nonsense that doesn't matter, because all he can think is that Genichirou is quite possibly the biggest dork he knows, and it turns him on terribly.
He glances over to Renji, who is smiling at him with that infuriating knowing grin, and he decides that wrist and ankle weights will be added to the two on one match Renji will be participating in against Jackal and Bunta.
The glare sent his way after he announces this promises payback. He doesn't care, though, as he watches Renji sweat for each point. It'll be worth it.
Except that he's, in all likelihood, underestimated how much of sadist Renji can be when he wants.
Lunch is almost unbearable, and he has no more orders to give or criticism to make, so he sits there and pretends to eat and tries to ignore the way his stomach is in a knot and his pants are tight and damn Renji to hell for asking Genichirou to practice English with him by reading what he claims to be love poems.
He doesn't know how Renji manages it, the ass, but they really just sound like lyrics to crappy pop music. He's sure that no respectable poet would ever come up with a line like, "When I think about you, I touch myself." He's sure of it. He wonders if Genichirou knows what he's saying or if he just knows enough about grammar and structure to make out basic pronunciation. His English is thick and accented and he wants Genichirou to say all these same things while naked and looking at him. He doesn't think this is what he's supposed to be thinking about during lunch.
All he knows is that his body is ridiculous and his fascination with Genichirou is even more so.
The showers, he realises a little too late, are a dangerous place. Even when he's in the safety of his own home, and in his own bed, his traitorous dreams seem to want to take a stroll through the slightly musty smelling damp rooms, and have many a varied scenarios involving him, Genichirou, the bench, the wall, and one time, tennis racquets, grip tape, and Genichirou's hat. That dream will never be told to anyone, even under threat of torture or death.
They're particularly awful and wonderful and dreadful because of what he seeing right now. He was lulled into a sense of security when he had walked in. There was no singing. It was quiet, and empty and he should have known then to be cautious. Instead, he smiles and takes off his clothes, and almost steps inside before he stops dead in his tracks.
Genichirou's in the showers now, one hand against the tile, the other hand around his cock and Seiichi is torn between the desire to go in there and show him how to do it right and the equally irrational desire to go home and hide in his room until he's sane again.
He does neither of these things, and instead stays still and watches, eyes burning because he refuses to even blink, not wanting to miss a second of the way Genichirou's ass clenches or the way he can hear the soft ragged breath being panted out with each stroke.
He's so caught up in watching that he doesn't even realise his own hand has traveled down until he breathes out a moan himself. Before he can be seen, he's in bathroom, like the coward he swears to death he isn't and finishes, not even considering until later that it might be telling when Genichirou sees his clothes on the bench.
Seiichi can't describe the relief he feels when it goes unmentioned. Perhaps he was lucky, or perhaps it's so embarrassing that they both would rather not discuss it. He's fine either way.
The first time he gets an erection during a practice match, Seiichi swears to god that everyone on the team will pay. Somehow, someway, he knows if he makes them run enough laps and do enough swing reps and have enough practice with the ball machine, everything will be right in his world.
He may get a reputation for being a demon captain, a smiling demon captain that people still admire, respect, but fear nonetheless, but at least the end result will be his own ability to stop being turned on by Sanada Genichirou.
Seiichi doesn't believe in failure or losing or being unable to do something he sets his mind to. He will win a third time at Nationals. He will defeat all teams that face him across the court. How difficult can a little thing like telling his cock to stay quiet be? Genichirou comes up next to him, offering him a drink out of his water bottle and he discovers the answer is incredibly.
It's to the point where he figures he might as well say something. His dreams are strange and his mind is gone and maybe if he says it out loud or perhaps kisses Genichirou, this stupid obsession will pass and he can focus on tennis or focus on ignoring the way his body isn't right any more, weak in a way that is nothing at all like the way the loud awkwardness of Genichirou's laugh makes his knees.
Seiichi leans against the tile, letting the sweat wash away from practice. He's tired and cranky and he wants his body to cooperate and his heart to stop beating so fast when all Genichirou is doing is standing next to him. Seeing him smack a fellow teammate should not give him an erection. If he thinks about it, hearing Genichirou read the line up shouldn't give him an erection, but it does. And he's sure that the conversation he's overhearing right now, one about the virtues of different brands of nori, would give him an erection if he didn't already have one.
When he finally emerges, Genichirou is there, waiting for him. He stalks over to him, still tired and cranky and hard and half-out of his mind, obviously, because the first thing out of his mouth when he reaches him is, "Kiss me, now."
He's not sure what annoys him more, that Genichirou obeys immediately and in such a way that suggests that he would have done it before or that it feels perfect even though his face is wet from it, his lip was bitten and their noses bumped twice. Failing at something so simple as a kiss shouldn't make his skin tingle like that or make him want to do it again, make him want more. Something so obviously a failure should have killed his crush and allowed sense to return to him.
Genichirou pulls back, looking for the first time unsure with a slight flush to his cheeks, and Seiichi finds it horrendously sexy and he doesn't even know why. He kisses him again, and doesn't bother asking or demanding. This time he realises that his towel is on the floor when Genichirou's hand creeps down his back, and onto his ass and his body decides it's the best thing ever, because his body is stupid.
"Have dinner with me tonight," Genichirou asks, and he nods his agreement without considering anything more than the possibility of Genichirou's bed being softer and warmer than the locker room bench seems to be.
It's another miscalculation, he knows, the second he sees Genichirou in his hakama, practicing in the dojo. He's hard and horny and wondering if he can convince Genichirou to wear the hakama all the time. His plan, he realises, was stupid and something likely planted into his mind by his body, the traitorous bastard that it is. If anything, kissing has made the little crush he has worse, and the sight of Genichirou in hakama has turned him into a full-blown pervert.
He's still not thinking too clearly when the dinner invitation becomes one for a sleepover. If he took a second to think at all, he'd be at home jerking off in the sanctity of his own room instead of playing through every single one of his fantasies involving Genichirou and nudity, sometimes just his own or Genichirou's.
It takes him a few moments to realise that Genichirou is, in fact, half-naked as he changes into a pair of pajamas. The ones that he forgot he was holding are limp in his hands. He grips them tighter and doesn't stop staring.
"Seiichi," Genichirou asks, hand on his shoulder. The feel of Genichirou's hand on him, regardless of the innocence of the touch, makes him snap.
Seiichi scowls and pushes him toward the futon and crawls on top of him, hands roaming every inch of his bare chest, mouth attached to his neck, and his cock pressing against Genichirou's. This, his body decides to amend, is the best thing ever. Better than kissing in the locker room, better than Genichirou's hands on his bare ass, because although they are on his ass, every other part of him is touching Genichirou and that is what makes it worth all the erections and the stupid hormones and where in the hell did Genichirou learn to do that with his tongue and since when was he on his back.
First times, he thinks, are supposed to come after a decent time dating and affirming mutual feelings and not less than five hours after a first kiss. This theory is kicked aside, however, when an insistent finger is pressing inside of him, and his reaction isn't wait, instead it's hurry up, damn it. He looks up at Genichirou and kisses him. If this is going to be his first time, it's going to satisfy as many fantasies as he's had in his mind, just it case it's the only time.
It hurts a little, not that he's surprised, but slightly less than it would have had his masturbatory fantasies had not led him to become more adventurous than he suspects most boys are when jerking off. Something about the fact that it's Genichirou's cock inside of him and Genichirou's lips on his skin, and Genichirou's body on top of his makes the whole thing surreal and brilliant and terrifying all at the same time. Seiichi worries that he'll fail at this like he's failed to stop wanting him. He worries that Genichirou isn't quite as obsessed with Seiichi as Seiichi is with him. What worries him most, however, is that they'll stop. And that cannot happen.
"Seiichi," Genichirou breathes in his ear. He wraps his arms around Genichirou tightly, and shifts his legs a bit, tries not to moan too loudly when it makes everything in his body shake. It may just be his overly-imaginative brain, but the way Genichirou says his name sounds an awful lot like I love you. He almost laughs then, because he knows he's being silly.
This time Seiichi kisses him to stop himself from hearing any more words that aren't being said. Also, because he knows that if he says Genichirou's name, it'll sound the same. And that's even sillier.
Genichirou rocks his hips, slowly thrusting his cock inside of him. For all the frantic preparation, the act itself is slow and intense and driving him crazy in a different way than he's been driven before. He tilts his hips, wanting more and wanting it now. He grabs Genichirou's ass, making him move a little faster, a little deeper, and he throws his head back against a pillow and bites his lip instead of Genichirou's shoulder like he wants to, not knowing if it's all right to leave marks.
And then there're lips on his neck, and teeth, and tongue and suction, so when another moan threatens to fall from his lips again, he bites down on that beautifully muscular shoulder, having been given tacit permission to leave all the marks he wants.
Their hands are everywhere, feeling everything. He traces the small scar on Genichirou’s back, almost healed, and Seiichi feels the way he shudders at the touch. The hands on him are hard and scratchy, tantalizing his skin in a way that he wishes he could do in return. They’re on his nipples, his sides, his hips, his cock. Feeling each part of him until his breathing is a lot like moaning, and he wants more, thinks more, says more.
They’re not even moving fast, but there’s all this sweat between them, making their skin slick, sliding against each other. It makes the side of Genichirou’s neck salty and even more delicious on his tongue. He can feel every part of his body, even parts he doesn’t usually think about because something about Genichirou’s touch makes it all electric. He can feel the way his body coils and tenses, needing release but not wanting to let it end just yet. He can feel the way he teeters on the edge, teasing him with the thrill of release without letting himself get it.
Genichirou kisses his lips, hard and with teeth, rougher than his thrusts, and then everything tightens at once and it’s better than anything he’s felt on his own. Loud and quiet at the same time, brilliant to the point of almost pain, he feels more awake than ever for just one second before he’s exhausted and panting, eyes closed, enjoying the way Genichirou is still moving inside of him; he doesn’t want it to stop.
Minutes later, Genichirou comes and all he can do is watch, riveted to his face, eyes closed, mouth open, and smiles a little. No one has a right to look sexy wearing such a ridiculous expression. But his mind is more addled than usual, hazy from sex and sweat and everything about Genichirou, and he’s given up on sane thinking the moment they first kissed.
The logical part of his mind is telling him to get up and wash before things have a chance to get gross and itchy and stuck to his skin, but he can’t even find the will because Genichirou places his head on his chest and holds him, kissing his skin every few seconds. Both of them try to not even breathe too harshly, not wanting this peace to end, not wanting the awkwardness or the need to clarify certain things and face things he’s not sure he wants to face quite yet.
“Seiichi.” It’s that tone again. That tone that makes him think stupid things and he likes it a little too much for it to be anything good.
He runs his fingers through Genichirou’s hair, contemplating how to steal that hat now that he’s discovered that it does feel as good as it looks. “Genichirou,” he replies, and knows instantly that his voice is betraying him.
Genichirou looks up at him, smiling that small smile he was whenever he’s pleased, and kisses the corner of his mouth. He seems reluctant to get up, but that’s no matter because Seiichi’s a little reluctant to let go. Genichirou throws on a yukata and leaves the room for a moment. There’s a muffled shut up before he returns with two hand-cloths.
Most of the time he likes doing as much as he can for himself, dependency is not nearly as attractive as independence, but he can’t help allowing Genichirou to wash his skin, just like he’s allowed Genichirou to do things for him a thousand times before, against any sensibilities he has that protest.
When Genichirou crawls back onto the futon, he rests his head on Seiichi’s chest again, and allows him to play with his hair. He thinks of the kiss and the way Genichirou is doing something remarkably close to snuggling, and recalls the lubricant that was tucked in a drawer, as if this wasn't just an accident of hormones, but something that Genichirou's wanted, maybe as long as he has. It makes him a little at ease. It’s then that he speaks. “Akaya needs to work on control and Renji should get in some doubles practice with you.”
“Yes, Seiichi,” Genichirou replies, lips brushing against his chest as he speaks. “Niou needs more discipline.”
“You mean you want to make him suffer through a few practices,” Seiichi says, amusement in his tone. Genichirou’s likely still upset about the incident with the knickers and the stockings that were placed in his locker.
Genichirou grunts in reply, but doesn’t deny it. “Ankle and wrist weights? Ball machine?”
Shaking his head, Genichirou looks up at him with a smirk on his face. “I was thinking a few matches with Akaya.”
He laughs, kissing Genichirou on the lips. Seiichi’s always liked that about him; the way how he always knows the most effective way to get their teammates to behave, even if only for a few days. “With ankle and wrist weights?”
“Of course.” Genichirou looks at him bemusedly as if there couldn’t be any other option.
He falls asleep shortly after, dreams of his team running laps in the rain in his head.
Seiichi watches as Genichirou runs laps, feeling a vague sense of déjà vu. Little has changed, really, when he thinks about it. He still stares, unabashedly, at Genichirou any time he feels like it. Most of the horribly dorky things he does turn Seiichi on terribly. There’s nothing he likes better than to watch Genichirou shower, listening to him sing those horrid songs, and if he’s lucky, watching him masturbate, knowing very well that he’s looking.
His rationality is still shot, and he still gets hard listening to Genichirou speak about rock formations over lunch with Renji, but now he can make him stay late after practice and make out with him in the showers, or on the bench or against a locker. He may still feel like coming whenever Genichirou smacks somebody across the face or yells Tarundoru, but now he has an open invitation for sleepovers and can indulge in his favourite pastime of memorizing just how nice hakama makes Genichirou’s already sexy ass look.
He knows he may be ridiculous, and his crush may have worsened into something more permanent and irreversible, and Seiichi knows that there’s nothing normal about what turns him on, but he thinks, as he stares at Genichirou’s ass as he bends over to pick up a water bottle, that he can definitely live with it.