Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/100334.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Ookiku_Furikabutte
  Relationship:
      Izumi_Kousuke/Mizutani_Fumiki
  Character:
      Izumi_Kousuke, Mizutani_Fumiki
  Additional Tags:
      Massage, Hand_Job, First_Time, Falling_In_Love, Schmoop, Awkwardness
  Collections:
      Ookiku_Furikabutte_Kink_Meme
  Stats:
      Published: 2010-07-14 Completed: 2010-07-26 Chapters: 3/3 Words: 9593
****** Helping Hands ******
by factorielle
Summary
     Prompt: Mizutani pulled a back muscle during practice, and Izumi
     offers to give him an... intimate massage.
***** Chapter 1 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
"Now I understand why you didn't mind so much. Your team works hard in the
field all day, and here you are, lounging in bed in the middle of the
afternoon."
Mizutani makes the effort to turn his head far enough to glance at his visitor.
It's not that he didn't recognize the voice, but it's kind of surprising to see
him here without prior warning. "I do mind. But the doctor said to take it
easy," he groans, for appearances' sake. The doctor did say that, but it was
probably not meant as an excuse to spend two days laying face down in bed,
chest propped on a pillow to read manga as comfortably as possible. "How did
you get in here anyway?"
Izumi drops his bags near the door and glances at the piles of books by the
bed, artfully set up so as to be just within reach without being in the way if
Mizutani needs to roll out of bed. "Your sister was leaving. Did the doctor
also mention that straining your back by lifting a full case of equipment on
your own to impress the manager is the most embarrassing injury ever recorded
in the history of high school baseball?"
He's not going to rise to the bait. Izumi has been trying to make him admit
things he doesn't want to admit for months, so he knows how to sidestep the
little provocations. "Did you come here just to make fun of me?" It's kind of a
long way, from school to here back to Izumi's place.
"Actually, I bring presents." He sits on the ground by the head of the bed and
hooks a foot through the strap of his school bag to pull it closer as Mizutani,
momentarily distracted from his indignation, asks what he's brought.
"I have," Izumi says, opening his bag slowly, "everybody's 'get better soon'
wishes, your homework..." He completely ignores Mizutani's groan as he pulls a
thick wad of paper out of his bag. "Abe says you're not allowed to flake out on
this, by the way. And..." more rummaging. By this point, Mizutani's pretty much
lost interest. "Anpan," Izumi declares, holding up the plastic wrapper just out
of his reach.
"Gimme!" At some point in the late summer, Mizutani has discovered that the
cafeteria's anpan is made with magically delicious red bean paste. His
teammates think he's weird for liking it so much, but they have it backward.
They're the weird ones, for not understanding how awesome it is. "Ow!"
The sudden movement made reaching for the bread makes him cry out and retreat
back to his previous position, groaning.
"Shouldn't you know better than to do that?" Izumi says, getting back up to put
the bread on top of one of the manga piles.
"You should know better than to tease me with anpan when I'm injured," Mizutani
protests because clearly, his being in pain is all Izumi's fault.
"Won't happen again. Let me see if I can help?" He sits in the middle of the
bed, on the side, and tugs at Mizutani's t-shirt.
"Are you even qualified for this?" he asks, already hoisting himself up enough
to let the t-shirt be pushed to his shoulders.
"Shigapo's been teaching me, remember? He says I know enough not to make it
worse."
Mizutani decides to take off the shirt completely. It'll be more comfortable
that way. "That's not reassuring, you know."
Izumi seems too ponder this. "I guess not. But I could use the training."
"Is that why you brought me anpan? So I'd let you use me as a guinea pig?"
"No, that was to be nice because you're addicted to the stupid things and it'd
suck for you to have to go cold turkey. This is also to be nice because you've
just hurt yourself in a really stupid way, so shut up. Just tell me where it
hurts." He sets both hands flat on Mizutani's shoulders and begins to trail
them down, light and warm. Mizutani tenses when they reach his lower back,
which is where most of the pain has been located, albeit made fuzzy by healthy
doses of ibuprofen.
"I'm not going to hurt you." Izumi sighs, and pulls away completely to go look
for something in his sports bag. "And I'm not allowed to tickle you when you're
in that state, either, so think about the runner on third or something. Relax."
Mizutani takes a deep breath, sinking a bit further into the mattress when he
exhales. Izumi comes and sits back down in the same place. And then, nothing
happens.
"What are you doing?" he asks after a minute, resisting the temptation to turn
around and see for himself.
"Making the oil warmer for your comfort and convenience. Believe me, I'd like
nothing more than to drop it right on you, but Shigapo says that's a only a
small step up from cruelty to fuzzy baby animals."
"I like this injury thing," Mizutani muses, laying his head comfortably between
his arms. "It's forcing you to be nice to me."
Izumi snorts. "Enjoy it while it lasts."
Mizutani doesn't have the time to ask what that means before both hands are
back on his shoulders, slightly warmer and slicker than before. It feels nice.
"I'll start in a safe place." Which is good news. It's not that he doesn't
trust Izumi, but for all he knows this is his friend's first real try at this,
and Mizutani would really prefer it if there was a test run before he starts
kneading at his injury. He's suffered enough for the day. Hell, he's suffered
enough for the year.
After a couple of minutes, it appears that his concerns were unfounded. The
second run of Izumi's hands down his back is a little slower and heavier than
the first, making all of his skin pleasantly warm, and then he pushes a thumb
in what has to be a very specific spot on his upper back and it's a little
painful but mostly--
"Oh yeah." Mizutani lets his eyes close, stretching out a little to get
perfectly comfortable.
His breathing deepens as the massage moves down, so slowly that at first he
doesn't even notice. It's just, at one point the palms of Izumi's hands are
flat on his shoulderblades, and some time later only his fingertips brush over
them anymore, and then not even that. He doesn't know how it happened, or when.
It doesn't really matter, either, as long as it never stops.
Or, to be more realistic, happens every day from now on. For a couple of hours.
Maybe he can bribe Izumi into doing this regularly. Maybe he won't have to pay
for it, even. Didn't Izumi say he needed the practice anyway? It could be a
mutually beneficial arrangement. Mizutani is all for mutually beneficial
arrangements in which all he needs to do is lay back and enjoy.
He's so utterly relaxed that when Izumi's hand reaches the zone of Horrible
Pain he barely twitches.
"Okay?" Izumi asks anyway, and takes the pleased hum for the assent it is,
laying both hands flat over the spot where his muscles still twitch sometimes.
It hurts, there, when the pressure increases, but not too bad. Izumi is paying
attention, responding to every twitch and every sound of discomfort by a change
of position or pressure or motion, and the only thing that lasts is the warmth
of his hands.
"Ishgood," he manages to say before closing his eyes, moving all his focus to
the pain that's being kneaded away from his muscles. Good isn't even the word.
It's ten kinds of fantastic, and it lasts... he doesn't know how long it lasts.
The amazing feeling down there makes seconds merge into minutes or hours, and
the only way he has to remember that time is actually passing is by the
succession of his own happy sighs.
To hell with being reasonable. As far as he's concerned, this is never allowed
to stop.
Of course, that's when it stops, after one last run down Mizutani's back. His
displeased grunt makes Izumi laugh, but that's still not enough to make him
start again. "That worked out better than I expected," he says, sounding
obviously pleased with himself.
"I don't know, I think you still need more practice," Mizutani throws back, but
his words are slurred into a yawn, which only makes Izumi chuckle.
He pouts for a moment, then resigns himself to the inevitable. Takes a long,
deep breath, and makes to roll over, since it would be a little rude to keep
his back to his guest the whole time.
He stops midway when he notices something he had honestly not been aware of up
until now.
Shit.
Mizutani lets himself fall back on his face, groaning. Showing that off would
be even ruder, not to mention the humiliation.
"You okay?" Izumi inquires, sounding mildly concerned.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
"I'm fine," he squeaks. Only, he's pretty sure that a small rock could figure
out that was a lie, so he amends. "Cramp. In my leg."
He only realizes that that was the wrong thing to say when Izumi's fingers
brush against his calf. "Here?"
"No!"
That's another mistake because the hand moves up, past the back of his knee and
onto his thigh, and oh god his hands are twice as large as before, that's the
only way to explain why they're everywhere all of a sudden. Mizutani moans in
dismay, which Izumi doesn't interpret right this time, beginning to massage his
thigh the same way he did with his back.
It still feels good. Awesome, actually, so much that the burgeoning erection
he's been sporting makes its way to full wood despite his desperate attempts to
think thoughts that will make it go down. Runner on third seems like a good
contender until he remembers that the entire point of the training was to learn
to focus exclusively on one thing. In this case, that happens to be the exact
distance between the tip of Izumi's fingers and the zone where they Must Not
Go.
He makes an effort to keep breathing normally, but that turns out to be
disturbingly loud.
"How's that cramp?" Izumi sounds genuinely interested, even as he works his
fingers up Mizutani's inner thigh, sliding easily inside the boxer leg. They're
strong and warm and he feels his muscles twitch; unsure whether he wants to
close his legs in self-protection or spread them wider for better access.
"It's..." Good start. Now what? 'Still there', and Izumi will continue to try
to help by making things worse. 'Gone', and he has no excuse to not roll over,
which will expose him and then he'll be in trouble.
He's pretty sure Izumi won't punch him for something like that. At worse, he'll
start laughing.
And he won't stop. Ever. Years down the line, the memory will randomly pop up
in his head and he'll start snickering. And possibly email Mizutani about it.
Hey, remember that time when you hurt your back and...
Mizutani ducks his head further between his arms, groaning.
"Well?" Izumi insists, fingertips sliding down the crease of his thigh, now way
past anything that can be considered a safe boundary.
It hits him, just then, that boundaries goes both ways. Izumi isn't Mihashi. He
knows that some things are Not Done, which means that there is no way, no way
he doesn't know exactly what he's doing.
Which is actually good, because that means he can share that piece of
information.
"What are you doing?" Mizutani squeaks, not half as demanding as he aimed for.
Izumi's fingers falter, but only for a moment before he starts up again,
rubbing at skin that's never been this sensitive before.
"Something stupid, I think," he answers in a voice that's not his own, too
deep, too shaky. He takes a deep breath. "Should I stop?"
Yes. Of course he should stop, what the hell is he even doing? Except it's
hands secure on his body, hard on all the right spots and soft everywhere else
and wasn't he thinking, earlier, that he never wanted it to stop?
"If you want," he says, mouth dry. That way it's okay, right? If it's not him
making the decision, it doesn't really mean anything? Right?
"Okay," Izumi says in a snort, and shifts on the bed. "Roll over."
"What? Why?" That wasn't the plan. Repeat, that was not the plan.
"I can't get proper access like this. To the cramp."
Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god nonono he can't do that, he really really can't do
that but there are fingers curled around his hip, tugging lightly, and he
doesn't have the strength to resist anymore, not after his muscles have been so
thoroughly turned to mush. He follows the guidance, throwing an arm over his
eyes the moment his back touches the mattress. But even that isn't soon enough
to not catch a glimpse of how he looks, erection tenting his boxers and a
darker spot on the fabric that makes it clear that he's been hard for a good
long while.
Izumi says nothing, but his hand slides down Mizutani's thigh, as warm and
heavy as before. Only now it's centimeters away from the stiffest hard-on he's
ever had, and he can't think of anything but how he wants that hand to move up,
to skip the teasing and go straight to the good part.
If he's even going to get the good part, which there's no way to be sure about
without asking, which he just can't do. So for the next eternity it's the slide
of skin against skin, fingers stroking every inch of his thighs, coming up so
slowly it's like that theory according to which to get anywhere you have to
cover half of the distance first, and half of that before and so on and so on
until every movement is impossible. That's how it feels right now, like those
hands will never move up and touch him where he wants them to because of some
fundamental law of the universe.
He's breathing slow and deep, eyes shut and hidden under his arm, breaking into
a sweat from all the moving he's not doing. He can feel the chafe of his
boxers, bunched as far up as they'll go. Hear the cars passing outside, feel
the weight of the air that enters his lungs with every sharp breath he takes.
The first touch is as good as nothing, almost accidental, but it still makes
him throw his arm down on the blanket, eyes opening wide as he gasps.
He can't take this. It's too much, he doesn't have the patience, and so he
reaches for himself, desperate -- and whimpers when his wrist gets caught in a
strong grip and slammed against the mattress.
"Don't interfere," Izumi says, but it sounds less like irritation and more like
he does after getting to first base on a clean single, all energy and grins and
delight. It never fails to boost Mizutani's confidence that the best is yet to
come. This time, too, all he can do is relent and send his apologies to his
future self, who will have to bear endless teasing for the rest of his life. I
hope it was worth it, future Mizutani answers, and, well.
He hopes so, too.
For now his eyes are closed so tight a tear escapes, slides down the side of
his face as two of Izumi's fingers trail up the inside of his arm. A squeeze on
his shoulder and it's back down his chest, so light it's barely there until his
fingers catch at the elastic of his boxers. Mizutani's hips rise on instinct,
willing him to take the underwear off; what he gets is a disapproving noise and
sudden pressure on his hip, forcing him back down.
Despite his previous decision, he almost shakes it off. It's not a strong hold,
nothing but a warning, and anyway Izumi only has two hands, can't hold his
hands down and stop him from moving his hips at the same time.
And then one of those hands is wrapped around fabric at the base of his cock
and the thumb sneaks in the open fly of his boxers, slides over the heated skin
and it's all Mizutani can to do slap his wrist on his mouth and bite in order
not to cry out. It's only a matter of seconds now, there's no way he can hold
out any longer.
Except Izumi takes his time, just as he's done through the entire thing. He
strokes so slow and lax that Mizutani can't even tell if there's any real
friction or if it's only the draft coming from under the door. Either way it
makes him hiss, but even if he draws it out it still doesn't take half as long
as Izumi's hand going up his cock just once.
He wants tight, fast, goal-driven. What he gets is steady but loose, as if this
is another muscle to rub the tension out of. He wants to protest that it
doesn't work like that, he can't possibly get off with just this, not even when
every brush of a callus on the underside of his cock draws a hiss from his
lips. He has them too, now, but they've never made him feel like that, never
made him shiver and yearn.
Because he always goes straight to the point, would never tease himself with
this excruciatingly slow slide of the grip around his cock.
It's never this good, either. He never feels the build-up like this, the slow
tightening inside, never has the time to be filled like this with the promise
of something extraordinary.
Never ends up crying in frustration from trying to keep himself still as he
hangs on the edge of it for what seems like ever, big stupid tears that pearl
at the corners of his eyes and roll down slowly one by one until Izumi swipes
his thumb across the head of his dick and the shock of it makes the orgasm
pulse through him, white-hot, arching him against the pressure on his hip.
He crashes on the bed, after, a few centimeters that feel like light-years and
leave him wide-eyed, staring at the ceiling, mind blank until reality creeps
back in. The one in which his teammate, his friend, has just wordlessly jerked
him off on his own bed. And is getting up now, making the bed shift with him.
Mizutani doesn't dare to look until he hears the door close. Then he opens his
eyes and looks around, frantically looking for all other signs that the world
has just spun out of its axis.
It's almost a shock to see that nothing much has changed since the last time he
looked, except for the come splattered up his chest, which is kind of yucky.
Thankfully, he knows how to get to the paper tissues under his bed without even
looking. He cleans himself up as well as he can, and even manages to grasp his
t-shirt with the tip of his fingers. It sticks a little against his skin when
he puts it on, but that's still better than staying here barely dressed and
waiting for Izumi to come back.
Which he will. Surprise handjob notwithstanding, Izumi is a sensible guy. If
he'd been storming out, he wouldn't have left both his bags here.
By the alarm clock shining red on the bedside table, it takes him eight minutes
to get back, and his hand smells like soap when he hands Mizutani one of the
two bottles of iced tea he brought back with him. He sinks back to his original
position, propped against the bed, so close that Mizutani could smell his hair
if he so wanted. Not that he does.
He should really find some way to dispel the tension, though, because the
silence is going to get awkward soon.
"So, is this part of what Shigapo tau--" he shuts up when Izumi raises an index
finger in front of his face.
"Hold that thought." A deep breath. "We're alone here, and you can barely move.
If you were to die in a tragic accident of, say, me holding a pillow on your
face until you stop breathing, nobody would ever know what happened. Think
about that for a second." He pauses briefly, grabs his bottle again. "Now, what
were you going to ask?"
It's tempting to say it despite the threat, just to see what Izumi will do, but
that might make him seriously angry and that's not something Mizutani wants
directed at him in this lifetime. The joke wasn't even that funny, anyway. "My
sister knows you're here," he points out, just in case.
Izumi takes a long swig, swallows, wipes his mouth. "We weren't introduced. I
might take the chance that she won't recognize me."
"She'll recognize you," Mizutani insists, but falls short of explaining why.
He's always talked about his school life at the dinner table, and while the
year started mostly with raving about Tajima's hitting, Suyama's fielding, and
Abe's unfairness, he does realize that Izumi has featured a lot in his tales
recently. Which is not something he wants to mention in the current
circumstances. That would only confuse things even more.
Only now, they're back to awkward silence.
"I don't think you need much practice after all," Mizutani says, going back to
a previous mental thread. "You're pretty good." Oh yeah, way to leave the
unstable ground behind. "I mean, with your hands. I mean-- " He throws his arm
over his eyes, horrified. "Oh god."
"Let me try," Izumi offers slowly, without moving from the position in which
they can comfortably not look at each other at all. "Cut in if I miss
something, but here's the situation. You like Shinooka." Fine, he's not going
to deny it this one time. "I don't have special feelings for anybody." There's
a subtle emphasis on the word, which is reassuring in a way, but stings a
little all the same. He didn't have to put it so bluntly. "Something...
spontaneous happened earlier. I don't think either of us is damaged for life."
"Nuh-huh," Mizutani concurs. It's weird, how easily his agitation got soothed.
There's no reason why things can't still be normal. Just that, and he can go
back to enjoying the aftermath, which is bone-deep and a hundred times more
than the quick on-the-field fix of tickling.
He's even kind of hungry, now, but luckily there's tasty anpan right here. Life
is good.
"And it'll stay between us." There's a hint of a threat there, maybe, so
Mizutani nods enthusiastically around his mouthful of delicious bread.
"So the only question is.... Is it: A, never going to happen, be talked or
thought of again, B, likely to maybe happen again some time depending on mood
and circumstances, or C, something to schedule regularly?"
Mizutani swallows. It's kind of amazing how Izumi manages to say that like he's
asking what filling Mizutani wants for his onigiri. Which isn't something he
generally asks about, come to think of it. It's more Shinooka's question, in
fact, but she's maybe not the person Mizutani wants to think about right now.
That's a fit of shame for another time, because for now he has another question
to answer.
A difficult one, even with all the options laid out like that. Of course it
should never happen again, it shouldn't have happened at all in the first
place. But never again? He remembers, vaguely, that every agonizing second felt
like forever at the time, but now it seems like it hardly lasted any time at
all, and never is a pretty long time. But if he says that...
"You know what, I'll mark just it down as a B for the time being, and you can
tell me the final answer in your own time." Izumi has moved at some point
during what was primed to become a fit of silent panic. He's looking at
Mizutani now, and looks both amused and kind of concerned, which makes Mizutani
wonder what he looks like.
But mostly he's not demanding an answer, and whatever else is to be said about
Izumi, he always knows how to make things easy. "Yeah, okay," Mizutani says
with a tentative smile, and bites in his anpan again.
"Good. Now, about that homework..." And then it's easier still, everything as
normal despite the alphabet rolling in the back of his mind.
A, B or C. Sure, he'll decide.
In his own time.
Chapter End Notes
     Gift mini-comic from Sora! Pages 1, 2, 3. :)
***** Seven Minutes in Hell (Spare One for the Good Stuff) *****
Chapter Summary
     The thing about running out without a word is that it makes re-entry
     difficult.
It's not a wake-up call, not exactly, because Izumi's been awake and aware from
the beginning. But still, feeling a cock that's not his own throb in his hand,
hearing the whimper that accompanies it, is enough to jolt him into a different
sense of reality.
He gets up almost immediately and leaves the room without a word. Not the
smoothest of moves, maybe, but right now he'll settle for sane.
Behind him, the latch closes with an anticlimactic click.
What now?
Instinct dictates that he run away right now, and possibly hire a hitman on his
way home to make sure he never has to face what he just did. Practicality
suggests that he needs to wash his hands.
The bathroom is easily found, at least, and Izumi lets the water run over his
wrists for much longer than necessary, staring at himself in the mirror.
What was that?
Correction, what the fuck was that?
It all started easy. Normal. The door opened to him before he could even press
the doorbell, leaving him face to face with a pretty girl a couple of years
older than him, with a cheerful smile and strong perfume and disarming manners.
He wasn't even able to get a word in that she'd already established he was
Fumiki's friend from the baseball team, here to visit her idiot brother and
safe to let into her home even as she was leaving. The whirlwind lasted maybe
forty seconds and then he was inside and on his own, with an open invitation to
help himself to food and drinks in the kitchen and directions to his friend's
bedroom.
Not unexpectedly, he found Mizutani sprawled on his bed in sleeping attire,
with piles of manga laid out all around him. The comment came out before Izumi
had decided on how best to scare hm out of his wit.
He got a pout and a grin and a pained gasp within the first five minutes, which
put him in a good enough mood to offer his services. It was a little stressful,
maybe, having to pay attention to every sound and move to make sure he wasn't
doing something wrong. It took a lot of focus, but it seemed worth it, for the
occasional pleased sigh and the knots melting under his hands.
There was satisfaction in that, but it would have been weird to keep going just
because Izumi enjoyed doing it, and so he stopped.
And then Mizutani was slamming himself down on the futon and Izumi knew what it
was, understood the cause without a shadow of a doubt.
And went for more.
Which is the part that doesn't quite compute. Because sure, he dropped by the
cafeteria before even volunteering to come over. Sure, he enjoys interacting
with Mizutani, making him revolve through an endless catalog of emotions just
to see what face he'll make. Sure, he likes that Mizutani comes to him more
often than not when they pair up for practice.
The 'but' that should follow is made of so much denial of the facts that Izumi
can't even make himself think it. It looks like a duck and it quacks like a
duck and there's no point in trying to deny it, because he wouldn't have gone
on with anyone else, and he's pretty sure that Mizutani would have stopped most
other people, too.
He's probably panicking on his bed right now, and the thought causes a mental
picture of Mizutani as a turtle on its back, paddling desperately to get back
on its feet.
The image makes him smile before turning into something else entirely even
though it still involves Mizutani on his back and writhing, and reminds Izumi
that he wasn't unaffected either, that he's still uncomfortably hard.
It's bad manners to do this in someone else's home, in their bathroom. But
then, it's also bad manners to do it to someone like he did, and this might
very well be the lesser offense.
Izumi grabs his dick with something like desperation, eyes looking beyond the
mirror, and there's no teasing this time, no evocation of big-breasted beauties
to populate his fantasy world. He strokes hard, fast, tight, and comes in under
a minute with a shudder and a mess all over his hands, some of it even
splashing on the sink.
So he washes it, and his hands again, now feeling a lot calmer as he scrubs.
The situation hasn't changed, but at least he can think about it sensibly.
He needs to get back to the room, if only to pick up his bags. This means
interacting with Mizutani, and at the moment, the fact that he's just rushed to
jerk off in the bathroom would be an elephant in the room. He can't just go
back like that.
Maybe if he brought something back with him? He wonders, looking around a
little desperately. Soap might not send the right message. Nor would a razor.
Nor perfume, unless...
Olfactory memory strikes as he inspects the bottle, reminding him of something
Mizutani's sister told him eons ago.
There's iced tea in the fridge if you want.
It's good enough. As the guest, he should have been offered something to drink
in the first place, and since Mizutani can't move, it was up to him to go get
it. Good.
Now the real question is what he's going to say when he comes in. Ignoring the
past half hour altogether is tempting, but probably not good in the long run.
It'd better to clear the air, but clear it with what? "I think we should do
this as often as we can and I shouldn't have to do all the work either" is
unlikely to fly well regardless of how much Mizutani liked him an hour ago. On
the other hand, "this was a disgusting mistake and in fact I was possessed by
aliens while it happened and we must both forget about it" tastes bitter in his
mouth.
He opens one of the bottles and takes a quick gulp to wash the taste away.
The most reasonable way to handle this would be to tell Mizutani that he wants
to do it again (and again and again, because the rush of having him pliant
under his hands is something that he can't possibly get enough of).
Except without actually telling him, because that's kind of terrifying. Also,
Mizutani might want to punch him for it and then he'd hurt himself even worse,
and whine endlessly that he can't play in the Spring Tournament and it's all
Izumi's fault.
He's going to go in and say something because he can't stay here at the door
forever.
Only...
Maybe he doesn't have to say anything. They'll have to talk, sure, but isn't
that what Mizutani did earlier? He didn't say yes and he sure as hell didn't
say no despite being given plenty of occasions to do so. He didn't say
anything, but things happened anyway.
Maybe it's time the tables were turned.
Izumi takes a deep breath as he opens the door, walks in, and silently hands
the open bottle to Mizutani.
***** Helping Hands: Redux *****
Chapter Summary
     Mizutani's own time turns out to be 'never'. But rules are overrated
     anyway.
Chapter Notes
     Thanks to the kind people at the kink meme for encouraging me to
     write this! :>
See the end of the chapter for more notes
In the end, Mizutani never picks his option.
At least he never openly says it, even when his actions start speaking for
themselves. By that point, it should really be obvious anyway.
In the weeks that follow his injury, what he does do is find out that Izumi
likes his handjobs quick and messy and borderline public, whereas he himself
has acquired an unexpected taste for drawn-out and torturous, and that even
seemingly conflicting interests can be brought together through careful
compromise. Which more or less means that any time his parents aren't home
Izumi will come over, and when that's not possible, well, they're probably
finding out more about the school's nooks and crannies than the people who
built it ever knew.
Today is the sixth time, here, making 'habit' topple into 'tradition', which is
partly why Mizutani doesn't even put his boxers back on after his shower and
merely lays his towel on the bed before plopping down on top of it. But not
before rummaging in his bedside table drawer for a few seconds.
He's already feeling kind of cold when Izumi comes in a few minutes later, and
coughs. "Is this some kind of ritual with you? Every single time I come here
you have fewer clothes on."
There's comfort in the familiarity of this, the fake surprise and light
teasing. It always stops by itself anyway, usually right before Izumi puts his
hands on him. Still, sometimes Mizutani wonders whether things would be
different if he'd said it before the window of opportunity closed, whether
Izumi would stop pretending he doesn't know why he's here. It's that small
uncertainty that makes him rise up to the bait, every time. "Come on," he
whines, "it's getting cold here."
"Do you need me to show you where you keep your clothes?" Izumi asks
derisively, but by that point he's already stripped off his own t-shirt and
straddled Mizutani's thighs.
He's not as careful with the oil as he was the first time, but Mizutani has
found that there's a small thrill in waiting for the cold drop and guessing
where it might end, which is where Izumi will be touching him first. It's down
his spine today, a little under the shoulderblades. As usual, it makes him
hiss. As usual, it's quickly soothed into warm circles.
The real difference with the first time, however, isn't their state of dress or
the temperature of the massage oil that Izumi's taken to carrying around with
him at all times. The difference is in the end game, and how he's seriously
hard before Izumi's hands even reach his waist, the anticipation making things
a dozen times better. Even if today, of all days, he can't be exactly sure
what's to come.
Except him, that is.
"What's so funny?" Izumi asks, his hands never stopping in their wonderous
work.
It's a horrible pun, but the amazing part is that it's enough for him to say
"nothing," Izumi won't push further even though he is allowed to tickle now and
there is precious little information that Mizutani won't surrender to that.
Even the Things about Shinooka he never wants to say out loud, although to be
fair Izumi never went so far as to physically torture him for the information.
Nor does he ever take advantage of his dominant position in any way and for any
reason; which, past the surface comfort, has Mizutani a little miffed. To have
someone you're reasonably attracted to spread their legs under you and never
even try to do something about it? That's more self-control than any teenage
boy ought to have, even if said spreading was innocent. Which it hasn't been,
the past two times, when Izumi's fingers slid down the small of his back and
moved on to his legs, paying no heed to the moans or the twitch of Mizutani's
thighs.
Seriously, what does it take?
He's moving closer to that zone, right now, so Mizutani forces himself to
breathe normally, to relax against the bed. There's nothing to be worried about
here. They both know how this goes. There's no embarrassment left in being hard
from this, not when he knows Izumi gets off on the effect he has on him, on the
sounds and the writhing and, okay, a couple of well-placed strokes that he
helpfully guides Mizutani through, providing strength and direction to
something that would otherwise be a very slack and uncoordinated grip indeed.
(Mizutani would say it's karma at work, but the truth is that his limbs forget
how to obey his instructions after Izumi's done with him.)
It's cold outside, he remembers hazily as every knot in his muscles melts as
soon as touched. It gets to below freezing in the mornings; even Tajima wears a
heavy jacket on his short walk to school. It's nicer in here, the heater pushed
just a little higher to account for the fact that he's laying there naked with
no cover.
But that's not why all of his skin feels hot, that's not why he can feel twin
drops of sweat trailing down his shoulder blades, onto his spine. And then
further, slowly, rolling all the way down until they meld together at the small
of his back. He's weirdly aware of it, and Izumi's hands are unmoving at his
flanks, making it feel even more awkward.
Mizutani is just about to either say something or try to wriggle it away when
he feels the shift over him, Izumi changing positions, and then the sweat is
wiped off, except, except...
His hands haven't moved and Mizutani is dimly aware of the noise that escapes
from him and the thousand embarrassing words Izumi could use to describe it, if
he wasn't busy tracing the path up his back with the tip of his tongue.
It's against the rules, kind of. Not that there are any rules, none stated out
loud at least, but the fact is, if he can get his mind away from the wet path
being etched up his skin, the fact is that they don't use tongues. Or lips,
even. No kissing, no licking, no biting, no talking. They're not a couple or
anything like that, and so it would be silly to do things like kissing or even
spending a minute every now and then letting all their surroundings disappear
into thin air, leaving nothing to awareness but the curve of lips and the
pattern of freckles he could draw in his sleep--
Okay, so Mizutani's thought about it. Multiple times. Sometimes when he should
really have been listening to Shigapo instead. Doesn't mean it ever happens, so
this is still breaking the rules.
Which, beyond how good it feels, is a very good thing because Mizutani has kind
of been planning for a trespass of his own, if only he dares to do it, if he
can stop his fingers from fidgeting under the pillow just long enough... but
not right now. Not now, because Izumi's moved all the way up and even pushed
some hair to the side to press his lips against the nape of his neck. He's
so... there, the pressure of his knees on either side of Mizutani's thighs, the
phantom weight of his body leaning over him, trapping him against the bed.
It makes Mizutani's pulse drum under his skin, a reflection of a heartbeat that
can't be healthy by any account and maybe now is just the right time after all.
He jerks his left hand from under the pillow and rests it by his head, palm up,
making the offering obvious even as his cheeks burn with shame.
Izumi freezes. It shouldn't be so easy to notice, when he moves so slowly to
begin with, but Mizutani feels the tension in every spot their bodies are
touching. It makes him nervous again, all of a sudden, muscles knotting back
together in the six seconds (or thousand days) it takes for Izumi to exhale,
expel all the air from his body. And bend back down over him to nuzzle the line
where hair meets skin as he moves his hand up Mizutani's arm, two fingers
sliding up the inside of his wrist, along the edge of his palm until their
hands are aligned, fingers wrapping together, trapping the proffered condom
between them.
The grip is so strong that the thought occurs to Mizutani that his left hand
might never be the same again; but only until teeth replace lips and his whole
body jerks from surprise. Izumi pulls back immediately, so Mizutani bends his
head further, tightens his grip around Izumi's fingers, offering, asking, and
it probably means something, doesn't it, that he never has to talk but Izumi
always gets it.
He feels himself writhing on the sheets as a hickey blooms on his neck, jumping
the line between pain and pleasure over and over again until be knows that
tomorrow and the day after and the day after that he'll be able to bring his
hand there and feel the tender skin and remember every moment of this.
Izumi stops an eternity later. He releases his hold on Mizutani's hand, his
fingertips catching on the condom, pulling it away.
It's foreign territory again, but nothing ever seems to have Izumi at a loss
anyway. He repositions himself, forcing Mizutani's thighs apart by sneaking one
knee between them and then the other, and Mizutani is too busy marvelling at
how vulnerable it makes him feel and how emphatically not bad it is to protest
when his pillow gets pulled away and his hips tugged up. Before he knows it his
hips and ass are elevated, on display for the guy whose hands are laid across
the back of his thighs, rubbing small circles with his thumbs.
Then further up, slow as ever but with no hesitation, until those hands are
cupping both his buttocks, spreading them apart just the slightest bit. Which
is roughly when Mizutani realizes that of course Izumi is going to take his
time with this, why would it be any different, and the wait is going to kill
him.
He wriggles a little, trying to entice faster action, but all that gets him is
the disapproving click of Izumi's tongue.
Only then, then he feels the light tickle of hair against his lower back and
that very same tongue against his tailbone, lapping at the small hollow there
just as a thumb makes its way between his cheeks. Mizutani whimpers and adjusts
his position automatically, spreading his legs further, pushing his hips
higher, embarrassingly wanton but already past caring. Izumi makes an amused
sound against his skin, licks up one more time before crawling back up
Mizutani's body.
"Stop trying to distract me," he orders, except he's hard and pressing right
against Mizutani's ass, making him groan and squirm.
"Yes, that. Stop it." But there's a breathless quality to his voice that makes
Mizutani pretty sure he's getting to him at least a little.
"What if I don't want to?" he asks, as cheeky as one can be while hiding their
burning face.
"Then we might have a problem." Izumi lets himself fall to Mizutani's left
side, straddling his leg, and Mizutani hears the snap of a plastic cap behind
his head a few seconds before a slick finger starts retracing the path down his
spine. It creates shivers all the way to the small of his back, across his
tailbone and then it doesn't stop, forcing whatever part of the way isn't
already wide open to press against... there. Right there, Mizutani thinks a
little hysterically, not pushing in but definitely applying some pressure, and
it's cool and slick and it would be so easy to shove it in.
Which Izumi doesn't do, of course, because that would be too damn easy,
wouldn't it? He draws circles instead, that grow smaller and smaller as the
pressure increases until finally it slides in, no further than the first
knuckle. It feels... not bad, just foreign enough that it makes him squirm to
make the feeling evolve - more or less doesn't matter as long as there's a
change. Izumi makes his tongue click again but bends his finger just a little
and oh god it's going to be an actual massage isn't it? Just as diligent and
careful as always except inside.
Dammit, he's probably going to end up crying again.
"Something wrong?"
Surprised, Mizutani opens his eyes, and finds Izumi looking right back, which
only makes him blush. Isn't that another rule, that they don't make more eye
contact than necessary? Although seeing Izumi like this, so focused on him,
pupils so wide they make his eyes black, Mizutani might forget all about rules.
He licks his lips.
"You're slow," he manages to say, confident enough that it won't make Izumi
pull away, stop tracing circles inside him, each one infinitesimally deeper
than the next.
"So?" he smirks a little, and half a second later his finger is all the way in,
the shock of it making Mizutani gasp. "Hmm?"
But obviously, sometimes Izumi chooses not to get it. Which would be why the
next century is more of the same, a single finger curving and twisting inside
him, until he thinks he'd beg, if Izumi asked again. For what it's worth, he
doesn't, but it's embarrassing enough like this, the way he's shaking, mewling,
trying to spread his legs further than they can humanly go. Moaning in relief
when finally a second finger joins the first, just as slow and deliberate but
there nonetheless, stretching muscles that are not used to being kept that way.
The whole thing makes him painfully aware of his own anatomy, of what gives and
what doesn't, of the feeling of a couple of fingers pressing inside him.
Whenever he's thought about it, it was always kind of distant, just something
that would happen, and that would feel good. But the reality of it is that
everything is frighteningly close.
It still feels good, though.
"You're not bored, are you?" Izumi inquires a couple of minutes after the third
finger pushes in.
The idea is so ludicrous it makes Mizutani laugh, although it comes out as more
of a sob. He'd roll to the side, if he could, to show Izumi just how not bored
he is (and in such a way that he'll definitely need to change that pillowcase
later). As it is, all he can do is look right at him and say no, in as sulky
and reluctant a tone as he can manage in the face of Izumi's satisfied smile.
Of course, that only makes him smile wider.
"You're too smug," Mizutani tells him.
"Maybe a little," Izumi concedes, and he's changing positions, suddenly coming
closer and...
Oh.
It shouldn't take precedence like this, a simple peck on the lips has nothing
on the way he's being finger-fucked, but it still makes whatever was left of
Mizutani's brain jar to a halt. He searches Izumi's face for some kind of
explanation, but all he finds is a half-smirk and a raised eyebrow, as though
he's being asked what are you going to do now?
He answers by leaning over, going for their second kiss, aware all the while
that he's still being stretched, still twitching his hips to make it seem just
a little faster. But all that takes a step back when Izumi kisses back, opens
his mouth, traces the edge of Mizutani's lips with his tongue. Why haven't they
done this before? Where did the rule come from that has been stopping them from
kissing all this time, when it makes him feel like everything he's ever wanted
is right here at his fingertips? His neck is twisted beyond comfort and they
can't align properly and moving is out of the question because then Izumi will
pull out and probably decide to start all over again because he's mean like
that, but none of that matters when he can hear the drumming of his heartbeat
and feel Izumi's cock twitch repeatedly against his hip.
It makes him want to say everything, I love having your hands on me and I just
want to know how this feels at least once and you're the only one I can ever
think of asking and I never answered your question but you know the truth,
right? and, most prominently, can't I have you, for real?
"Do it," is what he says. "I'm ready."
"What if I'm not?" Izumi retorts, bending his fingers in a way that makes
Mizutani squirm.
Still, he doesn't lose track of his argument, pushes his hip against the
erection straining Izumi's boxers and makes a noise he hopes expresses
disbelief and a hint of contempt.
It doesn't seem to bother Izumi overmuch. "Oh, right," he says with a slight
smirk. He pulls his fingers out, the first thing he's done fast since entering
the room, and for a second Mizutani feels the sharp loss there.
"Come on," he protests, emboldened, but this time his hip bumps against a hand
which he can only guess is down there for...
"Give me a minute here," Izumi answers, slightly irritated but mostly
distracted. "You're so fucking spoiled."
Because you spoil me almost spills out of Mizutani's lips, but that's no
exactly the Best Retort Ever even if it's the truth. He enjoys every moment of
it after all, even when he wants to tell himself he hates it. So he answers
with a groan, and leaves it at that.
"Move," he hears not too long after, and obediently follows the tug of fingers
on his hip, rolls over until he's laying on his side with Izumi behind him, so
close he can almost feel him all over his back. So he goes a little further,
lets himself fall back until he's caught, like in that bonding game his middle
school coach kept making them play. It earns him an amused sound and a series
of light kisses on his shoulder that spread a shiver all through his body.
"Talk to me, okay?" Izumi whispers against his skin.
"About what?" Mizutani squeaks, suddenly panicked as though the teacher just
mentioned there was something unexpected on the test counting for half his
grades.
"I don't know." Mizutani knows he's been said to overlook the occasional non-
verbal cue, but there's no way to miss the sarcasm dripping from Izumi's voice.
"What's the last movie you saw? Was it any good?" And he's pulling Mizutani's
cheeks apart, positioning something there that is most definitely not a finger
and this is really happening, isn't it.
"You already know that, we went together," he protests, well aware that it's
completely missing the point.
"That's true. Find something else, then." Mizutani feels the push before it
happens, tries not to tense up but it hurts anyway, hurts like fucking hell
despite all the preparation and Izumi's just pushing in, the bastard, not
paying any attention to...
The pain recedes. He still feels it, of course, the sting and the stretch and
the residual hurt, but it's not as bad.
"Ow," he says anyway, just to make the point.
"See, you said you were ready," Izumi tells him. He's acting casual, but
Mizutani can feel the rise and fall of his chest and he is so not as composed
as he's trying to be.
"Maybe I would still have been if you hadn't taken so long."
"Ah, so it's my fault?"
"Definitely," Mizutani says, squirming a little. It's not painful anymore, as
such, but a little uncomfortable all the same, and much like earlier, he really
wants something to change. "Are you going to move?"
"Man, you're impatient." But he's moving already, slow and shallow but not so
much that Mizutani can't feel himself being spread apart.
"Look who's talking," he manages to expel. Izumi's definitely worse than him in
that regard, because for all the teasing he does, he can't take much in return.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Mizutani isn't stupid, really. He has enough experience by now to be able to
tell when Izumi is being deliberately distracting, because more often than not
he does it for his sake. He's being taken care of again, distracted as Izumi
pushes inside him, makes him used to the foreign feeling. He knows what's going
on, but he takes the bait anyway.
"You're the one who never wants to wait," he answers, closing his eyes to get
no other stimulus than sound and touch. "Always making me go as fast and hard
as I can from the get-go. How come I never get to-- oh."
Oh, because he's not moving now, because Mizutani can feel his thighs against
him and that's a short-circuit right there.
"You're inside me," he gasps. It feels like a revelation, not only the weight
inside him and the trembling of his limbs and the feeling of being spread open
and taken, but also the way Izumi is under his skin, has been for longer than
he remembers. It feels like a revelation but it sounds trite and obvious, a
stupid line pulled out of a thousand porn scenes that does nothing to describe
the intensity of what he's feeling. So bad he finds himself silently begging
for mercy, please don't make fun of me for this I don't think I can take it.
Izumi laughs against his back, a short sweet sound that usually invites
Mizutani into his world, but right now all it seems to do is make him feel
small and brittle. "Yeah," Izumi whispers, his breath brushing over Mizutani's
skin. "I know, I'm..." but he never finishes and even those few words sound
breathless, shaken. "You're so..." and he trails off and laughs again and the
knot in Mizutani's stomach unties as easily as it formed. "Fuck, I don't even
know what I'm saying."
"That's fine," Mizutani finds himself saying, maybe laughing a little himself,
"that's fine, just..."
Just is all he needs to say and Izumi starts moving again, so slow and shallow
and it's not pleasurable in any obvious way but still breathtaking, almost
frightening in its intensity and any pain he might have felt dissolves into
heat because Izumi's hand has fallen from his hip and onto the hard-on nobody
has been paying much attention to so far, which was a truly terrible oversight.
Izumi seems to be determined to make up for it, his fingers dealing butterfly
touches all over, just once before he curls them into a circle around the head.
Of course Mizutani jerks into it, making himself gasp from the dual sensation.
Not just himself, either, so he tries it the other way, thrusting back against
Izumi and yeah, he definitely likes that.
Likes that enough to make everything stop as he props himself on an elbow,
nudges Mizutani's knee forward and makes them roll over a little; but
Mizutani's got it now, the ways he can move and make Izumi hiss between his
teeth. By the time they're in position he knows exactly what he wants to do.
It's easier too, now that he has a little leverage to slither back and forth
just how he wants it. For all that Izumi is half laying on top of him, he's not
being held down, this time, so it's his choice to pick up the pace, to turn the
casual slide on sheets into full-blown thrusts, into Izumi's blessedly tight
grip and back onto his cock, feelings that couldn't be more different but match
up fantastically until his eyes glaze over and his hips are moving by
themselves and he's moaning continuously and he's not the only one, either,
because what else can he call the wordless whispers being uttered against his
neck?
Just when Mizutani thinks he can finish himself like this Izumi moves again,
matching his rhythm almost immediately and now it's not both sensations in
turn, it's everything at the same time and Izumi's whispers turning to words
that are mostly curses. Whereas his are more on the lines of 'oh' and 'there'
and 'please' and then 'yesyesyes don't stop don't--" and it's that moment,
right then, when Izumi is deep inside and all around and all over, when the
only things in existence are the two of them on his bed, that he feels himself
shatter and fall and Izumi doesn't stop, keeps fucking him through it so that
it seems his thrusts are directly pushing the last spurts of come out of him.
And then Izumi is falling too, clutching at his hip and gasping for breath as
Mizutani finishes riding his own orgasm and he wants to kiss now, right now, so
he rips himself away and rolls over and doesn't think, just does it. It
shouldn't be surprising after all this but Izumi welcomes him, pulls him closer
and they both laugh at the squishy sound of come being smeared over both their
chests.
That's going to take another shower, but there's still at least an hour before
anyone comes back. For now, it's enough to lay there and touch to his heart's
content, to trace invisible edges all over Izumi's back, always the same
pattern: a downward stroke, a curve.
He's never come out and picked his option. By now, he's pretty sure he doesn't
have to, not out loud, not when he's writing D's on every surface of skin that
falls under his hands.
It's never been laid out what that means, either, but that's okay too.
Izumi always understands anyway.
Chapter End Notes
     If anyone is horrified at the idea of using massage oil as lube with
     a latex condom, let me just say this: Izumi is sneaky. And reads how-
     to-use notices.
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