Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1771075.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      弱虫ペダル_|_Yowamushi_Pedal
  Relationship:
      Midousuji_Akira/Onoda_Sakamichi
  Character:
      Midousuji_Akira, Onoda_Sakamichi
  Additional Tags:
      holy_shit, Size_Difference, Dirty_Talk, First_Time, Kink_Meme, Midousuji
      breaking_everything, Fail_sex, Cowgirl_Position, all_sorts_of_synonyms
      for_gross
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-06-11 Words: 4027
****** Gangly (Or Why Midousuji Had to Sit Out of Practice for Two Weeks)
******
by pheromones
Summary
     In which Midousuji is tall, Onoda is small, and various household
     objects are broken.
Notes
     No lamps or tiny baby sunflower otakus were harmed in the writing of
     this story.
     For your safety and the protection of those around you, don't try any
     of this at home with your own neighborhood bike lizard.
See the end of the work for more notes
Being over six feet tall had its advantages.
For one, it was the difference between Midousuji pedaling at an average speed
and to pushing his entire body weight forward over the handlebars and passing
the world by at breakneck pace.
Sure, his height meant ducking under doorways and making sure his head didn’t
punch a hole through the ceiling, but he’d never found it particularly
inconvenient. Nobody had ever teased him about his height growing up, (probably
because they were all too terrified to), and he’d never been one to put any
sort of vanity into how he looked. But having long, gangly limbs and a winding
midsection was probably what made him so good at cycling, able to twist and
turn at angles average boys his age would snap bones even attempting to do.
As long as he was able to do what he was good at doing, even if he ended up
knocking over various objects that managed to get in the way of his swinging
arms and legs, it didn’t really matter.
His height had never bothered him until he and Onoda started dating, what with
the boy being barely five foot five standing at full attention. There was no
doubt that Onoda was cute, as gross as it was for Midousuji to admit to
himself. He was the perfect size for him to wrap his limbs around, snuggled
tightly against his chest when they would curl up on a couch and watch whatever
anime Onoda had goaded him into watching.
(And they were always disgustingly cute too, like the one about the stupid
little fish girl who liked ham or the one they just watched last weekend about
two weird furry kids that Onoda couldn’t stop crying over.)
If he ever lent the boy his sweater while they were out together late at night,
Onoda always ended up looking as if he were drowning in fabric. Midousuji’s
sleeves would flop over his hands while the hem would end at mid-thigh like a
baggy dress.
(When he thought about it, Onoda would probably be able to pull off a dress
fairly well. Gross.)
None of those things in particular made their height difference a deterrent in
their relationship.
And then sex came into the equation.
It started with Midousuji having to bend at the waist if he wanted to kiss
Onoda. Not really a problem- or much of an inconvenience- but now that he
looked back on it, it should’ve given him a better idea of what to expect
later.
That first kiss had been at one of the smaller Kyoto cycling tournaments
Midousuji only participated in just for kicks. He had to keep his reputation
up, no matter how lackluster and unchallenging the competition was. Still,
Onoda came to cheer him on, holding hand-painted signs and beaming at him from
the crowd whenever he raced past the bleachers. He won, of course, and by an
over ten minute long margin. Crushing small fry didn’t make the win as
deliciously satisfying as the more major competitions; the hilariously pathetic
looks of the losers who thought they would be standing on the podium always
succulent to his sight. By now, everyone in Kyoto knew he was unbeatable. He
didn’t expect the same reaction of dumbfounded shock and awe that he got after
winning non-local races. Regardless, he still leered at the competitors who
knew they would never be on his level, swinging his arms about in celebration
as the trophy was placed in his hands. (And hitting the presenter in the jaw as
well).
Even if the race didn’t really hold any detrimental significance to him, Onoda
reacted as if it had been the most incredible thing he had ever seen.
When Midousuji stepped down from the podium, Onoda was on him like a tiny, yip-
yapping dog. He hadn’t expected anything but Onoda’s usual mile-a-minute
proclamations of how “amazing” he was, and so when Midousuji felt a tug on the
front of his jersey, it confused him.
Feeling Onoda’s lips against his own practically broke him.
It was gross, so gross! And while he pulled away to declare that “public
displays of affection are gross,” Onoda took his flailing hands in his and
laughed that shamelessly happy laugh of his.
Midousuji warmed up to kisses soon enough, although he always had a habit of
wiping his mouth afterwards with the back of his sleeve. But if they kissed,
he’d either have to bend down or the two would have to be eye-level one way or
another.
From there, there was only one way for their relationship to go.
Which brings us to the current moment, in which Midousuji is hovered over
Onoda, trapping him between his arms on the bed, leering at him with the desire
to do bad, nasty, and vulgar things.
Sometimes Midousuji manages to gross himself out too.
They’d been watching another one of Onoda’s stupid anime movies at Midousuji’s
house, and it didn’t take long for Midousuji to lose interest and start
thinking about gross things. His first thoughts was  the usual: “Why does
Saksmichi-kun like watching this cute trash? It’s gross!”. Then he isolated
Onoda, and then he began to think about Onoda doing the gross things he always
imagined the boy doing when he was in bed pulling at his own cock.
Kissing Onoda’s soft skin.
Touching Onoda’s private parts.
Doing all sorts of lewd stuff to Onoda, because it was so gross for someone so
small and innocent looking to be so depraved.
Soon enough, Midousuji couldn’t take it anymore, grabbing the remote and
turning the television off before bluntly saying, “We’re going to have sex now
Sakamichi-kun,” and carrying the stunned boy off to his bedroom.
On the bed, Onoda was flush faced and shaking, glasses askew from the fervent
kisses Midousuji attacked him with. Panting, he looked up at the boy hovering
above him. “A-are you sure you w-want to do this? N-not that I don’t want to do
things like this with you! I r-really do like you M-Midousuji-kun!”
Midousuji quirked his head. Onoda was so obscene, pinned down to his bed and
asking him if he was “sure,” as if he himself didn’t know how gross this entire
thing was. “You’re gross  Sa-ka-mi-chi-kun,” he hummed, running long, slender
fingers under Onoda’s shirt, drawing circles into the bare skin. “Admitting you
want to do lewd things with someone like me? You don’t look it, but I bet you
think about that sort of icky stuff all the time!”
To think that such an innocent would actually get off on nasty sex things
tipped something in Midousuji’s head that made his mouth water. He wanted to do
depraved things to Onoda, make him squirm. He was such a pure-hearted boy that
it was at first unfathomable why Onoda would be attracted to someone as
disgusting as himself. There were parts of Midousuji that believed Onoda was
doing himself a grave disservice forming any kind of relationship with him, and
those parts had tried to push him away by scaring him off. The idea that
someone could find something admirable about him aside from his cycling skill
frightened him. But he never expected Onoda to be so persistent in forming
relationships with people, and the more Midousuji tried to push him away, the
kinder Onoda was. Eventually, Midousuji grew attached, and from there things
blossomed.
Nonetheless, he couldn’t help but release the depraved parts of himself onto
Onoda. But the boy always seemed to accept it with a smile, knowing that
underneath were terms of endearment and strange, childlike affections.
Now, Onoda was smiling, looking at Midousuji with those big, doe eyes that made
him feel as if there were caterpillars crawling in his stomach. “Y-yeah. You’re
my b-boyfriend, after all. That’s what people who like each other think about,
r-right?”   
“Ahhhhhhh...you’re so filthy Sakamichi-kun!” he said, tongue lolling from his
mouth. “Now hurry up and get naked!”
Aside from getting his glasses caught in the neck-hole of his shirt, Onoda
seemed able to strip down to his underpants with relative ease, despite the
pressing circumstances.
Midousuji on the other hand…
Well, for as much as he liked to think he had gone into the entire thing slick
as can be, his arms and legs seemed to have other ideas.
The night’s first casualty was his bedside lamp, which his arm knocked to the
floor as he was pulling off his shirt.
Undeterred, however, Midousuji continued on, even though Onoda had begun asking
if they ought to stop and clean the mess up first, there’s broken glass on the
floor, Midousuji-kun you’re going to hurt yourself, blah blah blah.
Onoda himself was the second casualty.
That came as Midousuji was pulling his jeans from his right leg, having grown
more impatient with the removal of his clothes as Onoda kept going on about the
broken lamp. In his hurry, paying attention to his limbs had taken a back seat
to thinking about ways to get Onoda to just stop talking.
“But I think we should at least clean it up first, because what if you forget
about it and end up stepping on all of that broken gl-OOF!”
At the ensuing THUD that followed, Midousuji looked up from yanking his pants
off, only to see that Onoda was gone.
He scratched his jaw, tossing his jeans into a heap across the room. “Hey! This
is no time to play hide-and-seek!”
“Ughhhh...ah...sorry!” An arm waved up from the other side of the bed. When
Midousuji crawled over, there was Onoda, fixing the crooked stance of his
glasses, all splayed out on the floor.
“Huh, what are you doing down there Sakamichi-kun? Up, up, up!” Midousuji
yanked the boy up by the wrist, earning a confused yelp at he was thrown back
onto the mattress.
“I’m sorry! But, um…” Onoda stuttered as Midousuji took his place hovering over
him, now much more intimidating in his lack of clothes, “you kinda sorta, uh,
kicked me off the bed?”
“Really?” He couldn’t quite bring himself to apologize or ask Onoda if he was
alright. He hadn’t meant to do it, afterall. His limbs just seemed to lose
control whenever he was around Onoda: arms, legs, certain other places. He’d
often had this problem in his younger years, when puberty had caused him to
grow over five inches one summer and many household items were broken along
with many bruises acquired. “Well, whatever then. Are we gonna have sex now or
what?”
Subtle, Midousuji, really subtle.
“Oh, um, sure! If you really want to!” Onoda was always so annoyingly
repetitive, Midousuji thought. But damn, if he didn’t look so grossly adorable.
“Do you have, um, stuff?”
“Stuff? What’s stuff?”
Onoda blushed, looking away. “Well, you know...like...I read that you need c-c-
condoms a-and l-lube?”
Midousuji wasn’t stupid, nor was he naive. He planned for this to happen way
ahead of time, stopping at one of the grocery stores outside of Kyoto where
nobody would recognize him buying condoms and lubricant. If anyone he knew- god
forbid his zakus- saw him purchasing such gross things he’d never live it down.
Without a word, he reached over to his bedside table, ignoring Onoda’s pleads
of, “Midousuji-kun, you’re crushing me!” as he pulled out a small bottle of
lubricant and a square packet.
In the process, he managed to knock over his digital clock.
Goddamit, it was so much harder to move around when there was someone else in
your bed.
Like the lamp before, Midousuji didn’t want to be bothered with giving fallen
objects any more attention than a hushed groan. “Alright Sakamichi-kun!
Underpants off and spread ‘em!”  
“Wh-wha?” Onoda’s move to cover himself came too slowly as Midousuji yanked his
underpants down his pelvis, producing a surprised squeak from his lips.
What was worse was the way he leered at his nudity, expression a mix of
curiosity and amusement as he watched Onoda squirm, cock bobbing against his
stomach with every tiny movement.
And of course, like practically everything about Onoda, even his stupid cock
was disgustingly cute.
Midousuji leaned down to circle his thumbs against Onoda’s bared hipbones,
relishing in the boy’s absolutely vulgar expression.
“Wow Sakamichi-kun, you really enjoy doing this kind of gross stuff, don’t
you?” he laughed. This entire situation was positively filthy. Regardless of
his own complete lack of experience, Midousuji would be lying if he were to say
he wasn’t getting off on being depraved with Onoda like this. While he would
never admit it, (admitting was for weaklings), being intimidating as possible
was just a strategy to hinder his own doubts, which had begun to accumulate in
this particular situation as soon as the lamp had been knocked over. But he’d
be damned if he was going to show anything but the utmost control in having sex
with Onoda.
Besides, he did like the way the boy gasped as he ran a forefinger up his cock.
“Haha! Having someone touch you like this is making you leak, isnt it?”
Onoda whined at the contact, fervently nodding his head as Midousuji moved his
other hand along the back of one of his thighs.
Unfortunately, Midousuji didn’t have the patience to dive into extensive
foreplay, his own cock straining against the waistband of briefs as if it were
attempting to break out all on its own.
The next part he had to consult Google about beforehand, resulting in shrieks
of “GROSS GROSS GROSS” and an extensively deleted browser history. (He’d gotten
sidetracked).
Midousuji licked his lips as he pulled Onoda up by the backs of his thighs,
legs splaying open to lewdly display everything in his sight. “You know what
happens next, right Sakamich-kun?” he teased, pouring a seldom amount of
lubricant onto his fingers.
“Y-yes…” A drop of sweat ran down Onoda’s temple, and the temptation to lick it
up with his tongue was almost too delicious not to give into.
But again, having an erection so pressing made any form of sidetracking seem
like a long departure.
That said, Midousuji’s own impatience completely worked against him as he
rammed a finger not against Onoda’s hole, but his taint.
By the way Onoda’s entire body jumped from the bed, the sensation clearly
wasn’t pleasant.
Onoda’s grit his teeth to keep a yelp back, retracting his lower body from
Midousuji’s probing finger. “Ah! Midousuji-kun! I d-don’t think that’s how yo-”
“I know what I’m doing!” (No he didn’t) “Stop moving around so much so I can
finger you properly!”
Eventually, Onoda managed to stay still enough for Midousuji to properly get
his finger in, throwing an arm across his face to muffle his whimpers as he
rocked his hips into the foreign feeling. It was mouth watering to watch
someone so innocent looking come undone through such obscene means. As gross as
it all seemed in theory, seeing the way Onoda’s body sucked around his
scissoring fingers made his insides burn. He couldn’t stop himself from
regarding the details out loud: “You’re so tight back here Sakamichi-kun,”
“Gross, gross, gross, it’s all so wonderfully gross,” “To think Sakamichi-kun
is going to let me put myself in such a dirty place!”
In reality, hearing himself talk- no matter how positively disgusting the
things he was saying were- was merely another way of trumping over his
insecurities, especially now that he had managed to screw up three separate
times.
But the worst was yet to come.
It finally did happen after Midousuji had removed his briefs and rolled the
condom on, slathering his aching cock with so much lube that it dripped along
his thighs. As he fitted himself between Onoda’s spread legs, he pushed his way
through the tight ring of muscle, the heat and fit of it all finally enveloping
him.
“Ahaaaaaa...Mi-Midousuji-k-kun…”
So far so good, he thought to himself, careful not to move above a snails pace
as he continued to push into Onoda.
However, it wasn’t moving too quickly or hurting Onoda that he would have to
worry about.
When Midousuji finally did pull out to the tip, his thrust back in did anything
but produce pleasurable feelings for either of them.
It did, however, result in Midousuji ramming his head through his bedroom wall.
For those who will inevitably wonder, the cranium sized dent would be
haphazardly hidden behind one of Midousuji’s award plaques that just couldn’t
cover up the trail of cracks all the way.
In the meantime, the impact sent him flailing backwards, littering pieces of
drywall over his bed as he screeched in pain.
“Ah! Midousuji-kun! Are you alright?” Onoda cried, crawling over towards his
fallen boyfriend as he furiously rubbed his forehead.
To say that was humiliating was an understatement, and the last thing Midousuji
wanted was for Onoda to start worrying over him as if he were a wounded child.
Hissing, he pushed away the hand reaching out for him. “That position was
gross! It didn’t work right!”
Midousuji knew fully well that it wasn’t the sexual position itself that had
been faulty.
What else was supposed to happen if someone of his size lined his hips up with
a shorty like Onoda in missionary position?
Through his wince, Midousuji considered the alternatives. No matter which way
they attempted to fit, it would be impossible to attempt missionary without
someone partially hanging off the mattress or making more cranium-sized dents
in the wall. They just couldn’t line up together like that. So unless they had
a bigger bed to fuck in, missionary was out.
“Alright! Change of plan!” Midousuji took Onoda by the wrist. “You’re gonna
stand up and lean over my bed!”
“Wh-what?” Onoda didn’t have time to voice his concerns as his boyfriend
dragged him off the bed to stand on the floor. (The side not covered in broken
lamp shards, of course.) Midousuji fixed a hand along the small of his back to
ease him face-forward onto the bed. Placing his other hand again the boy’s
side, he moved to fit their hips together.
To his frustrating discontent, his cock didn’t align to Onoda’s asshole, but
rather slapped against his lower back.
“This doesn’t work either!” Midousuji sneered, thrusting his hips for emphasis.
“Stick your ass up more!”
Onoda was quiet for a moment. “Oh, b-but I’m already on my tiptoes…”
Midousuji looked down.
So he was.
Rather than accept defeat just yet, he grabbed at Onoda’s thighs, lifting his
lower body up to meet his cock. “Come on! Up, up, up!”
“This is-isn’t really comfortable Midousuji-kun…”
And from the looks of it, it probably wasn’t. Although Midousuji had managed to
align their bodies up, Onoda was hanging about three inches off the floor, back
bent inward in a way no one could hold for more than a few seconds without
stiffening their neck.
God fucking dammit.
Midousuji hissed through his teeth, dropping Onoda back onto the floor in
irritation. “Fine! Then we’ll try something else!”
“Something else” included the following:
    * Doggy style, which ended much how the previous position did with
      Midousuji’s cock resting against Onoda’s back.
    * Onoda on his stomach with Midousuji over him, leading to Midousuji
      slipping and knocking over his other bedside lamp.
    * Onoda sitting atop all of the pillows against the headboard. At best, it
      worked for belly button fucking.
    * Midousuji sitting at the end of the bed with Onoda on his lap. It worked
      at first, much to their relief, but once Midousuji attempted to get his
      cock back in, Onoda immediately fell off.
Six separate failures were more than enough to push Midousuji into the depths
of aggravated tantrum. Although his erection was beginning to wane, it wasn’t
the prolonged delay of their copulation that was getting to him.
No, it was the fact that he was just too big and Onoda was just too small for
any of it to work.
Midousuji dragged his hands down his face, pulling his eyelids down as he
seethed. “Gross! This is so gross! Stupid, stupid, stupid!”
This was losing; the most revolting thing he could imagine. Failure was
weakness, and he, Midousuji Akira, the boy who had won more cycling
competitions than he could fathom, had failed at the simplest of human
instincts because he was too goddamn tall.
And there was nothing he could do about that.
Deep down, he had sensed this failure coming whenever he had to lean down to
kiss Onoda or watch his boyfriend drown himself in the fabric of his clothes.
Ducking under doorway thresholds that were too low for him.
Knocking over various objects with his gangly limbs.
Pants that ended at his shins.
Shirts that fit like crop tops.
Feet hanging off the bed.
In reality, his body was an inconvenience to him for everything but cycling.
He thought he had been done with failing: failing at winning, failing at
leading, failing at keeping the ones he loved around.
For the first time since his childhood, Midousuji Akira felt as if he could
cry.
As he huddled up into his limbs, mumbling words of disgrace to himself, a hand
began to gently caress his back.
Onoda’s easy smile met him when he finally glanced up from the crook of his
elbow. Somehow, it quelled the buzzing in his head long enough to heard him
speak.
“Th-there’s one m-more thing we can try,” he said, cheeks flushed crimson.
“And...and I think it will work!”
Midousuji unraveled, making sure to fix his expression into something of self-
control before looking Onoda in the eyes. “Heeeeh? I don’t believe you!”
But Onoda’s grin didn’t fade. Much to Midousuji’s curiosity, Onda pushed his
hand against his shoulder. “J-just lie down on your back, okay?”
Midousuji’s mouth hung open, tongue poking out from between his teeth in
perplexment. Nonetheless, he allowed himself to be pushed back into the
mattress. After all, he hadn’t been faring particularly well in sexual
positioning. He’d let the small fry take control, just this once.
That proved to be the right decision, because when Onoda straddled his hips and
effectively aligned himself with Midousuji’s cock. The boy gasped as his own
member twitched from the sensation, droplets of pre-cum collecting at the tip
“See! This one works!” Onoda beamed, sliding his glasses up the bridge of his
nose from where they had drooped.
Midousuji slapped a palm against his forehead in dumbfounded realization. Why
hadn’t he even thought of it? It was so obvious too! But no, he’d been so
wrapped up in proving to Onoda that he knew what he was doing that having the
boy be on top hadn’t even passed through his mind.
Or maybe that was a result of ramming his head through the wall. He’d have to
go get that checked out.   
“Um, Midousuji-kun? C-Could you, um…” Onoda looked towards Midousuji’s cock,
poking out from between his ass cheeks, now back to its full hardness.
At that, Midousuji felt the once-lost desire to see Onoda fall into utter
depravity at his own hands return. That lascivious lust burned anew, spreading
out from his groin and into his spindly extremities, filling his head with the
grossest of images of Onoda seated atop his dick, drooling from the mouth as he
panted and cried for Midousuji to wrap his fingers around that cute little
cock.  
When it came down to it, Midousuji was as gross as they came.
The corners of his mouth turned upwards to expose the fullness of his teeth.
“Don’t worry Sa-ka-mi-chi-kun,” he taunted, placing the head of his member to
Onoda’s twitching entrance, “I know exactly what I’m doing…”
(Well, sort of...)
From there, the two proceeded to copulate with the fervor of sex starved spring
rabbits, not caring for any other nearby object Midousuji knocked inevitably
over and broke.
Come morning, when Midousuji pulled himself out of Onoda’s iron-grip snuggle to
relieve himself, he regretted not pausing their fuck session to sweep up the
shattered glass all over the floor.
And that, my friends, is the reason why Midousuji Akira had to sit out at
practice for two weeks.  
End Notes
     I was going to have Midousuji make lizard noises when he came but
     then I remembered that I have no idea what lizard noises are and that
     this entire story was ridiculous enough already.
     Bonus points to anyone who guesses where the "belly button fucking"
     visualization comes from. Hint: It was written, directed, produced,
     and starred Tommy Wiseau.
     Further fun fact: This is my first non-hetero fic. Hard to tell, I
     know.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!