Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3536852.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      ダイヤのA_|_Daiya_no_A_|_Ace_of_Diamond
  Relationship:
      Kominato_Haruichi/Kominato_Ryousuke
  Character:
      Kominato_Haruichi, Kominato_Ryousuke, Isashiki_Jun, Yuuki_Tetsuya
  Additional Tags:
      Semi-Public_Sex, Established_Relationship, Hand_Jobs, Sibling_Incest,
      Teasing, No_Plot/Plotless, Plot_What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot, Power
      Dynamics
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-04-01 Words: 1699
****** Excuses ******
by tastewithouttalent
Summary
     "Haruichi doesn’t hear Ryosuke come into the locker room." Ryosuke
     startles Haruichi after some extra practice and takes advantage of
     every second of privacy they have.
Haruichi doesn’t hear Ryosuke come into the locker room.
In his defense, he’s distracted, thinking about upcoming dinner and his batting
form during his solo practice, looking forward to rinsing clean so he can have
a shower and drift through the meal before collapsing into bed. For once he’s
not thinking about his brother at all, isn’t thinking about the shadow of what
he’s chasing, what he’s always chasing, the consideration absent under the
sheer weight of his physical exhaustion. He’s struggling out of his shirt,
peeling the top layer up and off, and he’s just moving to toss it into the
corner of his locker when the voice comes.
“Doing extra practice on your own?”
Haruichi nearly shouts, does squeak, jumps as he turns so he loses his balance
and half-falls against the edge of the locker. Ryosuke is watching him, his
arms folded across his chest and his mouth twisted on the inevitable smirk, and
Haruichi’s attention skids away almost immediately from his face, drags out
over the clinging dark of the long-sleeved undershirt covering his arms.
“Aniki,” he gasps, incoherent response to the unexpected delight of company,
and Ryosuke’s smile goes wider. He takes a step in, another, keeps coming until
Haruichi’s shoulders are flat against the lockers and all his attention is
dominated by Ryosuke’s smile, Ryosuke’s eyes, the heat of Ryosuke’s skin
glowing against his.
“Trying to catch up in secret?” Ryosuke asks, reaching out as casually as if
the brush of his fingers against Haruichi’s waist means nothing at all.
Haruichi startles at the contact, his blood burning hot under his skin as he
remembers all at once that he doesn’t have a shirt on, that there’s a whole
array of bare skin for Ryosuke’s fingers to wander over.
He shakes his head while trying to collect his mouth into obedience, has to sag
back against the support at his shoulders as Ryosuke’s fingers slide up, as
Ryosuke’s palm presses flat against his ribcage. “No,” and it’s not defensive
but it sounds that way, breathless more with heat than with the lingering
effects of exertion. “No, I was just--”
“Practicing,” Ryosuke finishes for him. When he tilts his head down it’s slow,
deliberately lingering so Haruichi can have no question of where he’s looking.
It makes Haruichi blush, burns embarrassment out over his cheeks, but the same
burn of self-consciousness is rushing to his cock as well, pushing out against
the front of his pants as if his arousal at Ryosuke’s proximity wasn’t already
more than obvious. Ryosuke’s smile drags into a grin, the briefest flash of
white teeth against the line of his lips, and then he leans in closer, presses
the warm of his shirt against the sweat-chill of Haruichi’s skin.
“You were practicing with me,” he says, the sound of the words nearly lost to
the side of Haruichi’s neck. There’s the press of lips, the drag of teeth too
light to leave a mark but hard enough to run electric under Haruichi’s skin,
and Ryosuke’s fingers are sliding back down his body, over the shivering line
of his stomach and down towards the waistband of his pants. “Tell me,
Haruichi.”
“Yes,” Haruichi agrees, instant capitulation to the other’s words before he’s
even processed the shape of the excuse. He reaches out instead, slides
trembling fingers up against Ryosuke’s shoulder, his motions smoothing out like
the swing he practices as he meets no rejection. “I was practicing with you.”
“Right.” Ryosuke turns his head sideways, the hot damp of his tongue brushing
against the salt-sweat caught behind Haruichi’s ear, and in the first burn of
reaction Haruichi can’t help the whimper in his throat. That gets him a laugh,
loud for how close Ryosuke’s lips are to his ear, and: “Quiet, someone will
hear you.”
It’s that that brings Haruichi back to himself, at least enough to realize
where they are, to process the glow of sunlight from the entrance and the lack
of a door to give warning if someone should have the same idea he did of after-
hours practice. “Aniki,” he says, more softly this time, hesitance turning into
panic in his veins. “Aniki, if someone comes--”
“We’ll hear them,” Ryosuke says, so certain that Haruichi believes him for a
moment, melts under the press of Ryosuke’s teeth into his skin, the friction
hot with the unexpressed desire to print the telltale bruises of lips on the
other’s body. Rationality cries out for restraint, points out that Haruichi is
barely hearing anything over the gasp of air in his own lungs, but Ryosuke’s
fingers are sliding under the edge of Haruichi’s pants and the only resistance
he can muster is a gasp of “They’ll see us,” as his back arches up to meet the
press of Ryosuke’s fingers with his hips.
Ryosuke shoves him back against the locker, twists his wrist to catch his
fingers into a hold so sharply the friction steals Haruichi’s breath with too-
much sensation before it even reads as enough. “No one’s here,” Ryosuke says,
his voice even with the same soothing certainty that Haruichi knows he ought
not to trust, can’t help melting into anyway. “Trust me.”
Haruichi takes a breath, feels it stick in his throat as his fingers twist
tight at Ryosuke’s shoulder. “Aniki,” he gasps likes it’s an answer, because it
is, all the years of trust behind the word, the steady support of his big
brother gone hot with shameful desire but no less of a wall at his shoulders
for all that.
“Yes,” Ryosuke purrs against the curve of his throat, and braces him back
against the locker, and starts to jerk him off with true intention under the
motion. It’s fast, less teasing than Ryosuke usually favors, when he’s touching
Haruichi, but occasional sounds from outside are a constant reminder that they
have to hurry, that this is dangerous even more so than their usual rushed
interludes. Haruichi’s knees don’t want to support him, he’s only staying
upright by his hold on Ryosuke’s shoulder, and even his awareness of where they
are is starting to flicker away when there’s the sound of voices, too clear to
be written off as accidental, and Haruichi’s eyes come open from the shadow-
dark haze of physical pleasure.
“Aniki,” he chokes, the necessity of a whisper easy to remember when he can
hear familiar tones approaching, can almost identify the voices. “Aniki,
someone is coming.”
Ryosuke’s fingers press in against Haruichi’s hip, push him back against the
lockers as the strokes of his hand around his brother’s cock go faster, nearly
falling out of the preestablished rhythm. “Really,” he says, and he sound
faintly inquisitive, sincerely curious in spite of the rush of his hand. “What
do you expect me to do about that?”
Haruichi looks sideways, out towards the glow from the door, all his body
drawing taut in terrified anticipation of the shadow of newcomers into the
space. “Stop, stop, they’ll see us.”
“Come first,” Ryosuke says,and Haruichi doesn’t have to see his face to hear
the iron stubbornness under the words. “I’m not going to let you go until you
come.”
“Oh god,” Haruichi gasps, and he can’t look at Ryosuke, can’t tear his eyes
away from the illumination from the doorway. “Aniki, they’re coming, I--”
“You first,” Ryosuke hisses, and Haruichi goes tense in horrified anticipation
as he recognizes the voices, now, Isashiki and Yuki drawn so near he can
identify them from tone alone. He can see the shadow dimming in the doorway,
discovery all but atop them, like the headlights of an oncoming car too near to
do anything but freeze in place. And Ryosuke’s fingers tighten, his wrist works
sharp and quick, and Haruichi is coming before he realizes he’s close, the
shuddering flush of orgasm nearly pulling a moan from his lips before he can
clap a hand over his mouth.
He doesn’t know how Ryosuke does it. Haruichi can hear the voices rounding the
corner, stepping into the square of light he can’t see for his shut eyes
against the wave of trembling satisfaction in his veins. There’s just movement,
glancing friction and heat and a sharp sigh of relief, and then he’s blinking
back into his body and staring as the other two boys come into the room.
“Hey there,” Ryosuke says as they hesitate at the unexpected company, their
faces going blank with surprise but failing to darken into the realization
Haruichi feared. He can’t breathe, can’t trust his voice when he’s still
trembling with aftershocks of pleasure, but his pants are back around his hips,
the sheen of sweat hiding the splash of come against his stomach and at the
waistband, and amid the panicked thud of his heart he can begin to see what
Ryosuke has managed, the shape of the excuse laid out before they ever started.
“Thinking of some extra practice yourselves?” Ryosuke teases, holding the
other’s attention to him while Haruichi tries to catch his breath as
inconspicuously as possible, stares as Ryosuke wipes his sticky fingers along
the underside of his pants where the other two can’t see. “You’ll have the
field to yourselves, we’re just finishing.”
“Hey,” Isashiki bristles, “Are you saying we need it?”
“Thanks,” Yuki offers before Ryosuke can do more but laugh in response.
Haruichi is afraid to look up, but he can feel the other’s eyes lingering on
him, taking stock of the shudder of his breathing and the sheen clinging to his
skin. “Is he okay?”
“He’s fine,” and Ryosuke is getting to his feet, offering a smile in the
direction of the others as he steps in front of Haruichi. “I just worked him
harder than he expected I would.”
Ryosuke ushers him off to the showers after that, keeps his hands to himself
while Haruichi rinses his skin clean of dirt and sweat and come. He’s waiting
afterwards, though, his smirk back in place and his hands hot at Haruichi’s
skin, and if he sneaks a kiss burning with friction while the others are
talking in the locker room, Haruichi isn’t going to be the one to refuse.
They both know he can’t refuse Ryosuke anything.
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