Day 22 ★ Fic by r05km 'The Dumb Seasonal Realizations of Shishido Ryou - Part 1' R (NSFW)
22
The Dumb Seasonal Realizations
of Shishido Ryou - Part 1
by r05km
ONE
Ryou stands with one hand braced on the tiles, eyes gritted shut chanting “tits, tits, tits,” under his breath; hand working furiously. It’s already turned into the bully-wank to end all bully-wanks and his wrist aches. He growls and shifts and presses his head to the tiles as well - it’s still not working. The pictures in his head click in for a moment of- “tits, tits, fuck! No, no tits-“ - and then once again slide away like soap bubbles leaving nothing but Choutarou in their wake. Choutarou and his face all soft and thoughtful, winding up the tiny stick of chap-stick in his massive gentle hands.
It’s Taki’s fault.
“Tits, tits, tits and a hot, wet-“
Someone bangs on the door making him jerk in surprise and smack his head. His heels squeak comically on the wet floor of the bathtub, and inadvertently he grabs himself hard.
Wincing, he turns and sticks his head out around the shower curtain. Roars, “WHAT?”
“Hurry up asshole, I gotta pee!” his brother hauls back; equally irritable and just as much Shishido as Ryou is. “You’ve been in there over an hour! Get out already!”
Ryou hisses through his teeth, lips parted in a grimace. “Alright! I’m coming! Shut up!” The grimace wobbles and turns into a slightly hysterical laugh at the irony as he clambers awkwardly out.
He drags the door open and stomps hunched and dripping down the hall, not meeting his brother’s eye in case he can tell. In case he can tell Ryou has an erection that refuses to co-operate.
In case it’s stamped all over his face that his dick-brain now only wants to get off at the sight of his best friend mucking about with a chap-stick. That soft bouncy girl bits don’t do it any more.
As he passes, he catches a flash of himself from under the towel in the mirror. Less than a minute since he was in the shower, and it’s limp.
*Krz* Solider Down, repeat, Soldier Down! Over. *Krz*
*Krz* What? Already? *Krz*
He slinks away to hide in his bedroom like a wounded dog.
It’s Taki’s fault- him and his nosiness and weird cosmetic habits. If anyone on the team had boy stuff in his spank bank, Ryou reckons, it’s got to be Taki. His daily routine includes doing his nails for crying out loud, but Taki’s not the one who’s getting all awkward and bothered in his shorts at practice.
It was after tennis practice, in the locker rooms. Ryou could almost sob with outrage at that alone, because of all places, did it have to have happened there? In public. With Choutarou stood right there. As it is he thinks he’s going to wear his teeth out the way he keeps grinding them.
They’d been getting dressed again after showering off the grime from practice, Choutarou ahead of the game, already with his shoes on and grimacing slightly, when Taki had noticed.
“Your lips are really dry,” he’d said, “Look, its split.”
Choutarou had dabbed at it with a knuckle, peering at the blood as though puzzled. Ryou remembered grunting something vague about Atobe’s obsession with air conditioning. “I’ll put something on it at home. I forgot to bring any today,” Choutarou had said, trying to reassure Taki, who’d perked. “I’ve got some, hold on.”
He’d handed the stick to Choutarou saying, “You can have it, I just bought a new one,” and breezed out, leaving the taller boy’s protests hanging.
If Gakuto had been there, maybe he’d have cracked some gag about indirect kissing; howled with laughter and told Choutarou to give it some tongue, but Gakuto had already left. Maybe if Ryou hadn’t been trying to figure out how to unknot the medusa he’d made of his shoelaces he’d have said something sooner about Taki’s gay taste in lip salve and let Choutarou help himself to his Vaseline instead, and things would have stayed normal.
Instead he’d looked up just in time to see Choutarou puzzling at the chap-stick, the tiny tube held in his long fingers, giving it an experimental sniff. That’s all. Ryou doesn't even remember him touching it to his lips, but he remembers Choutarou’s mouth all too well; lips parted, expression soft.
It had turned him on ferociously.
In reality he knows he’s being a bit unfair to Taki. All he really did was lend Choutarou chap-stick. It’s not his fault it gave Ryou a rogue boner. Maybe it was the chap-stick itself, he thinks, desperate for an excuse. It was pretty girly looking- a pinkish nub of plastic and grease, which whiffed faintly of cherry blossom. Girl smell. His dick gives a little twitch at the memory.
Curling in bed he pats it consolingly, a little hopeful it might resolve itself back to tits after all, but it doesn’t do anything. Un-erect it’s just a willy, a little sad and sulky-looking from the earlier abuse.
*Krz* Fatality. Over. *Krz*
Ryou rolls over and pulls the covers over his head and whimpers. It’s just not fair.
TWO
It’s a phase. Ryou eyeballs himself in the mirror and tells it to himself. Just a phase, like other people’s mothers always say in movies. Like with aching knees and zits and hair joyously erupting from armpits (and the one stray one by his nipple that bothers him) and the way your voice chooses always the worse moments to crack, it’s just another thing where his wiring has gone screwy in the course of the general refurbishment.
Tomorrow he’ll probably wake up with an irrational urge to fuck a doorknob.
Probably, he thinks, shuffling around his locker in the muddle of boys before practice, I’ll look back on this and laugh at what a stupid dork I was. He remembered a few years ago when he’d panicked he’d got something wrong with him, probably cancer and he’d spent six days privately worrying about it until someone had pointed out his Adam’s apple was growing.
What an idiot.
Maybe in ten years time there’ll be a high school reunion and he’ll turn up with his wife (supermodel, of course. He’d be batman by then.) and Choutarou would turn up with his (and he’s generous. Choutarou married a glamorous violinist- a blonde with one of those sexy foreign accents. Mmm…) and they’d get drunk or something and the women would swap pictures of their kids and coo and giggle in a corner and he’d laugh and tell Choutarou, ‘you know, I once panicked I had a crush on you, lame and gross right?” and Choutarou’d laugh too and say something corny like ‘weren’t we young?’ and then maybe do that little ‘eheh’ chuckle of his and admit he used to have weird crushes too, like this one on Saka-
Eurgh. No. Too far.
“What’s that face for?” Gakuto asks, frowning at him. “You fart or something?”
“Shut up,” Ryou growls, tugging his jersey on and leaves the locker room, breathing deep the fresh sharp air. Too bad they’re stuck doing practice in the gym, he thinks, rocking his head back to look up at the sky. It’s blue and bright and brilliant- lifting his spirits.
The wind nips at his ears a little, but it helps to distract him. He exhales. Maybe he can do this after all. Forget it all. It’ll be a perfectly normal practice and the world will all be right again. Birds fly overhead and his eyes track the progress of their dark shapes against the blue until the light starts to create sprites in his vision and everything swims in flashes of yellow and neon pink.
“Shishido-san!”
His head turns like a whip-shot in response to the call before he can school himself to act a little cooler. He feels like a dog that just got his leash yanked.
Choutarou’s stood on the grass by the gym, one hand raised and waving, the sun streaming through his pale hair, blown into tufts by the wind, until it’s glowing like a halo. He beckons, lips curving up into a smile.
Ryou’s dick twitches.
THREE
It’s going to fuck with their game.
Practice was excruciating. Nothing happened; thank god Atobe had one of his freak-outs about their regime in comparison to Rikkai-dai and set them to extra reps of everything. They limped home afterwards, too knackered to even talk. Who needs words anyway, when a grunted monosyllable will do just fine?
Nothing happened, but Ryou found himself unable to look Choutarou in the eye. He slumps under the kotatsu, ostensibly picking at his maths homework but spending more time worrying and gnawing on satsumas. How the hell is he going to play doubles if he’s too awkward to be near his doubles partner? They have competitions coming up in the spring. By then he might have imploded in a big desperate mess of teenage confusion and embarrassment. Or exploding.
He imagines exploding. He’d probably go off like he’d swallowed a bomb, bits of him blasting off in all directions over the courts and then the rest of the team would have to go about for hours scooping him up with shovels and grumbling about it to Atobe who wouldn’t be helping, because he’s like that. Ass. Maybe he’d pay for the coffin, although if he were that mushy, probably a bucket would be easier.
They’d have a massive funeral and it would be awesome because everyone, even Gakuto, would have to say something nice about him. Face it; the squirt would probably miss him. Atobe would say that saving him for the team was the best thing he’d ever done and Sakaki would nod all sombre-like and agree that kicking him off was the most stupid thing he could ever have done and the world needed more boys like Shishido Ryou. Taki’d paint his nails black for the occasion and that might for once actually be kind of cool because at least that was morbid and gothy rather than just girly like he usually was. Hiyoshi and Kabaji would be suitably stoic throughout the whole thing, being supportive to Choutarou, who’d obviously be the most upset. He’d probably cry, the big sop, trying to hide it in a handkerchief and-
He sticks his head in his hands and groans, getting sticky orange juice in his eyebrows and not caring. This was getting ridiculous. He did NOT just almost imagine Choutarou as some kind of widow at his own fantasy funeral.
He jabs his pen at his quadratic equations and scowls. Its like Choutarou’s stuck in his brain somehow, thanks to that stupid chap-stick. He scratches sullenly at his textbook. It can’t get worse, right?
As if to spite him, he starts dreaming about it.
FOUR
“Ryou, can you come down a moment, please?” his mother calls up the stairs in that annoying ‘I’m telling you, not asking you’ voice she gets sometimes. Ryou mashes buttons frantically and another lizard-man explodes into chunks across the screen. Cool. “In a minute!” he calls back.
“Now, Ryou,” is the answer, and there’s no arguing with that. Grumbling he smacks the escape key sending his game into limbo on the main menu and thumps downstairs, taking the steps two at a time.
“Wh-yes?” he asks, catching her serious business face and deciding at the last minute that being rude might be pushing his luck.
“I want to show you something.” She beckons him over into the kitchen and indicates the large white box in the corner. It’s been there in one form or another for as long as Ryou can remember. Mostly he ignores it.
“It’s the washing machine?” he hazards, baffled as to what she wants from him. Apparently exactly that answer because she beams like he just answered the million yen question on ‘Who Wants To Be Rich?’ Nice to know his intellect is held in such high regard.
“You put everything in the top here,” she says, flipping up the plastic lid and pointing inside. “See the lump in the middle? Don’t cover it up, put the things around it, not on it. Soap is in the cupboard; use the scoop that’s in the box, don’t just guess. You’ll need about two scoops if the machine is full and one if it isn’t.”
She tugs out a little plastic draw from somewhere inside the machine as if by magic. “And it goes in here, not on the laundry, and mind you close it after or it won’t work properly. Then-“
“What?” Ryou finally blurts, confused. “Why are you-“ he stares at her like she’s declared he’s lame and the family had decided to kick him out the house; crestfallen. He’s even more confused when she gets this odd wobbly smile, the one he remembers from every time he bought her macaroni art or a milk tooth.
“I thought,” she says gently, putting an arm around his shoulders (which must look lame cause they’re on a level with her head), “that you might want to do your own laundry sometimes. Hmm? Wouldn’t that be easier all round?”
“No?” Ryou ventures. His current system works just fine after all. Dump it in the hamper and wait for it to teleport back to his closet.
“Not say, in the morning? Before school?” He still doesn’t get what she’s angling at. She parks him on a stool and looks at him. He feels like an ant. A massive gangling ant with awkward knees and elbows everywhere, his face a ball of consternation.
“Mum, you’re being weird-“
“Ryou,” she interrupts him, “ you’re growing up now, and it’s time you started doing a few things for yourself. Just like your brother does. Like some of your laundry. Like bedding.” Realization must be slow to dawn on Ryou’s face because she adds, “little morning issues?” and includes a finger gesture that Ryou never, ever wants to see ever again.
He turns tomato and groans in humiliation. Now would be an excellent time for a chasm to roar open beneath his feet, tilting him down into a fiery and explodey death and thus blessed relief from having a conversation about his spunky sheets.
She chuckles and ruffles his hair fondly, making him give another stifled ‘aurghhh’ of embarrassment.
“It’s perfectly normal,” she says consolingly, and then in what he is convinced is a ploy to ensure all his blood is kept burning as a blush across the whole of his head she adds, “and I know it’s an accident at least some of the time.”
FIVE
At first, he just tries harder to hide it. Scrubs harder with the tissues and leaves the window open. Squirts deodorant around with abandon. It works for about three days until he catches her folding his just-washed pillowcase with such reproach that he gives up. Still, he treats the whole thing as mission impossible; sneaking down early, bundle under his arm, trying to avoid ever being seen with the evidence. The fact that she puts it through the dryer and back on his bed is irrelevant.
“Dork.” His older brother accuses, smirking with schadenfreudic glee as Ryou turns scarlet and rushes to wedge the sheets in the machine. He’s only smug (Ryou thinks) kicking him hard in the butt on the way out, because he’s not plagued by messed up thoughts about his doubles partner.
The annoyance from the incident is enough to inspire him to try raiding his brother’s porn collection.
It’s a ninja mission. Mission impossible- Ryou knows full well if he’s caught sneaking about his brother’s room not only will his mother lecture him until his ears bleed about privacy, but his brother will catch him later and tear him a new one. Invading each other’s rooms is a sacrosanct no-no; he hasn’t set foot in the other’s room in years- the door is kept firmly shut, and it’s majorly out of his comfort zone. Ryou chickens out twice before he finally psyches himself up. Humming the James Bond theme helped.
It’s a thrill just sneaking around his brother’s room, marvelling at how (and god knows how) he manages to be an even bigger slob than Ryou himself. So much so in fact that for a moment he forgets all about the porn, helping himself to candy instead and trying out a few of his videogames with the sound turned off. His mother is downstairs; he’s pretending to be studying. As an especially cunning part of the ruse, and he’s dead pleased with himself for thinking of it, he’s left his CD player running with his English class CD in it on a loop.
Even from here he can hear it burbling away with faux American cheeriness to itself. “Are we meeting at 11:30 in front of the entrance?” Mary chirrups. ‘No, you freak,’ Ryou replies in his head, ‘it’s 9am by the bus stop. It says so in your diary on page 32!’
He stands in the middle of the floor, eyeing the chaotic mess around him. Where would his brother have hidden it? He can’t imagine it’s anywhere his mother would dare go, so that rules out the drawers or the wardrobe. He checks in amongst the books on the shelves, starting with whatever seems the most boring, disused and innocent. Dictionaries and last year’s textbooks yield nothing. An inspection of the mattress reveals two dirty socks, both from different pairs, books, Ryou’s pencil sharpener that he lost two days ago and a stain that makes him decide he doesn’t want to touch the bed any more, but no pornography.
He rummages the boxes, under the mini armchair, in it, amongst the CD’s but nothing. Then he almost groans at his own stupidity.
Of course… his brother’s laptop. It’s lying on the desk, all tempting and full of possibilities, but he’s been in there too long. Already he can hear the CD repeating it’s third round of Mary being unrealistically stupid about who, when and where she’s supposed to meeting with Takashi. Lame. He doesn’t know the password either, so there’s no point stealing it away to his room to try logging in either.
Ryou beats a strategic retreat to his bedroom and sighs. What a failure that was…
He’d already considered looking online using his own laptop, but then if it crashed or got a virus he’d have to tell his parents and he wasn’t ready for another awkward conversation with his mother about what he might or might not do on purpose. Still, in the face of defeat, he feels he has to try something. He heads for the safest website he can think of and removes the safety filters, offering up a tiny prayer of thanks to the gods of Googling.
*Krz* Soldier, it’s time. Hup-to, at the double! *Krz*
*Krz* Sir, yes Sir! Bring on the pron.*krz*
‘Heh,’ Ryou thinks, amused at himself, ‘That rhymed.’ His fingers hover for a moment. Of course, he’s done this before, jokingly with friends, just for kicks. It’s hilarious to lean over in class and Google rude words on someone else’s’ computer while they’re dithering around the printer. He’s never done this alone in his room before though.
Using two fingers he types in ‘boobs’. He frowns at the word and the flashing cursor with all the intensity of an Antiques expert examining a suspected Chippendale desk and then adds ‘really big’ to his search. He hits enter.
Nice.
A lot of disembodied ones, to be sure, but a whole page of tits bounces into life across his laptop screen. Ryou drinks it in. Nipples are oddly fascinating. He hasn’t appreciated they could be so diverse. His dick gives a tiny twitch and he almost cheers for it. A little dry mouthed he scrolls the pages until he reaches saturation point. It was interesting, but it didn’t quite prove anything he feels. Maybe he needs more of a test…
Feeling incredibly uncomfortable he types in ‘penis’ and hits search. Rows of cocks arrange themselves across his screen in a haphazard march. He’s seen a number in his life, but he has to admit, until photographed up close he hasn’t really considered that they are really fucking ugly. He doesn’t even scroll half a page before he finds a picture of a horrible injury and decides this wasn’t the greatest idea. He also thinks it says a lot about the Internet that the first page is a lot of scientific drawings and some animals.
Still, he’s mildly cheered. Whatever is going on with him, he decides that this proves that he is not suddenly universally gay. He’s probably never going to get a boner for Sakaki, who his rebellious brain points out to him, is hotter than that guy.
As a remedy for the way that disturbs him, he Googles for vaginas and proceeds to spend a contemplative few minutes surfing. By the time he closes the laptop he has concluded that firstly the collective Internet user has a really alarming obsession with gross-out material and secondly genitalia removed from context really aren’t that erotic and in fact, look more like Lovecraft’s monsters.
‘At least,’ he thinks, pleased with himself as he heads down for dinner, ‘I’m not a pervert.’
SIX
Respite comes briefly in the form of his brother’s pre-Christmas date; some doll of a girl he met at the arcade. Her tits are small but her legs go all the way up. Ryou has always been an aficionado of legs. He’s slightly disgusted to know this is something he and his brother have in common. Her name is Rina, she has dyed blonde hair and with her clumpy wedge high heels on she’s taller than Ryou.
He gets the impression she’s something of an innocent dork because his first introduction to her is coming out of the kitchen as she’s bent over in the genkan, one hand braced on the shoe closet, undoing her heels. She cheerfully babbles, oblivious of the way her skirt has hitched up precariously high across her ass, and the fact that Ryou’s brother is stood behind her, drinking it in.
“Uh-huh,” he says, nodding glassy-eyed along to whatever it is she’s saying. Ryou freezes, glass of milk halfway to his mouth and automatically tilts his head to the side, trying to get a peek.
His brother notices that they have an audience and turns beetroot in a combination at outraged humiliation and rage. The glare he gives Ryou could give Sakaki a run for his money. Lucky for Ryou, his brother is obviously pretending to be a good guy, because when Rina straightens up a few seconds later with a bounce of her silky ponytail, he represses what is a clear urge to ram Ryou’s head through a wall. She doesn’t seem to notice.
“Hello, pleased to meet you,” she says politely, and then she’s gone, scurried away by his brother before Ryou can say something rude or lame or teasing or… well, actually, anything at all. Ryou shuts his mouth, affronted. He’d only been going to say hi. He isn’t interested in his brother’s stupid girlfriends.
Except he is, a little bit.
Not at first. At first she seems all tiny skirt and ponytail and heels and perfume- just another girl. He imagined she was probably dorking about doing purikura when they met. It’s not until he hears from his stakeout spot in the kitchen the sound of the Playstation booting up his curiosity is piqued. Ryou appreciates that he’s not exactly Romeo, but he figures it’s kind of rude of his brother to sit around playing video games. Maybe this is some kind of weird flirting technique. He get’s a shock to hear Rina saying, ‘Jump left- I said left! Now kick him in the face and equip the grappling hook-”
What the…
He lurks around, finding pretences, until Rina leaves. He emerges from the dining room as she’s sat putting her shoes on. “Were you playing Dreadlock 3?” He asks.
“Yup!” She smiles distantly at him, and then looks down to deal with her buckles again. “We were. Dai-chan wanted some tips. I think he’ll beat me next time.” Over her head, Ryou mouths ‘Dai-Chan?’ to his brother who mouths ‘Piss off’ back.
“Are you going to call me after volley-ball practice?” She asks, standing up again. She’s really tall, Shishido realises, with those heels on. She’s kind of tall to begin with. His brother nods and mumbles something and makes unsubtle ‘Ryou, fuck off Right. NOW. I want to kiss my girlfriend,’ gestures behind his back. The dog wanders in, just as though karma wants to piss him off more and sits by Ryou, panting and staring. Rina eyes Mochi, a little nervously.
She kisses his brother’s cheek, her hands in his. She has, Ryou unconsciously notes, big hands for a girl. She peeks around him and gives a polite wave to Ryou. Ryou smirks and waves back, knowing his brother is pretty much dying. “Pleased to meet you.” She says, and then she’s gone. By the time Ryou’s brother has seen her out the door and turned around, Ryou has likewise fled with the dog.
He jogs down the lane, leaping the bollards. He’s met a girl, and thank god, he thinks she’s pretty hot. She’s tall and blonde and plays videogames and likes sport. He doesn’t mind the big hands, and she probably wears jeans like a normal person other times and he could probably ignore the long hair if he tried. The perfume is gross, but she’s sweet and polite. She isn’t exactly stacked by a long shot, but he thinks it makes her legs look nicer. Who cares if it’s his brother’s girlfriend? He’s allowed to crush.
He ruffles Mochi’s ears, thinking that the way she was a bit scared of him was cute. He wants to maybe try and put at her at ease; say something cool like ‘don’t worry, Mochi’s really well trained’. Ok… maybe cooler than that. And take her hand and get her to pet his dog, like he had to with Ch-
Ohh. Oh god.
He puts it together like a list in his head: I like- tall, blonde, big hands, sporty, short hair, video games, polite. I didn’t like- long hair, short skirt, perfume, heels or girliness.
“Fuck my life…”
What bothers him most is that he and his brother apparently have exactly the same taste in partners.
SEVEN
“Billiards,” he blurts. Choutarou stares at him, puzzled.
“Now?” His look of disappointment sticks in Ryou’s heart like a dagger. “But we always go to Yoshinoya’s for beef bowls. They have the cheese special today too…” He sighs. “I suppose it can’t be helped.”
Ryou hates himself. He’s ruining their friendship but he can hardly look Choutarou in the eye. He’s spent all day a mess. A weekend apart has made him proverbially fonder and at practice the sight of Choutarou slowly rubbing his towel down his damp stomach gained an almost violent response from the contents of Ryou’s shorts. He’d had to hide in a cubical and deal with it as quietly as he could.
“Uh, well… winter competitions,” he mumbles, “Y’know. Sorry. Don’t you have violin or something?”
“I told my teacher I couldn’t do Wednesdays,” Choutarou replies. To the inexperienced observer, it’d be easy to assume he was being contrite and a little ‘silly old me’. Ryou knows better. Choutarou is pissed off; he’s just trying not to show it.
They walk in an awkward silence that’s quite unlike their usual comfortable one towards the bus stop. Choutarou pauses before they get there and Ryou can escape. “Can I come too?”
Ryou hesitates, groping for an excuse, and takes too long doing so. “Ah… actually, don’t worry,” Choutarou says, looking away, “I forgot I have a lot of homework, so I should probably go home and-”
“No, you can come!” Ryou cries before the discreet hurt in Choutarou’s voice kills him stone dead with miserable guilt. He is, he decides, an awful, awful person. He doesn’t deserve a friend like Choutarou. When the other smiles at him, brilliant and sudden, it makes his knees go weak. Cruelly, his cock doesn’t stir, but he can feel his heart leap, thumping painful and high in his chest.
Hiyoshi comes huffing up behind them scowling. He’s clearly been running. “Hey, you two left without these,” he shoves some lilac envelopes into their hands. “Atobe’s invites,” he says by way of explanation, and then he’s off again, still with two in his hand.
“Jirou,” Choutarou guesses. He looks at his. Ryou looks at his own and comments, “Always lilac. You’d think he’d have figured out that’s not really Tezuka’s favourite colour by now.”
“I think Atobe likes it.”
“Are you going?”
“Of course,” Choutarou smiles, “Aren’t you?”
Atobe’s Christmas parties are legend- everyone wants an invite. Quite a number get one as well, Atobe’s parents apparently deciding that ‘let’s allow our son to invite some school friends to our grown-up party’ could easily encompass half the school. Only his select friends, almost exclusively the tennis regulars, get the other invite, to stay overnight and enjoy a fat breakfast Christmas morning.
Oshitari and Gakuto get one too, even though they gave up high school tennis this year in favour of other pursuits. For Gakuto, mostly university entrance exams- out of the blue he announced he was setting his heart on doing something with pharmacology. From what Ryou knows, Gakuto’s parents were equally as startled, but agreed provided he got into a good enough university. They’re still friends though. Two national competitions don’t amount to nothing after all.
“Yeah,” Ryou nods belatedly. They hop on the bus to the billiard hall, Ryou groping his pocket discreetly and hoping he has enough cash on him. Choutarou makes small talk about Christmas lights and rehearsal.
“When’s your competition?” he asks after a moment and Ryou blinks at him stupidly. “The billiards competition?” Choutarou prompts.
“Oh uh… dunno yet. Hasn’t been announced. I have to get through the prelims first,” Ryou splutters improvising. He’s pretty proud of that lie, it even sounds plausible.
It’s a bit less plausible when they get into the foyer of the billiard hall and there’s a massive colour poster of the final and a photo of a boy stood there smiling already with the trophy in hand. Choutarou does nothing but raise and eyebrow at him until Ryou blushes beetroot red and feels like a moron and a bastard rolled into one. “Well we’re here now,” Choutarou said with a mildness that is so carefully lenient it might as well be acid. He walks up and pays for a table and a cue, even though Ryou knows Choutarou has played billiards only a few times and isn’t that good at it or even enjoys it that much. Slinking behind him, Ryou collects a cue, coughs up his last 1000 yen note and together they enter the hall.
It’s not crowded. In fact it’s almost empty, and their table is in the corner, quiet and without any over-lookers. Ryou sets up the table and after a brief back and forth about the rules they play. However mad he is, Choutarou doesn’t show it, and by his fifth turn both of them have forgotten it. “Not so hard,” Ryou groans, watching the cue ball splat carelessly through a knot of balls and pot itself. “That was lame…and I already told you, don’t hold the cue like that-”
Choutarou laughs, “Oops.”
He stands back, letting Ryou retrieve the cue ball and place it to his own advantage on the table. They’re not really playing competitively, but Ryou is competitive regardless. He lines up a shot- still awkward for him to hit the 6 ball from here, and gives the cue ball a gentle kiss with the cue. It glides in a controlled manner across the green felt and knocks the 6-ball towards the corner pocket but fails to sink it. Still, he’s made Choutarou’s life difficult with where the cue ball has wound up.
“See, that’s how it’s done.”
“Alright, alright. And I hold it like this?” Ryou inspects his hands at a careful distance. “Yeah, that’s it.”
He leans against the wall, sipping his coke and trying not to watch Choutarou pace around the billiard table trying to decide what to do. His longer reach gives him a certain bonus, but he still has to lean to reach the middle of the table. He passes in front of Ryou, pauses and then bends over the eye the six ball from a new angle.
It gives Ryou something of a view.
*krz* Fire in the hoooolle *krz*
*krz* No, soldier, it’s too soon, abort, abort! For the love of god, get me the over ride code!*karts*
*krz* There is no override code sir. Missile is launched. *krz*
And like that his trousers are uncomfortably tight. He shuffles up awkwardly to the table, using it as a shield to disguise the bulge. Choutarou glances up at him over his own arm and smiles slightly. “Alright?”
“Yes,” Ryou says, flushing slightly when his voice cracks. Choutarou seems oblivious. “I was thinking of bouncing it off the cushion there.”
“Good idea.” Ryou replies, not even looking. Choutarou leans forward again, Ryou glances sideways and swallows. Choutarou’s had another growth spurt or else the weight-training at club is paying off in odd places or else he’s wearing last years trousers because the way they stretch across his buttocks shows off a little too much curve. He tears his gaze away.
*krz* pervert. Over. *krz*
*krz* Oh what the fuck, shut up, You’re not even real, you’re just the voice of my conscience. *krz*
*krz* His ass is hot. You like it. *krz*
He’s blushing, he can feel it. He’s also slightly convinced Choutarou is driving him insane with longing.
Touch iiittt~ bet it feels firm. He’d gasp. It’d be sexy as hell.
No!
Make that fully convinced. It doesn’t help that Choutarou is frowning at the cue ball and taking his sweet time with the shot, sliding the wood back and forth through the hole made by his fingers. Ryou stifles back a choke.
“I’m going to the toilet,” he manages gruffly and flees.
He dives into a cubicle and stuffs a hand down his pants, gritting his teeth and jerking himself roughly. He’s only got a minute or two before he’s officially ‘taken too long’ and he really doesn’t want to give Choutarou any more cause to think that something is up. He can’t even deny it to himself any more. He’s thinking of Choutarou the whole time and it feels good when he comes.
He slopes out to wash his hands, feeling suddenly much less tense, only to find someone already stood at the sinks, smiling at him via the mirror.
“Enjoying yourself?”
Ryou goes beetroot. “Hullo Fuji,” he manages, scrubbing his hands hastily, mind whirling. How long had he been in here? Oh god... it was like the humiliation never ceased.
“How are you?” Fuji asks, smile terrifyingly knowing as he reaches for a paper towel to dry his hands with.
“Fine. You?”
“Mmm, quite well thank you. I’d invite you for a game, but it seems you’ve already found a partner. Is Choutarou-kun any good?”
Ryou wants to die. This is almost as bad as his mother and her bloody laundry regime.
“Yeah. Fine. See you around.”
Fuji’s eyes slit open with a flash of blue. “Have fun. Let me know if you’d rather have a challenge though. I’d be happy to accommodate.”
Ryou eyes him with trepidation. “Uh. Maybe.” From one of the toilet stalls there’s a sudden, stifled but distinct ‘nfu’.
Fuji’s head turns like a terrier that’s just heard a rat and his smile widens. Ryou takes the opportunity to make a run for it. Some things he figures he’s just better off never knowing.
On to part 2...