Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4313562.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      弱虫ペダル_|_Yowamushi_Pedal
  Relationship:
      Manami_Sangaku/Midousuji_Akira, Ishigaki_Koutarou/Midousuji_Akira
  Character:
      Midousuji_Akira, Manami_Sangaku, Ishigaki_Koutarou, Arakita_Yasutomo,
      Onoda_Sakamichi
  Additional Tags:
      Anal_Fingering, Anal_Sex, Barebacking, Creampie, Mildly_Dubious_Consent,
      Exhibitionism, Dirty_Talk, Public_Sex, Rough_Sex, Minor_Violence, Plot
      What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-07-10 Words: 5663
****** Devil in the Hills ******
by mamebo
Summary
     Manami is a raging pervert, Midousuji is caught unawares, and
     Ishigaki is just collateral damage.
     Pure manamido smut with a tiny, tiny slice of ishimi towards the end.
Notes
     I don't really have an excuse for this, just that I am a sinner and
     sinning is in my blood. The setup is entirely contrived just so I
     could write Manami railing Midou, and I am entirely unapologetic
     about that.
     (I was insisting just a little while ago that I was totally capable
     of writing shit other than porn, but... nope! Porn is all I can do! I
     accept my fate filled with dicks)
See the end of the work for more notes
When Ishigaki announces that the team would be joining Hakogaku and Sohoku for
a joint training session over in Hakone during the weekend, Midousuji was
immediately on high alert. Why would they be coordinating practices now with
those two teams in particular, given their recent history—but Ishigaki assures
him that there was no ulterior motives other than three of the best teams in
the country coming together to spur each other on to ever higher heights
(through “competitive spirit and camaraderie,” in response to which Midousuji
gags). Midousuji naturally doesn’t buy it and says as much to Ishigaki’s
stupidly excited face, but he begrudgingly goes along with it, because racing
Onoda and Manami would prove enlightening about the state of the teams post-
Interhigh at the least.
Onoda, unfortunately, doesn’t appear to be in his usual form despite his
enthusiasm in being able to train with the other teams, and when Midousuji
glances out over the remainder of Sohoku’s yellow jerseys, he figures it must
have something to do with the absence of the third-year climber that he had
been so fond of. Half an hour into the first major climb, Sohoku has all but
fallen to the back while Midousuji finds himself alone at the very front with
Manami, who seems to be in high spirits as he pedals leisurely alongside him.
“You want to race?” Manami asks with a grin when nobody else shows any sign of
appearing behind them after several turns up the mountainside. “Sakamichi-kun
doesn’t seem to want to, but we can still race to the first checkpoint!”
Midousuji frowns, looks at the bright blue, cloudless sky overhead, and says
very noncommittally, “Sure.”
Neither of them put too much effort into it until they see signs that notify
them of the first checkpoint five kilometers up, a rest area that the teams had
agreed upon to stop and regather at before they continued on to the downhill
leg of that day’s practice. At the five kilometer mark they hunker down over
their handlebars, gaining speed even as the incline sharply increases with
every hairpin bend in the road, and at three kilometers Manami actually zips up
his jersey, clicking up dangerously far on his gears while his pupils dilate
the higher they climb. He shouts nonsense about the pain of feeling alive and
the ache in his legs that Midousuji stolidly ignores in favor of focusing on
the rhythmic motions of his pedals and the sway of his bike underneath him.
With five hundred meters left to go, they funnel the last of their breath into
pedaling, and they are neck and neck in the final burst toward the rest stop.
Midousuji gets just barely enough of an edge over Manami in the last second,
his front tire passing first by the weathered old wooden sign that informs them
of the relative distance to nearby towns and their elevation above sea level.
Manami exhales loudly with disappointment, unzipping his jersey again as they
circle back around to the bike racks and picnic tables on the side of the small
concrete building that houses the bathrooms. “You beat me this time, Midousuji-
kun,” he says good-naturedly as he flops down onto a grassy patch. His face is
bright red and mottled with sweat as he gasps for breath, but he still looks
exceedingly pleased with himself despite his loss. When Midousuji snorts at him
and heads into the bathroom, he adds cheekily, propping himself up on his
elbows, “Hope you do as well at the next Interhigh!”
All he receives is laughter in return when he clicks his teeth sharply at him,
and with a scowl he stomps inside and strips himself of his gloves to wash up
at the sink. He takes his time scrubbing the sweat from his hands and arms and
splashes the cool water over his face and head, using a small washcloth he had
brought along to mop up the rivulets that course down his neck and chest. When
he squints at his pink-cheeked reflection in the small, dingy mirror hanging on
the wall, he bares his teeth, ensures that they’re all there and in their
proper places, and then heads back outside.
He looks toward their bikes hooked into the racks and notices Manami’s absence,
his spot on the grass now vacated. He takes one step toward his leaning De Rosa
and then yowls when someone grabs him by the hook of his elbow and yanks him
backwards, his cleats skidding over concrete and then patchy grass and dirt.
“You have to keep your wits about you, Midousuji-kun,” Manami croons into his
ear as his hands slide deftly around Midousuji’s sides, rounding the flare of
his hips to cup the padded junction of his legs within the palms of his hands.
He murmurs lowly, a smile evident in his voice, “You never know when someone
might try to take advantage, after all.”
With a huff, Midousuji steps backward onto Manami’s toe and wedges the sharp
point of his elbow between them in an attempt to wrest him off. “What are you
doing, Manami,” he hisses, eyes flashing wildly at both the resistance and the
laughter he is met with. “Let go of me already!”
Manami twirls on his feet while he laughs, spinning them nauseatingly fast over
the ground, and with a thud Midousuji slams hands-first into the front of a
vending machine standing next to the exterior wall of the restrooms. “Don’t be
so difficult about this,” he says cheerfully, lifting the bottom of Midousuji’s
jersey and then sticking his fingertips under the waistband of his shorts
without a shred of hesitance, adding with a touch more seriousness, “It might
make things less pleasant for you.”
Midousuji gurgles from behind his clenched teeth, slapping his hands over
Manami’s wrists and roughly yanking them out from between skintight spandex and
sweat-slick skin. When he cranes his head over his shoulder to glare at him,
Manami leers back at him, eyes narrowed and smile now smoothed out into a
dangerously curved line that makes Midousuji’s innards curl and prickle
unpleasantly.
“The longer we wait,” Manami tells him matter-of-factly, angling his head even
closer so that the hot breath of his words skims the skin of Midousuji’s lips,
“the less time we have before the others get here.”
Speaking slowly and deliberately so as to make it past the thick barrier of
Manami’s skull, Midousuji asks with teeth bared, “And why do we have to do this
here and now?”
Manami closes his eyes and presses his nose and mouth into the curve of
Midousuji’s neck and suddenly inhales deep, and Midousuji goes completely
still. Manami holds his breath for a long moment and then releases it slowly,
sinking his fingertips into the crease of Midousuji’s thighs like heavy anchors
into his flesh. “We don’t have to, I guess, but where’s the fun in that?”
“You’re doing this for fun,” Midousuji repeats with dry disbelief, only barely
managing to suppress his full-body shiver as he makes another attempt to get
himself out of Manami’s grip, but the moment he lets go of the hands that had
made an attempted break-in into his shorts, they instead attach themselves to
the vending machine as barricades on either side of his torso. Midousuji
glowers down at Manami’s impish little smile, eyes slitting with displeasure.
“Manami-kun—”
“Live a little,” Manami says with a grin, stepping close and grinding himself
flat against Midousuji’s backside, and Midousuji makes a strange little choked
sound at the unmistakable press of a hard cock into the barely-existent curve
of his ass.
Midousuji can only manage to snarl another “Manami” before the telltale sound
of bike treads and bright voices alight on the road near the rest stop, and
with another twist on the balls of his feet, Manami yanks them both behind the
vending machine and away from immediate view. Now they are face to face, and
all the flat planes of their body slot tight and snug into each other as Manami
leans up into him unabashedly.
“What’d I say, Midousuji-kun,” Manami whispers in a sing-song, eyelashes
fluttering as he wriggles a knee between Midousuji’s thighs and reaches up to
curl his fingers around the zipper of his jersey. Midousuji spares him a faint
growl of frustration, and Manami quirks a grin and dips his chin to bite into
the sun-warmed skin of his neck, scraping his teeth along the taut cords of
Midousuji’s throat as he tugs the zipper, tooth by tooth, down the length of
its track.
Sohoku’s voices intermingle with that of Hakogaku and Kyofushi’s as bikes roll
off the asphalt and onto the grass and gravel, but not everyone seems to be
present—notably absent are the high, excitable voices of Onoda and Naruko, as
well as that of Ishigaki’s, gratingly affable as always, and Midousuji swallows
back a cringe at the thought of being discovered by those three in particular,
all while Manami drags the wet trail of his tongue into the hollows of
prominent collarbones and down the plateau of his sternum. Midousuji’s head
thuds with an audible rattle into the vending machine with the first
inquisitive lick to one of his nipples, and he breathes out harshly, tongue
lashing, “Manami!”
Manami chuckles, his lips momentarily soft as he kisses the hardened bud, and
then he opens his mouth wide like a predator’s and snaps down unmercifully with
the sharp, flat edges of his teeth. Midousuji gasps soundlessly, his spine
bowing in an arc away from the metal behind him, and as his open jersey
flutters away from the bulge of his ribs Manami slides a hand around him,
tugging the leanness of his body deeper into his mouth and his touch.
The other hand flits downward and cups the growing heat of Midousuji’s crotch,
squeezing rather ungently around the slowly stiffening line of his cock.
Midousuji writhes in a half-hearted attempt to escape from Manami’s clutches,
but honestly—what can he expect to accomplish even if he did manage to get
away? The thought of encountering Sohoku and Hakogaku in this pathetic state
he’s in, with the beginnings of hickeys on his neck and chest and a growing
bulge in his bike shorts, appalls him. But running into those idiots versus
being caught by them while entangled with Manami like this...
Fingers clamp down on his other nipple, and Midousuji smothers down a screech,
his trunk twisting grotesquely under the onslaught, and Manami, brat that he
is, actually laughs around his current mouthful, his blue eyes flashing bright
beneath the dark simmer of his lids.
“Do you want them to find us, Midousuji-kun?” Manami asks with obvious
amusement, finally drawing away from Midousuji’s abused flesh with one last
flick of his tongue, and he straightens back up, face hovering dangerously
close. “What would you do, if Onoda-kun and his friends found us here like
this? Or that senpai of yours?” he purrs, eyes going wide with manic glee for
just a few seconds, long enough that Midousuji swallows down the stinging throb
of his anger in favor of preserving himself. “Can you just imagine their
faces?”
Pleased with Midousuji’s begrudging silence, Manami smirks, tilting his head to
the side to lap at the shell of Midousuji’s ear as voices fade in and out over
the sounds of the toilets and faucets in the bathrooms and feet scuffing across
the ground. Someone on the other side of the building comments loudly on the
presence of Manami and Midousuji’s bikes but the apparent absence of the
owners, and somebody else dismisses their concern, saying it was perfectly in
Manami’s nature to go wandering about when he was bored.
“With Midousuji, though?” another voice, possibly one of Sohoku’s, asks with a
mixture of concern and possibly disgust. “What would they do together?”
“Probably try to kill each other,” the second voice replies glibly. “Seems like
something they’d both be into.”
Manami huffs into his ear. “Arakita-san, you’re so mean,” he coos distractedly,
wriggling himself along the jut of a sharp hip as his fingers scamper over the
taut, flat muscle of Midousuji’s lower abdomen, and this time Midousuji doesn’t
have the strength to try to stop him when he hooks his little claws into the
waistband of his shorts and tugs it down just enough to expose him to the
elements.
In exasperated retaliation, Midousuji reaches for Manami to do the same, his
movements stuttering momentarily when Manami firmly grips the length of his
cock, squeezing it from root to tip with a sure hand.
“You’re gonna touch mine too, Midousuji-kun? You’re so nice!” Manami chuckles,
letting go of Midousuji’s cock to help slide his shorts far enough down his
thighs, but upon sight of Manami’s dick, Midousuji feels his hands begin to
falter, his fingers twitching and convulsing at the thought of actually making
himself touch that thing.
“Gross,” he mutters under his breath, blinking at the strong, thick line of it
and the peculiar blue hairs it is surrounded by. He finds himself wondering
then if any of his pubic hair moved at all like that one clump of hair on his
head did, and at the faintest bob of Manami’s cock, he instinctually recoils
backward, suddenly afraid and arousal plummeting. “Gross,” he whispers hotly,
making a face even as Manami palms him determinedly to save his flagging
erection.
Manami leans into him again, grinning dangerously as he pulls confidently at
Midousuji’s cock. “Well, I guess you don’t have to. But if you won’t touch me,
then that means I get to do this!”
At first Midousuji has no idea what Manami means, and he stares at him, flatly
unimpressed—and then fingers slide straight down the curve of his back,
slipping in between the cheeks of his ass, all the way to—
This time he can’t contain the enraged shriek that escapes him, loud enough to
definitely be audible to the others still milling about. Midousuji slaps a hand
over his own mouth, glaring pure, seething hatred down at Manami’s sunny smile
as someone, probably Weakizumi by how stupid they sound, asks, “Was
that—Midousuji just now?”
“You’ve been awfully concerned about Midousuji the whole day, Imaizumi,” comes
the deep voice of Sohoku’s captain, and Manami begins to snicker into
Midousuji’s shoulder as he angles his fingertips around the tight ring of his
hole, teasing and flicking even as Midousuji struggles against him. Kinjou
continues with a fatherly air, “Is there something bothering you?”
Imaizumi seems embarrassed. Gross. “N-Nothing really, Kinjou-san.”
“Turn around,” Manami orders quietly, teeth flashing in another of his scary
grins as he continues to poke and prod mercilessly at Midousuji, all while his
other hand strokes with a steady pace at his cock.
“No,” Midousuji hisses from behind his hand, glaring as fiercely as he can
while he is attacked relentlessly on both sides, and when Manami adds a twist
to his wrist as he jerks at his dick, he bites his lip to smother the pathetic
moan trying to escape him. His eyelids fall to half-mast, head lolling on the
vending machine as Manami runs a heavy thumb along the underside of his cock
all the way to the tip, rubbing circles into the shiny, come-slick head before
he slots the blunt tip of his finger into the slit.
Manami licks his lips languidly, clearly relishing the way Midousuji shivers in
starts and stops underneath his hands. “How about it?” he hums, raising his
eyebrows, and when Midousuji summons up the dredges of his strength to give him
another withering look, he pushes in a little deeper, wrenching a pained grunt
out of him. “Hmm, Midousuji-kun?”
Midousuji is about to headbutt him (or at least tell him to take his sass
elsewhere, like straight off a cliff) when footsteps crunch on the ground on
their side of the building. He goes completely cold and still, face draining of
breath and blood as someone approaches, jangling change noisily in their hand;
meanwhile, Manami doesn’t let up at all, continuing to push a dry finger to the
next knuckle into Midousuji while his thumb polishes the swollen head of his
prick.
“How exciting,” Manami says into his ear, whisper-soft, and his cock slips
snugly like velvet along Midousuji’s as he coils them in tight into the corner
of the vending machine and the concrete wall. Midousuji twists his lip in a
sneer even as he doesn’t dare to breathe, gloved hands curled into fists at his
sides to keep them from shaking.
The footsteps come closer and closer still, and Midousuji counts the seconds
until they are discovered like this, half-undressed and with their dicks out
and Manami’s finger up his ass. He has no idea what he would do if they were
caught—push Manami away and run off screaming? Pretend nothing was wrong and
walk off with head held high? Curl up into a ball and hope to be struck by
lightning? He is sweating bullets and praying that all the mean things he’s
said to the team in the past week don’t actually count towards his karmic point
total and that the god of this life is a merciful one, and then the footsteps
stop.
“Tch, this vending machine doesn’t even have any Bepsi? Ugh.” And with that
disgusted pronouncement Arakita turns around and walks away, muttering coarsely
to himself all the while.
“Oh, Arakita-san,” Manami giggles, the apples of his cheeks round and pink with
the laughter he’s trying his best to contain, “your teeth are going to rot and
fall out of your head at this rate!”
Cringing at Manami’s amusement, Midousuji reaches around to pull Manami’s hand
away from his ass, but as he’s struggling to remove it—Manami is much stronger
and far more stubborn than he looks—Manami grabs him by the shoulder and
wrenches the upper half of his body around, unleashing a series of violent
clicks and snaps as Midousuji’s skeletal frame refuses to immediately
cooperate.
With one side of his face pressed to the weather-beaten and rust-marred metal
of the vending machine, Midousuji rolls his other eye toward Manami, glowering
wildly at him even as his shoulder protests underneath the pressure of their
struggle. “Maa-naa-mii,” he snarls, square teeth furiously bared as his free
hand catches on the bend of Manami’s elbow. “Just what do you think you’re—”
All he manages to glimpse is the glint of those demonic eyes before his hips
are roughly manhandled into position, his nose grinding into dirt and grime as
Manami yanks and shoves him all the way around. When Midousuji tries to dig his
heels into the ground, Manami hooks him by the back of one ankle, and the other
twinges so sharply and unnaturally underneath the full weight of his body that
Midousuji chokes and flails, arms pinwheeling as he scrabbles to find something
to hang onto for support.
Manami clicks his tongue as his nails score bright red lines into the pale
flesh of Midousuji’s rear, his breath washing unpleasantly warm over the faint
sheen of sweat gathering around his neck again. “Hope you didn’t mess up your
ankle, Midousuji-kun, we still need to get down the mountain from here.”
“Youfreak,” Midousuji yowls, gasping raggedly for breath as Manami leisurely
pulls apart the cheeks of his ass. “What the hell do you think you’re—gah!”
His head knocks up against the wall as his body jolts away from the sudden
sensation of cold and wet. With another loud pop of his joints, Midousuji
cranes his head around to find Manami pouring a bottle of water down the cleft
of his rear as he runs a finger around the inner lip of his hole.
“What are you doing,” Midousuji thunders from behind the hard set of his teeth,
his voice strangled into quiet by his own self-mortification. Manami hums to
himself and seems to completely ignore Midousuji’s angry vibrations while he
works the entire length of a finger inside of him with only the aid of the
water.
The tip of his digit brushes up onto something Midousuji hates because it makes
his knees go as soft and rubbery as jelly, and with an agonized half-moan,
half-squeal, Midousuji digs his fingers in so tight into the sides of the
vending machine that his knuckles glow white under his already-pale skin.
“Stop it,” Midousuji orders—because he’s not begging, not yet, nor will he ever
stoop to it, not when it comes to Manami—but his voice is flimsy now, without
the callous edge it always has when he orders the zaku of Kyofushi around.
“Manami—stop—”
“Aww, but Midousuji-kun,” Manami whines as he slowly fucks Midousuji with one
finger, dropping the water bottle to the ground carelessly and reaching around
to squeeze his leaking prick with his other hand, “look at how bad you want it!
You’re so hard still, and your hole is so wet and warm, it’s just sucking me in
like it can’t get enough!” His eyes narrow gleefully while his face splits open
frighteningly wide with a smile, and he adds teasingly, “You’re so dirty!”
“Mana...mi,” Midousuji wheezes, clinging as desperately as he can to his anger
even as his eyes shutter and his jaw goes slack under the onslaught of
sensation, “Manami, I’m—telling you to stop—”
Suddenly the heat of Manami’s hands disappears from him, and Midousuji shudders
in both relief and disappointment. He half-turns toward him, intent on giving
him a piece of his mind properly now that there are no longer any distractions,
but then it turns out Manami is tearing open a small packet of what appears to
be lube.
Midousuji can only imagine the look on his face as Manami easily slips one
slick finger back inside of him with a low hum of excitement. “I picked up this
sample over the weekend at the convenience store,” he tells Midousuji
conversationally while quickly adding a second one, and Midousuji absolutely
hateshow readily his body accepts another finger. “I guess they didn’t think I
was a high schooler when I was in regular clothes? But at any rate, it’s pretty
convenient for times like this, don’t you think? It might not be quite enough,
but you’ll be fine, right?”
The breath gets knocked out of him again as Manami pumps two fingers in and out
of him indelicately, alternating at random between scissoring them apart and
slamming them in to the knuckle. Manami continues to chatter away about
something stupid pertaining to lube or sex or whatever, but Midousuji can’t
bear the sound of his voice any more than he can stand the sound of fingers
squishing and squelching inside of him, and with an anguished groan he pillows
his head in his hands.
Manami is up to three fingers and unabashedly stroking his prostate when he
murmurs, “You’re really tight, Midousuji-kun, I bet you’re going to feel
amazing around me. If only your senpai knew what they were missing out on...
I’m sure that captain of yours would just love to see this, wouldn’t he?”
He hates how his walls tighten around Manami with the combination of his touch
and those disgusting words. He absolutely does not need to be thinking about
stupid, disgusting Ishigaki now of all times, and with great effort and strain
he punches a weakly-held fist into the vending machine and spits, “Just shut
up, Manami!”
“So defensive,” Manami remarks lightly, and before Midousuji can launch into
full-on hysterics, he retracts his three fingers and immediately replaces them
with what can only be the unforgivingly thick girth of his cock. He edges the
blunt tip of the head in and says brightly and totally unreassuringly, “Here we
go!”
Midousuji muffles a long, loud wail into his forearm as Manami eases himself in
slowly and carefully, pushing his dick in nearly to the hilt before drawing
back out entirely and adding a little more lube to the pucker of Midousuji’s
hole. Manami remains unsettlingly quiet as he lines himself back up again, and
this time Midousuji manages to expel a breath that isn’t an embarrassing mewl
when he is filled up all the way with the full length of Manami’s cock.
Manami nips at the nape of his neck as he rocks gently in place, his fingers
feathering over the skeletal curve of Midousuji’s hips, and Midousuji shivers
in disgust. Tenderness from Manami was honestly unnerving—he didn’t really like
the biting and bruising and roughhousing, since he would have to hide the
evidence of it all later from the team, but it was definitely more acceptable
than this cringingly bad play at kindness when all they were doing was fucking
out in the open like a couple of wild animals.
“Gross,” Midousuji grumbles half-heartedly, frowning down at droplets of his
sweat soaking into the parched ground beneath them. He pushes his bottom out
impatiently, angling Manami in a little farther, and the stretch of his hole
makes his lower half twinge with heat. “Get a move on, Maa-nami, we don’t have
all day.”
The fingers on his hips skitter upwards and clamp onto his nipples again,
twisting them cruelly and wrenching another pained gasp from him. “Now you’re
eager, Midousuji-kun?” Manami says with a laugh evident in his voice while he
pinches and pulls at Midousuji’s chest. “What changed your mind? Or were you
really just desperate all along for me to fuck you?”
He tugs at Midousuji’s nipples, digging the edge of his nail into the buds of
flesh, which sends pinpricks of pain alight with pleasure coursing down the
length of his lanky torso and to the base of his cock. Midousuji breathes out
harshly, trying with all his might not to squirm with how badly his untouched
dick aches, and his misery only seems to amuse Manami, who sinks his teeth into
a pale shoulder with a snicker as he finally begins to piston his hips in
earnest.
Midousuji rasps unintelligibly into the back of his hand as Manami slides in
and out of his tightness, slowly at first and then with increasing speed and
force, filling the air around with them with the thunderously noisy slap and
suck of their sweat-sticky, lube-slick skin. Anybody with decent hearing would
be able to immediately discern the noise for what it was, and the awful thought
of being discovered by those idiots, who continued to chatter away unaware a
mere stone’s throw away from them, paralyzes him with dread just as much as it
whets his nerves into ever sharper, ever keener points of crackling
hypersensitivity.
The bulge of Manami’s cock rubs up in all the most terrible ways inside of him,
stretching and splitting him open wide with every slam that knocks him up
against the vending machine. Manami was right when he said there might not be
enough lube—Midousuji can feel it, the heavy, heady burn of a cock being
sheathed fast and rough deep inside of him, and he knows he’s going to suffer
for it later. But each firm, full press to his prostate smothers away the pull
and sting of their skin with a bubble of numbing haze, and every time Manami
pulls out, leaving him raw and empty, Midousuji drives himself backwards,
impaling himself shamelessly on the swell of Manami’s dick in desperate search
of his next hit of pleasure.
Manami’s hands drop back to Midousuji’s hips, grinding purple bruises into the
hollows of his bones with every unforgiving thrust, but Midousuji doesn’t care
so long as he doesn’t stop—he is already so completely lost in the tumult of
his own filthy, traitorous body that at first he can’t understand what Manami
is saying to him, not until he slows down so much that Midousuji nearly asks
what the matter is, and then he hears them.
“Huh? Midousuji-kun and Manami-kun aren’t around? Where’d they go?” Onoda
sounds lost and confused as always, like the small, innocent child that he is,
and Midousuji cringes into his hand as his voice drifts a little closer to
their nook behind the vending machine. “Their bikes are still here, right?”
“I’m sure they’ll show up, don’t worry,” says Ishigaki as reassuringly as
always, his voice light despite his shortness of breath. “Phew, but it’s hot
out—do you want a drink, Onoda? It’s on me!”
Midousuji growls softly, mashing his face into the back of his hand at the
oncoming crunch of cleats over the ground. No, he thinks, willing his stupid
senpai away with the power of his mind, don’t come over here—don’t even think
about it, just go away—take Onoda with you if you must, just don’t—
Onoda declines politely, saying he still has plenty of water left in his
bottle, but Ishigaki continues to approach, whistling as he rustles around in
his pockets.
Manami has slowed down but still continues to thrust into him at a steady pace,
moving deliberately so as to minimize the wet sounds of their joined bodies,
but it’s still enough for Midousuji to writhe and tremble, gasping shallowly
and silently as Manami fucks him without pause even as Ishigaki’s footsteps
draw ever nearer.
Ishigaki must be even closer than Arakita had come before, and yet somehow he
still seems to show no signs of awareness that his precious kouhai was getting
literally fucked over by the competition just a few feet away. He hums an old
tune under his breath, coins clinking as he counts his change, totally
oblivious to Midousuji trying his hardest to remain as quiet as possible even
as Manami chooses then of all times to pick up speed again, altering his angle
just enough that every press of his cock lines up perfectly with that sweet
spot inside of him that makes him want to scream and thrash for release.
A hand alights on his neglected dick just as Ishigaki takes one more step
towards them, and Midousuji bites down hard on his lower lip, his entire body
seizing from head to toe with a sudden tidal wave of sensation as Manami jerks
at his cock with a slippery hand.
“So close, Midousuji-kun,” Manami croons, jutting himself inside with short,
fast strokes that threaten to overwhelm him with the constant pressure they
place on his thoroughly-abused prostate, and Midousuji, delirious at the
crossroads of fear and impending climax, has no idea now whether Manami refers
to Ishigaki or to himself. He can’t bring himself to care as much as he should
about Ishigaki possibly seeing, not when Manami pumps firmly and unforgivingly
at his cock, wringing the first pulse of come out of him along with an agonized
and shuddering half-gasp, half-groan that is definitely loud enough to be heard
by someone nearby.
Midousuji squeezes his eyes shut, hiding the flush of his face from view as his
come spills in uneven jolts with every tingling throb of his dick, splattering
onto the metal of the vending machine and onto the ground and over the splay of
Manami’s fingers. He feels himself constricting around the wideness of the cock
still shearing him open, driving into him relentlessly and knocking the
wettest, filthiest noises possible out of him, and he chokes on a gurgling gasp
as Manami laughs quietly but almost maniacally into the fabric of his jersey.
There are faint thuds as something hits the ground, and a coin rolls to a stop
next to the toe of Midousuji’s cleat. “Mi... Midousuji,” Ishigaki breathes,
voice trembling, and Midousuji groans out of frustration more than anything as
Manami giggles while his prick pulses, filling him with hot, thick ropes of
seed that burn at the raw edges of his insides.
Nobody says anything at first as Manami draws back out of Midousuji’s
ass—clearly Ishigaki is too aghast to form words, Midousuji wants to disappear
into the ground and be forgotten forevermore, and Manami simply likes basking
in the awkward silence—but as he’s snapping the waistband of his shorts back up
over his bits, Manami remarks casually, “I guess we were found out, huh? We
weren’t exactly hiding that well, after all...”
Ishigaki begins to stammer shakily, “Mi-Midousuji, I, I promise I won’t—”
“Don’t,” Midousuji interrupts sharply, scowling into the cover of his hands as
he can’t bring himself to actually look at whatever stupid face Ishigaki must
be making at them. “Just go, Ishigaki.”
“I, um,” Ishigaki mumbles, shifting uncertainly on his feet, and Midousuji
wants to scream. Here he is, standing outside in broad daylight with his shorts
around his thighs and come leaking out of his asshole, and his stupid senpai
can’t even see what the most obvious course of action was to take in this case.
“Go,” Midousuji orders, his voice creaking with hoarseness, but it’s still
enough to inspire obedience, as Ishigaki turns and practically runs away,
nearly tripping on a clump of grass in his haste to flee.
He neglects to pick up his fallen change, and Manami bends down to collect it
once Ishigaki has made his escape. His eyes glimmer with excitement as he
presents his find to Midousuji. “Look, a 500-yen coin, Midousuji-kun! Do you
want something to drink?”
Midousuji straightens up slowly and tugs his shorts back into place, cringing
at the feel of semen slowly beginning to trickle out of him. He turns to look
Manami dead in the eye for several long seconds, frowning at the monstrously
beatific grin plastered across his face, and then he reels one arm back and
socks him square in the jaw.
“Gross,” he says with a sneer as Manami goes tumbling down onto his backside
with a sputter of surprised laughter, and he leaves him there in the dirt as he
limps back to the bathroom on shaky, unsteady legs, his face carefully blank
even when he encounters Ishigaki emerging from a stall with an expression of
pure guilt.
End Notes
     The ending is a little abrupt, sorry! This was all just PWP
     speedwriting, after all, I needed to get it out of my system. OTL
     Please don't hesitate to leave your comments and reactions down
     below! Porn bean will definitely reply to all your grievances and
     miseries~!
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