Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/480275.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Ore_ni_Koi_Shite_Dousunda
  Relationship:
      Kase_Ryouji/Teshima_Toranosuke
  Character:
      Kase_Ryouji_(Ore_ni_Koi_Shite_Dousunda), Teshima_Toranosuke_(Ore_ni_Koi
      Shite_Dousunda)
  Additional Tags:
      Incest
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-08-07 Words: 1481
****** drowning ******
by Rethira
Summary
     (it’s always like he’s drowning, being pulled under by Ryouji, over
     and over again, and Tora can never quite get away, never quite break
     the surface and it’s almost like he doesn’t want to anymore, because
     drowning is familiar now, and he doesn’t think he could go back to
     the way it was before)
Notes
     Ore ni Koi Shite Dousunda is a little known manga by Yoneda Kou. It's
     only four chapters long, and has been on indefinite hiatus for a long
     time - it may have been dropped entirely by the mangaka, due to the
     fact that it is primarily about the burgeoning relationship between a
     boy and his uncle.
     Thus the incest warning.
     Even apart from that, this is a very messed up and unhealthy
     relationship, and both of them know it.
“C’mon, do it,” Ryouji growls. His hands are like brands on Tora’s hips,
holding him pinned against the bed, so Tora couldn’t escape even if he wanted
to.
(and he does, he wants to escape so bad, so bad he’s crying for it, because if
he doesn’t-)
Tora hiccups, and twists his face away, so he doesn’t have to look at Ryouji,
but keeps his hand moving like Ryouji wants, and it’s not like he can forget
that Ryouji’s watching – he’s breathing heavily over Tora, and he smells like
cigarettes and beer, and every so often his hips jerk against Tora’s legs and
Tora can feel the hard line of Ryouji’s cock, hot even through his clothes, and
Tora knows what Ryouji
wants
.
(he wants to pin Tora down and strip him naked and spread him open and then he
wants to push inside Tora and break him over and over again, until Tora’s
sobbing and used on the bed and Ryouji’s lust is sated)
“You’re so fucking slow,” Ryouji snarls, and his fingers clench tightly on
Tora’s hips, so tightly it hurts and he’s going to have bruises and how did
Ryouji ever get made a detective? He’s so violent and mean, and he’s so
passionate and broken that Tora’s heart aches just thinking about him, and he
should be scared like he was when Kuroku and that man had- But this was Ryouji,
and sometimes everything Ryouji does hurts, but mostly Tora would do anything
for him.
(Tora has dreams about riding Ryouji, straddling his hips and moving himself,
and feeling Ryouji fuck up into him and Tora wakes up sweaty and aching and he
wants to slip into Ryouji’s bed then, and put his hands all over Ryouji but he
never dares to because they can fuck in every single room but they can’t share
a bed, not yet, not ever)
“Are you thinking about me, Tora?” Ryouji asks, and his hips jerk convulsively
against Tora’s thigh. “Tell me,” he orders. “You thinking about me fucking you?
Sliding deep inside you and spreading you open and making you
mine
.” Ryouji’s voice turns harsh on the last word, and he bites Tora’s neck and
Tora whimpers and squeezes his cock and comes shaking, and it’s so good because
he knows Ryouji won’t stop yet, won’t stop until he’s satisfied.
(royalties, it’s always about Tora paying him royalties; he gets to jerk off to
Ryouji and then Ryouji can use him too, and Tora wants so much that he can’t
say no)
“Brats,” Ryouji snorts, but he’s peeling off his work clothes and throwing them
all to the floor, and he’s so,
so
 hard it makes Tora shake, and his fingers burn where they touch him. Ryouji
pushes his legs open, and he mouths at Tora’s throat and he grumbles “Like a
goddamn woman,” and his fingers sweep through some of Tora’s come and dip
around his back and Tora shakes his head no, but Ryouji doesn’t notice and-
(it’s always like he’s drowning, being pulled under by Ryouji, over and over
again, and Tora can never quite get away, never quite break the surface and
it’s almost like he doesn’t want to anymore, because drowning is familiar now,
and he doesn’t think he could go back to the way it was before)
“Get yourself wet for me,” Ryouji says, even though his fingers are already
inside Tora – they’re good fingers, long and slightly callused, and Tora comes
apart when they’re in him – and Tora can barely move with Ryouji over him.
Ryouji’s left the lube on the bed, and it’s slipped under Tora, so he has to
wriggle to get it, and that spreads his legs wider and Ryouji works another
finger into him, sitting up to watch.
(Ryouji loves watching, loves seeing what he’s done to Tora, loves seeing
himself all over Tora, etched onto Tora’s very soul, but he especially loves
seeing himself violating Tora)
Tora’s fingers are slippery and he always shakes when he does this, but he gets
his hand between his legs and it’s always uncomfortable, but then his fingers
are sliding against Ryouji’s and Ryouji makes an angry noise and nudges Tora’s
fingers so they sink inside too. Tora whimpers, like he’s been hit, and curls
his fingers and tries not to think how obscene he must look, with his fingers
pushed inside himself, shining with lubricant and Ryouji’s messy fingers right
next to them.
(he thinks about this sometimes, when Ryouji isn’t around, and he wonders what
Ryouji sees there when he makes Tora do it, wonders how stretched and full he
must look and wonders if Ryouji is imagining what Tora’s imagining)
“Fuck,” Ryouji growls, his voice rough and harsh, and then he pulls his fingers
free and jacks his cock once, twice and then he’s coming all over Tora, and
Tora thinks he must have made a noise, because Ryouji groans again and his cock
jerks out a bit more come and it gets all over Tora’s fingers and he carries
right on pushing them in, and Ryouji growls and grabs Tora’s chin and kisses
him like he’s devouring him and it’s just enough for Tora to come again.
(he feels wrung out and used and sore all over and he’s filthy, but Ryouji’s
kissing him and for a moment Tora can pretend it’s because Ryouji likes him)
“You fuck,” Ryouji mutters, against Tora’s neck. “You want my cock that bad?”
He’s soft, but he still jerks his hips, as if making a point and Tora can’t
help the noise that escapes him. “
Tell me
.”
(and Tora wants everything, he wants to be full of Ryouji’s cock, he wants it
in his ass and in his mouth, he wants Ryouji’s come and he wants to be marked
indelibly as Ryouji’s, and he wants Ryouji to look at him after and smile and
kiss him and stroke him until he stopped shaking, and he wants to wake up in
the morning and roll over and have Ryouji still there, or to wake up to easy,
lazy kisses and have Ryouji tell him everything’s okay)
“Please,” Tora manages. “I’m. I want, please, Ryouji.” He’s crying again, and
he can feel the
sorry
 already on his lips and so near to breaking free, but Ryouji just takes his
mouth again, like it’s his right, and his tongue fucks Tora’s mouth, like he’s
going to fuck Tora later. When he finally lets up, Tora’s hard again and Ryouji
grins savagely to see it.
(Ryouji takes and takes and takes and Tora.... Tora lets him)
“Get on your knees, Tora,” Ryouji says, and Tora rolls over and pushes himself
onto his knees and his thighs tremble in anticipation as Ryouji settles behind
him and then Ryouji slides his dick between Tora’s thighs and pushes them shut,
and just fucks there, his cock sliding between Tora’s thighs and getting harder
and harder until he shudders to a halt. His hand pushes Tora’s back down, and
he spreads Tora’s legs wide again, and he leans forwards until his cock is
pressing against Tora, and all it would take is one good push and he’d be
in
 and Tora wants it so bad he can hardly breathe.
(this is it, this is the moment that Tora always gets a choice – to drown, or
go up for air)
“Tora,” Ryouji says, and it’s not a question, but it feels like one anyway, and
Tora doesn’t have to look back to know that Ryouji’s shaking, fighting the urge
to just push right inside and take all the things Tora hasn’t yet offered.
(and Tora always chooses to drown)
“I’m sorry,” Tora breathes, and Ryouji
pushes
 and he’s groaning, and his fingers are tight on Tora’s hips again, and his
hips snap against Tora’s and jerk back and then forwards again and sometimes it
feels like he’s as deep as he could be and then he fucks in harder and he’s in
so deep already and Tora can feel the bone deep ache spreading from where
Ryouji is fucking into him, and he’s going to be so sore and tired tomorrow,
but Tora can’t stop now so he just scrabbles at the bed sheets and makes
exhausted, broken noises as Ryouji fucks him.
(drowning has never felt so good)
Ryouji takes him apart, and leaves him empty and aching. And then in the
morning, he watches Tora with hard, accusing eyes, and Tora’s breath catches in
his throat.
(drowning is easy; coming up for air is the hard part)
After dinner, Ryouji grabs Tora and kisses him hard and possessive, and his
hands slide under Tora’s clothes and mark the bruises that have formed on
Tora’s pale skin.
(and he wants to escape so bad, so bad he’s crying for it, because if he
doesn’t he’s never going to breathe again)
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this older guy drag him into the back corner of an otherwise-empty
store, and being asked things most shop workers don’t bother going for.
“Jensen,” he replies anyway.
JP grins and holds out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Jensen.” He even turns his
hand up to encourage Jensen to shake it, which he finally does. JP’s fingers
curl around Jensen’s entire hand. Palms press tightly together with a slight
moisture forcing a vacuum of their skin, and JP lightly presses his fingernails
into the meat at the side of Jensen’s hand.
It’s just a handshake, Jensen tells himself, but he feels a deep undercurrent
of something darker brewing within. Thinks maybe it’s firing right from JP
himself, that their handshake is forcing something onto Jensen that he imagines
at night, but never lives in the daylight.
“Let’s get you outta those clothes and into some bitchin’ shorts,” JP insists
as he ushers Jensen inside. Thankfully, he remains on the other side of the
invisible threshold, even as he slides the collection of shorts onto the rack
just to Jensen’s left.
Jensen turns the other way, but the mirror tells him everything, like the way
that JP is watching his body isn’t quite right for someone that much older than
him … yet Jensen can’t do more than press his legs together and focus on the
muscle strain in doing so, all in an effort to avoid popping a boner right
here.
“You good then?”
He looks over his shoulder to JP, now innocently smiling, but still chewing on
that toothpick. “That’s it?” he asks, cursing himself for being so stupid to
ask. As if there was anything else left to do at this point.
“Well, I’m not about to watch you change in here … unless you want me to.”
JP winks for the second time, but there’s more intent to it than the last time,
and Jensen feels his knees liquefy. “I think I’m good,” he manages to squeak
out. Seconds later, the door is closed, but not providing much privacy as it
really only covers from the middle of Jensen’s face down to his knees. Still,
he turns to the mirror, ashamed at the high flush on his cheeks and the way
he’s nervously biting at his bottom lip, making it all fat and raw.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” he quietly chants to himself as he drops his khaki
shorts and slips out of his Chuck Taylors to get his shorts completely off. Now
pissed off at the stupid teenage parts of his body that can’t control
themselves, he yanks the first pair of board shorts off the hanger and tugs
them into place. He’s beginning to tie the laces when a knock at the door makes
him squeak in surprise.
“You good there, Jen?” JP asks.
In the mirror, Jensen can see JP leaning against the other side of the door,
yet not looking in. That gives Jensen the chance to take long breaths to calm
himself down, will his dick into some order of relaxation, and actually
consider the shorts he’s trying on. “Yeah, I think.”
And think is the operative term, because he hadn’t before realized that JP had
snagged a pair of hot-pink shorts with white seashells all over.
JP now looks over the top of the door to judge Jensen for himself, eyes running
up and down Jensen’s body in a way that says he’s doing more than judging the
clothes. “I think it all looks pretty good.”
“Thanks,” Jensen murmurs with heat prickling his cheeks.
“But you don’t, huh?” JP laughs and points towards Jensen’s waist, leaving his
arm to dangle over the side of the door. “Is it the seashells? Or the color?
Maybe the fit?”
Jensen glances down to re-inspect the shorts and realizes that they’re a bit
snug in the groin and now his dick is slowly filling in what space is left. He
shifts around to the mirror, yet still meets JP’s eyes in the reflection. “I’ll
try on some other ones,” Jensen insists, as if that will change the tone.
Where Jensen figures JP will turn away and let the tension between them die
down, something else happens: JP’s tongue comes out to play with the toothpick,
make it wiggle between his lips. His voice is dark, rugged, yet quiet when he
says, “Whatever you want, kid.”
Once he’s alone again, he rips off the offending pink board shorts and grabs a
pair of sea green ones with white ties and just a few light accents in thick
stitching at the knees and thighs. The fit is better than the last pair, along
with the color, and he’s happy to tie up the strings while holding his shirt up
under his chin to give him space to maneuver the knot. He stands up straight,
shrugs his shoulders out, and lightly smiles at himself because this pair is
more doable for him. The green is bold without being obnoxious, and the lack of
pattern fits him better than any other décor he’s seen here thus far.
He sighs with the comfort of finding something he likes, and then holds his
breath when he sees JP standing at the door watching him. Jensen doesn’t move,
can’t, just holds JP’s stare in the mirror. He licks his lower lip then sucks
it into his mouth, nervously chewing at the raw skin as a hundred different
variations of leave this place run through his mind.
Instead, he stands still, refuses to budge, not even when JP finagles the thin
latch from the outside and lets himself in. Definitely not when JP steps in
behind Jensen and intently watches Jensen’s skin prickle over with goose bumps,
how some areas go pink with anxiety. He leans close to Jensen’s back, body heat
radiating out of each pore, warming every inch of Jensen’s body, sending
shivers up Jensen’s arms.
JP sets his hands over those heated-up biceps, looks at Jensen in the mirror.
“What do you think about these?”
“I think I like them,” he says near robotically.
“Yeah, they look real good.” JP runs his hands down Jensen’s skin, fingers
dancing over the delicateness of Jensen’s wrists until they grab holds of the
shorts, pulling at the outside seams. “They seem to fit well through the
thighs, gives you some room when you gotta move or stretch."
Jensen holds his breath, hoping the mood is finally turning back to innocence
and something more helpful for him to make a purchase.
JP leans to the side and tugs at the bottom of the shorts where they fall just
below Jensen’s knees. “And the length is nice. Not too long, not too short.”
“Mmmhmm.”
“What do you think about it in here?” he asks as he slips his fingers beneath
the hem of Jensen’s shirt and taps his fingers at the shorts’ waistband. “Wide
enough for you? Keeping you in place?”
Jensen’s heart beats at double its resting rate. He can feel it thump in his
throat, blood pulsing through his body, humming low beneath the skin, going now
triple time as the pads of JP’s fingers touch the flat of Jensen’s stomach.
“What do you think, Jen?” JP whispers, tipping his head and boring a warm gaze
right into Jensen via the mirror. “You like ‘em?”
“Yeah,” Jensen breathes out.
JP’s fingers press a little harder, burn into Jensen’s skin like a flare. “You
want ‘em?”
Jensen closes his eyes and breathes through the small ring of his lips. He
looks up at the mirror again when JP’s head leans into the side of Jensen’s,
nose sliding along the short tufts of Jensen’s sun-bleached blond hair just
above his ear.
"You smell sweet," JP murmurs with his fingers sliding down to the dip of
Jensen's hips.
Jensen clears his throat, hears little beyond the soft breathy words and the
pounding of his heartbeat in his ears. "Sweet?"
"Yeah," he replies with a wistful smile, "like summer and the sea and youth."
None of those things register with Jensen. He only smells the salt of his own
sweat building everywhere, the heady musk of whatever cologne JP is wearing.
"You're real pretty, you know that, Jen?"
He wants to complain that no one calls him Jen, has only let JP get away with
it because he's been too anxious to say much at all. He remains silent, though,
and watches the shift in his shirt when JP's fingers slide a little lower, slip
just beneath the waist of the board shorts.
"Are you nervous?" He sneaks in a quick tickle at the underside of Jensen's
hipbone then smirks in the mirror. "Ticklish?"
Jensen still can't speak up, can't will himself to move.
"I promise it's not a big deal." He shifts forward and now is lightly pressed
up against Jensen's back. The slight bulge in his pants presses at the top of
the crest of Jensen's ass; he thinks about definitely avoiding that but JP
still keeps his attention in the mirror.
Jensen thinks it’s a big deal. He thinks it’s a very big deal with a very large
man hovering over him, as if he’s about to engulf all of Jensen into him, tuck
Jensen up into a little ball and do … whatever with him.
Somehow, though, JP’s small smile eases Jensen’s worries for about two seconds,
until JP’s hands go to the shorts’ laces. “Let’s get you out of these and I can
ring you right up.”
There’s nothing that says JP’s intent is to make a sale, especially not when he
slowly—so very slowly—draws the string out of its bow and slides his fingers
beneath the white crisscrosses to loosen up the ties. His fingers also slip
ever-so-carefully over the head of Jensen’s dick.
Jensen shivers with a whimper, coughs to cover up the noise, then tightly
closes his eyes as if that will let him escape the embarrassment of freaking
out over a super-hot guy touching him exactly where he’s been dying to be
touched by a hand that’s not his own. He knows his dick is hard as a rock, he
knows that the board shorts are now piled at his feet, and he most definitely
knows that JP hasn’t moved back an inch. And probably won’t; that wall of heat
behind Jensen grows exponentially when JP leans in a bit closer, when fingers
dance over Jensen’s upper thighs until they’re touching what are Jensen’s very-
embarrassing pair of tighty whities.
JP huffs a laugh against Jensen’s ear. “Haven’t seen these since I was a
youngin’ myself. But I did always like how snug they were …” JP inches closer,
presses his entire front along Jensen’s back. “I always liked seeing how big my
dick looked when it was totally trapped in bright white cotton.”
God. Jensen curls his hands into little fists, nails digging into his palms.
JP’s hands run over Jensen’s hips then narrow down towards his dick. His
fingers pyramid around Jensen’s bulge, but never quite touch, even as they tuck
in against the fabric to pull Jensen back, flush against JP’s body.
“What are you doing?” Jensen whispers, even as he knows exactly what is being
done to him. He’s being stretched out, end from end, teased within an inch of
his life. Nerves crackle with life and yet dread, and worry blankets him, makes
his joints stiffen because he knows he shouldn’t be doing this … but he so very
much wants to.
JP slides his nose behind Jensen’s ear and inhales deeply, ruts forward just
enough to show how large his own dick is growing. “I’ll do anything you want me
to.”
This is the crossroads, Jensen knows, between him crashing head-first into
mile-high waves and becoming a man, versus tucking tail and running from
something that is equally frightening and thrilling.
Quietly, as quietly as humanly possible so he can pretend he never said it if
JP doesn’t hear it, he asks, “What do you want to do?”
JP slowly shifts his right hand to cover the entirety of Jensen’s groin, a
solid, warm weight holding close. “I’d love to see your teenage cock in my big
hand.”
Jensen’s dick squirts precome and, for a second, he wants to cry. He thinks
he’s already done just from the one touch and one sentence, but he also
realizes he’s been dying to jerk off since he first laid eyes on JP.
With a soft chuckle, JP tucks his hand a little tighter and sneaks his other
hand up Jensen’s shirt, across his chest, and wraps his fingers around Jensen’s
ribs. He holds Jensen entirely trapped, and yet it feels more like being
wrapped up in a heated blanket on a cold night, strangely warm and comfortable
despite the high temps outside.
When Jensen doesn’t answer, JP takes things to the next step. He pulls at the
waistband of Jensen’s underwear and brings it down below Jensen’s balls, which
are filling up and growing heavy with every second tacked onto this event. Then
JP wraps his monstrous hand around Jensen’s small, slim, teenaged dick and
takes a few casual strokes.
Jensen loudly whimpers and shudders, opens his eyes to find JP watching him in
the mirror with wide, dark eyes. He can’t decide which he’d rather be all-
consumed with—JP’s steady, heated gaze, or the image of the man’s large fist
running over the head of his dick. Jensen chooses the latter, and finds himself
utterly enthralled by how entirely his dick is swallowed by JP’s hand, how the
fingers wrap more than enough around, and how lazily yet quickly JP jacks him
off.
Soon enough, Jensen can feel all muscles loosening up, can tell that a rhythm
has started and his hips follow it. He ruts forward, and JP rewards him with a
wet kiss at the side of his throat and a low murmur encouraging Jensen to do
whatever he wants, what feels right and good and unholy. So Jensen rocks
forward again and fucks JP’s hand with an unsteady rhythm he can’t keep
straight in his foggy head. JP tightens his fist just right for increased
friction, and Jensen now knows he’s not even a minute away from blowing his
load. JP helps him get there by stroking faster, harder, more erratically as
Jensen’s hips lose all hope of rhythm, and then Jensen shoots up and out. Over
the mirror. On JP’s hand. Down on the board shorts at his feet.
Jensen moans, wants to cry out in embarrassment, laugh in sweet relief, or even
crumble to the ground in a puddle of skin and bones.
Thankfully, he avoids the latter; JP hugs Jensen closer, tighter, and brings
his come-streaked hand up to Jensen’s line of sight. “See that? That’s the good
stuff.” JP leans to his hand so Jensen is forced to watch, has to see JP lick
his thumb and clear it of Jensen. He sucks at the back of his hand to suck up
more come and Jensen’s eyes track every movement of JP’s lips rubbing against
wet skin. “How you feel, kid?”
“Gooey,” Jensen says without thought. Then he blushes, even as JP laughs with a
deep rumble in his chest vibrating against Jensen’s skin. “But good.”
“Good,” JP echoes. “I always want my customers to leave fully satisfied.”
Jensen is, for sure, but also now feeling exceedingly awkward. Especially when
JP leaves a deep, kiss at the back of Jensen’s neck then backs away with a
chill covering Jensen’s entire body.
It seems like it’s all business when JP insists he’ll grab a different pair of
shorts for Jensen to take home, says he’ll give Jensen privacy to get dressed,
and especially when he swiftly leaves the dressing room to track down the sea
green board shorts at the other end of the store.
When they meet at the counter, Jensen is certain they are far beyond what
happened in the dressing room, but he still finds himself wanting to know …
“You don’t want … to do … anything … ”
JP smiles, all clear and friendly, like when Jensen first spotted him at the
counter. “Do anything about what?”
“About your …” Jensen struggles to say it aloud, even when they’re still
completely alone in the store. Sunlight streaks through the front windows and
reminds Jensen that it’s the middle of the day at the boardwalk. Life will be
as it was just twenty minutes ago when he steps foot outside. This whole thing
will be a memory. “Your … bulge.”
The corner of JP’s mouth slinks up and he leans across the counter, just inches
from Jensen’s face. “You wanna help me with that later, kid?” A long pause
draws out the proposition; Jensen still fails to find the right words for a
response. “You can come by later. Make sure those shorts fit just right and
all. Maybe try on a coupla different kinds. See what you like. If not, I
promise to make the right adjustments.”
“Okay, yeah,” Jensen mumbles, then takes a deep breath to calm his still-
rattled nerves.
“Shop closes at eight.”
Jensen nods, thinking they’re not talking about the same thing anymore.
Then JP brings a bright blush to Jensen’s cheeks with his parting remark. “I’ll
meet ya at the back door. Take care of everything you need.”
JP winks, as if he had to clarify his offer, before they’re interrupted by the
bell over the door signaling a new customer.
Jensen grabs the shopping bag JP offers him and stumbles out the door and into
the sunlight. He shields his eyes from the bright glare surrounding him. People
pass him on the boardwalk, and he wonders if they can see it on his face, know
it in his slow walk, what just happened. He has no one to tell about this
exciting new experience, yet doesn’t want a soul to know his secret.
Anxiety rattles his bones, while the memory of being enveloped by JP’s body and
coming in the guy’s huge fist chills him out.
A few passers-by stare at him, and he looks into one co-ed’s eyes to read
whatever he can, to figure out if she can tell he’d just come inside that surf
shop. If she knows that he’s gay and finally had his first encounter with a
man, let alone one that was twice his age. If she knows he wants to do it
again, and again, and again, and can’t wait for 8pm to roll around.
Then he decides fuck it, and dives right into the rest of the day.
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