Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/7468032.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Hikaru_no_Go
  Relationship:
      Kaga_Tetsuo/Tsutsui_Kimihiro, Tsutsui_Kimihiro/Original_Female_Character
  Character:
      Kaga_Tetsuo, Tsutsui_Kimihiro, Kaga's_Father, Mitani_Yuuki, Shindou
      Hikaru, Fujisaki_Akari
  Additional Tags:
      Developing_Relationship, Internalized_Homophobia, Alcohol_Abuse/
      Alcoholism, Dubious_Consent, Slow_Burn, Anal_Sex, Anal_Fingering,
      Switching, Bullying, Fluff_and_Angst, Unhealthy_Coping_Mechanisms,
      Unhealthy_Relationships, Sexual_Fantasy, First_Time, Alcohol, Dirty_Talk,
      Mutual_Masturbation, Epilepsy, Seizures, Coming_Out, Love_Confessions,
      Men_Crying
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-08-11 Completed: 2016-11-21 Chapters: 30/30 Words: 60318
****** In Love and War ******
by tastewithouttalent
Summary
     "Kaga doesn’t even notice Tsutsui, the first time." Kaga and
     Tsutsui's friendship is a strange thing when it starts and it only
     gains oddities the longer Kaga tries to keep it inside the lines of
     platonic.
***** Winning *****
Kaga first meets Tsutsui in elementary school.
They’re not the type to get along. Kaga knows this, knew it from the first day
of class when he looked around the room to size up the children he’ll be
spending the next year with. His type are easy to pick out of the crowd; they
sit up taller, stare longer, sometimes even slouch back into inattention while
the teacher is still speaking to the class as a whole. Those are meant to be
Kaga’s friends, or his competition at least; because everything is a
competition, it’s easy to frame the world into two sides of a game, and Kaga is
good at competition. He’s one of those who rise to the top in any tournament,
one of the few left vying for the title in the last rounds of battle, and he’s
learned how to dig his teeth in and hold to victory with both hands until he
can wrest it away from his opponent.
Kaga doesn’t even notice Tsutsui, the first time. Tsutsui is the type to get
chewed up by competition, one of those who will crumble and fold at the first
sign of resistance; when Kaga looks over the classroom he passes over Tsutsui
the same as he does nearly everyone else, forgets the other’s face as quickly
as his eyes have skipped on to the student sitting next to him. Tsutsui never
speaks up in class, and he hunches in over his desk, ducking his head to grant
himself the curtain of his hair in addition to the natural barrier his outsized
glasses provide to his eyes, and Kaga forgets him before the teacher’s reached
his name in the roll call. He doesn’t turn around to look at him again, doesn’t
pay attention to what voice is attached to that self-defensive hunch of
shoulders; Tsutsui never even makes eye contact with him, never sees the brief
dismissal Kaga gives him as someone bearing the joint failings of being
uninteresting and uninspired.
It’s weeks later that they speak again. Kaga has talked to the more exciting
students in his class: made friends with one, gotten into a fistfight with
another, and developed a relationship so layered with insults it’s hard to tell
if it’s friendship or dislike with the third. But they’re not always around at
lunchtime, and Kaga isn’t one to sit around and wait for time to pass when he’s
left to his own devices. There’s no one interesting to talk to, no one exciting
enough to offer the other half of a conversation; so he considers the other
students lingering over lunch in the classroom, and he picks out a victim
instead.
There’s no particular reason it has to be Tsutsui. There are other students in
the classroom, other children showing that ducked-head quiet that comes with
insecurities dug in deep enough to collapse any resistance that might have once
been there. But the rest of the class is clustering into groups for the lunch
hour, and Tsutsui’s glasses catch the light when he lifts his head for a
moment, and so it’s Tsutsui that Kaga focuses on, and it’s Tsutsui that he aims
for as he pushes back from his desk and strides across the classroom.
“Yo,” he says as he approaches, loudly enough that the other boy jumps and
startles as he turns back to blink shock at Kaga. “How’s it going?”
“Oh,” Tsutsui says, sounding as blank as his stare looks. “Hello.”
“You’re Tsutsui, right?” Kaga pulls out the chair of the desk in front of
Tsutsui’s, drags it back over the floor without lifting it clear of the ground;
the metal of the legs catches and drags over the floor, making Tsutsui flinch
at the screech. Kaga lets the edge of the chair rattle into the edge of the
other’s desk as he swings a leg up over the seat to sit backwards in the chair
and lean against it. “I’m Kaga.”
“I know,” Tsutsui says, still looking as off-balance as if it’s his self that
Kaga has just jarred against the edge of his chair. “Hello.”
“Yeah,” Kaga says, and lets his gaze drop to the lunch Tsutsui has laid out
over the surface of his desk. “Whatcha got?”
Tsutsui blinks at him. “Lunch?”
“Looks good,” Kaga tells him, and reaches out over the open box towards one of
the slices of omelette in the far corner. Tsutsui watches his hand without
reacting, still looking a little dazed; Kaga almost touches the other’s food
before he stops himself with deliberately put-on hesitation.
“Oh, sorry,” he says without pulling his hand back or looking away from
Tsutsui’s face. “Mind if I try some?”
He’s making fun of the other boy. It’s clear on his tongue, he can taste the
mockery like the sour bite of lemon burning against the inside of his mouth,
and he knows how this will go; Tsutsui will duck his head, will mumble
something unintelligible, and Kaga will eat the vast majority of his lunch
while bombarding him with conversation overwhelming enough to keep him cowed
and quiet. The other students won’t stop him, the teacher won’t care; even if
he gets called out, Kaga’s more likely to get praise from his father for
‘taking charge’ than punishment for bullying. That’s the way it’s worked with
every other student in the class Kaga has decided to pick on; it only takes one
interaction, only takes one deliberate shove of aggression, and they submit,
the victory so easily-won it’s no victory at all. Tsutsui doesn’t have the
backbone for more, Kaga can see that already in the curve of his shoulders and
the shine off those glasses; the fact that he’s spending lunch alone is just
further proof that he’s unlikely to cause Kaga any problems, either
intentionally or accidentally.
“Sure,” Tsutsui says, just as Kaga expected. Kaga lets his fingers drop the
last half-inch to draw a bite of food free, lifts it to his mouth with
deliberate slowness as if he’s savouring the motion; he’s waiting for Tsutsui
to look up at him, waiting to see the resignation to loss in the other’s eyes.
It takes a while -- Kaga nearly has the food to his lips when it finally
happens -- and he’s just biting into the omelette when Tsutsui lifts his chin,
and says “Do you not have a lunch today?” with so much sincere concern that
Kaga swallows wrong and nearly chokes himself on the bite of food.
“Sorry!” Tsutsui blurts, his eyes going wide with concern behind the solid
weight of his glasses as Kaga gasps and coughs over the edge of the desk.
There’s a touch at Kaga’s shoulder, the weight of an uncertain touch brushing
against the sleeve of his uniform coat, as if Tsutsui is nervous about doing
some kind of harm with the feather-light contact. “I’m sorry, that was rude, I
shouldn’t have asked.”
“What?” Kaga asks, his voice coming out rougher than he means it to around the
lingering weight of his coughing fit. “What are you talking about?”
Tsutsui blinks, drops his gaze down to the surface of his desk. “I’m sorry,” he
says, his voice so soft Kaga can barely hear it. “It’s none of my business, I--
”
“Shut up,” Kaga tells him, more to cut off the flow of the other’s words than
with any real aggression. “What do you mean?”
“Ah,” Tsutsui says, and Kaga thinks for a moment he might be about to apologize
again; but then he glances up, and sees the way Kaga is glaring at him, and if
he flinches back in his chair at least he swallows like he’s steeling himself
for speech. “It’s lunchtime.”
“No shit,” Kaga tells him.
Tsutsui flinches again, as if Kaga’s words are blows instead of the harmless
hum of sound they are. “You don’t have anything to eat,” he says, glancing up
over the top of his glasses as warily as if he thinks Kaga might be about to
smack him. “I was just wondering if you usually bring a lunch. Or do you buy
something? I have some money I could lend you if you want.”
Kaga stares at Tsutsui. “You’d just give me money.”
“Of course, if you’re hungry.” Tsutsui reaches out to push at the edge of his
lunchbox and ease it farther over the desk. “Or you can have some more of mine.
It’s always hard to pay attention in the afternoon when you don’t have lunch,
don’t you think?”
Kaga thinks, for just a moment, that Tsutsui is teasing him. It seems an
impossibility, that this boy with victim clear in every line of his being would
have the presence of mind to mock him with so little warning; but it’s easier
to fathom than the hypothetical of someone so absolutely blind and stupid as to
mean this reaction sincerely. Kaga’s still staring when Tsutsui lifts his head,
and meets his gaze, and offers a tremulous smile so weighted down at the edges
with hope that it looks like it could give way at any moment.
A lot of things make sense to Kaga right then. The slump of Tsutsui’s
shoulders, for one thing, the tentative touch at his shoulder while he was
coughing; the immediacy of his concern, for another, and the sincerity on his
voice as he made a desperate attempt at conversation. It’s not that the other
boy is an idiot; it’s that he’s lonely, so painfully absent any regular
interaction that he’s ready to give up even common sense for the relief of
conversation for the lunch hour. Kaga can’t remember ever seeing Tsutsui so
much as speak to anyone else in class, now that he thinks about it; not that he
would have noticed the other even if he had, but that’s a trivial detail when
compared to the sudden surge of sympathy that hits him far harder than he ever
expected it would.
“Yeah,” he says, and folds his arms over the back of the chair rather than
reaching out for another bite of food. “And English is no good anyway. Unless
you’re one of those nerdy kids that likes that kind of thing?”
It’s a boring conversation, Kaga thinks, as Tsutsui smiles himself into relief
and offers some equally inane response. It’s unlikely to be worth the time
he’ll spend inventing conversation topics, much less not-listening to Tsutsui’s
responses. But Tsutsui’s smile gains strength as the time passes, and his eyes
go brighter even behind the barrier of his glasses, and by the time the rest of
the class comes back in and Kaga gets up to return to his seat he can feel
warmth all through his chest, like heat has crept into his veins and is
settling to glow comfortably in him for the rest of the day.
It might not be enough to win his father’s praise, but Kaga thinks he likes the
feeling of making someone smile instead of scowl.
***** Playing *****
“God,” Kaga groans from the other side of the table. “You’re terrible at this.”
Tsutsui hesitates with his fingertips hovering over the Go stone he’s just
placed. “Is that a bad move?”
“I can’t believe you have to ask me that,” Kaga tells him. “I’m never going to
get any better playing against you if you keep making moves like that.”
Tsutsui frowns himself into apology and reaches to push his glasses up his nose
from where they’ve slid down. “Should I change it, or…”
“Shut up,” Kaga tells him, snapping off the words that always make Tsutsui
flinch no matter how many times he hears them, and reaches out to smack the
other’s hand away from the board. His sleeve catches the pieces laid across the
edge of the goban and knock them loose to scatter on the floor, but he doesn’t
even turn his head at the rattle of sound; he’s reaching for a handful of
stones instead, setting them down around the edges of Tsutsui’s latest move
with a rapidfire placement Tsutsui can’t even follow.
“I’ll have this whole section of the board captured in four moves,” Kaga tells
him, rattling the stones into place against the somewhat dented wood of the
board. “You’re walking right into it by leaving that piece there.”
“I have moves too,” Tsutsui attempts. “I could stop--”
“You couldn’t,” Kaga cuts him off. “I wouldn’t be able to stop that in your
place, not after that last move. Why couldn’t you see it there?” He drags his
fingers across the surface of the board, scooping away the handful of stones
he’s just placed. “What you should’ve done is moved over here” as he presses a
fingertip to Tsutsui’s piece and slides it sideways across the Go board to the
far edge, where there are no stones at all yet, either of Tsutsui’s white or
Kaga’s black. “This is a good move.”
Tsutsui frowns focus at the outline of the game. “Why would I move there? None
of your pieces are there.”
“That’s exactly why,” Kaga tells him, huffing the words around the frustration
that so often turns his voice rough and too-loud in the enclosed space. “You
can’t win this other corner. Any other pieces you throw at it are a waste of
moves and just make us play out an obvious conclusion.” He reaches over the
board, still careless with the drag of his sleeve and the havoc this wrecks on
what’s left of the game they were playing so he can hover his hand over the
left side of the game and the area now empty but for the bright white of the
stone he moved over for Tsutsui. “But this is all up for grabs. You could
probably still take this from me, if you went for it now.”
Tsutsui considers the blank array of spaces around the one Kaga chose to move
his piece to. They all look identical to him; even now that Kaga has done it
for him he can’t see why he chose the move he did, why he didn’t leave the
stone one spot farther to the left or two up. He ducks his head to let the
weight of his hair fall heavy over his face as he sighs, “I don’t think I’m
very good at this,” resignation lacing his tone as much as apology.
“You’re not,” Kaga tells him, without even a token attempt at polite
hesitation. Tsutsui lifts his head to look at the other boy but Kaga is
watching the board, is sweeping the details of their first game aside and
laying stones into a new pattern with that same unhesitating speed Tsutsui sees
whenever Kaga’s left to play at his own rhythm. It always makes Tsutsui’s heart
race, like he has to hurry up to keep from throwing off Kaga’s personal
pattern, and even when he moves at his fastest he doesn’t have a chance of
matching the other’s speed. Watching Kaga move on his own is a little like
watching a dance Tsutsui doesn’t know, where every step is logical and
choreographed to some set rule that he never learned and can’t hope to
replicate but can still appreciate the flow of when he’s not trying to
participate himself.
“You don’t have a natural talent at this,” Kaga is going on, offering the words
with something nearly indifference as the stones on the board start to fall
into a pattern Tsutsui could almost make sense of, if he had the time to look
at it longer. “Whatever. That doesn’t mean you can’t get better than you are
now.” He rattles a stone into place and then draws his hand away, leaving the
pattern across the board clear to see even if Tsutsui isn’t sure yet what the
intention is.
“You could at least become fun to play against,” Kaga tells him, dropping the
stones still in his hand back into the container on his side and reaching over
the table for Tsutsui’s to grab an extra white one. “Try this instead.”
Tsutsui blinks at the board. “What is this?”
“It’s the end game,” Kaga tells him. “If we had been playing for a while we’d
end up here.” He’s holding a single white stone in his hand; when he tosses it
up Tsutsui’s attention slides sideways to track the movement of the piece
through the air before Kaga catches it again. “Where should you move next?”
Tsutsui blinks and looks back down at the Go board. “What?”
“From here,” Kaga says, sounding a little rough with irritation in the back of
his throat. “What’s your next move if you want to win?”
Tsutsui stares at the board. The pattern is pretty, he can appreciate the
tracery of almost-lines running through the array of stones; he and Kaga have
never played this far in one of their games before the other boy loses patience
and gives over his perpetual attempts to teach Tsutsui how to play Go. But
there’s no reason to the design, no logic to the pattern; Tsutsui doesn’t know
what Kaga means, doesn’t see how there can be just one move that is the right
one. He could set the stone in one place as easily as another, could drop the
white stone at the juncture of those lines near the edge, he wouldn’t know what
Kaga would do until it was the other’s turn and he made his move.
Except. That cross of lines is sitting too close to the outline of black,
Tsutsui can see; he’s sure putting the piece down there would make Kaga roll
his eyes and groan frustration and move alongside Tsutsui’s piece, chasing the
white of the other’s plays down to the edge of the board where he would take
them all, in the end. So Tsutsui can’t move there, not if he wants to win; and
there’s a whole handful of moves like that, options he can disregard
immediately as soon as he looks at the lines of black snaking around them to
threaten the empty spaces on the board left to him. That leaves him with a few
other options, none in as much immediate danger as the others, but it’s harder
to see through the next few moves when the threat isn’t as clear. Tsutsui
frowns at them for a few minutes, trying to sketch out the pattern of play in
his head; finally he narrows it down to two options, each about as good as the
other that he can tell, and chooses one at random to point to.
“Here?”
Kaga stops tossing the white piece up into the air. Tsutsui doesn’t look up
from the board for the first moment; when he does Kaga is watching him, his
face expressionless and his eyes dark with focus. Tsutsui can feel anxiety
shiver up his spine, is just opening his mouth to offer an apology for his bad
sense for Go when Kaga extends his hand over the table, offering the piece in
his open palm without looking away from Tsutsui’s face.
“Make the move,” is all he says, his voice oddly flat without any of the
irritation or mockery Tsutsui is used to hearing.
Tsutsui lifts his hand to his glasses, pushes against the frames to urge them
farther up the bridge of his nose, and then he reaches out to take the piece
from Kaga’s open hand. The stone is warm to the touch, holding to the other’s
body heat for a moment while Tsutsui places it, and even after he’s lifted his
fingertips from the smooth weight Kaga doesn’t say anything, just reaches for
his own pieces before setting a black stone into place alongside Tsutsui’s.
It only takes a few minutes to play through the rest of the game. Most of that
time is Tsutsui’s, spent considering the board overlong before each move he
makes, and when he takes the victory in the end Kaga doesn’t say anything, just
sweeps the stones aside and starts setting the board up into a different
configuration. It takes him a little while to get it established and leaves
Tsutsui with nothing more structured to do than watch Kaga set up the end game
of another match, but he doesn’t mind.
For a few minutes there, he felt almost like he was giving Kaga an actual game
of Go.
***** Awareness *****
“Kaga, please.”
“How many times do I have to tell you no?” Kaga says without looking up from
the lunch he has spread out over his desk. “I’m done with Go, it’s all shogi
for me now. Find someone else.”
“There isn’t anyone else,” Tsutsui protests. “You’re the best player at the
school, you’re way better than I am.”
“That’s because you suck,” Kaga tells him. “If you stopped carrying that damn
book around with you all the time you might actually improve, you know.”
“Please,” Tsutsui says again. “Even if I get better I can’t play in the
tournament by myself.”
“You can’t play with just two people either.” Kaga takes a bite of his lunch,
saving himself from further speech for a moment while he chews. “Even if I do
play with you we can’t join the tournament.”
“I’ll find someone else,” Tsutsui says. “There must be someone else at the
school who can play Go.”
“Can’t you just find two other people?” Kaga demands. “Or go find your other
person and then come back and tell me and maybe I’ll play to help you get to
three. Who knows?”
“I’ll never find two others,” Tsutsui says, sounding so self-deprecating Kaga
wants to snap at him to stop being so melodramatic, would if he didn’t know
it’s absolutely true. It’ll be a minor miracle if Tsutsui is able to pull even
one other person into his plan to play in the middle school Go tournament; he’s
never going to be able to track down two, not with the anxious introversion
Kaga knows too well characterizes all the other boy’s actions. “You won’t have
to play if I don’t find someone else. Please, Kaga, I need your help.”
“You always need my help,” Kaga groans. “All I’ve done since elementary school
is help you, why can’t you take care of things yourself for once?” He’s being
harsh, he knows, offering unjustified bite under the words he’s snapping at the
other; but he knows he can get away with it, too, knows that Tsutsui lacks the
backbone to push back even a little bit, and at least he’s nicer than he could
be, most of the time, at least he gives Tsutsui someone to eat lunch with most
days and saves him from the afterschool bullying that used to happen when they
were still in elementary school.
“You’re my friend,” Tsutsui says, sounding nearly apologetic on the statement
as Kaga looks up to see the dark of the other’s bowed head. Tsutsui is looking
down at his hands in his lap, his mouth gone soft and weighted to a frown at
the corners of his lips; Kaga can see unhappiness in the forward curve of the
other’s shoulders, can see hesitation in the dip of his lashes. “I really want
to play in the tournament with you.”
Kaga can feel all his skin prickle under the weight of his school uniform. He
still has half his lunch in front of him, had been about to reach out for
another bite of food; but the motion stalls, now, stopped dead against the
tremor of Tsutsui’s voice over that statement. It’s a stupid thing to stop for
-- it’s just a Go tournament, there’s nothing particularly remarkable to set
Tsutsui’s words apart from what’s come before. But his voice wobbles over you,
the tremor of middle school granting it weight he maybe didn’t intend, and Kaga
can feel the burden of that hit him like a physical force, like he’s being
electrified and set alight by something he never even thought to look for
before.
“Oh,” he says, more weakly than he intended and while Tsutsui’s head is still
bowed over the fold of his fingers in his lap. Tsutsui doesn’t look up; Kaga is
left to stare at the fall of the other’s hair against the frames of his
glasses, to look at the forward hunch of the other’s shoulders and the way
Tsutsui’s collar fits close against the back of his neck. He’s never noticed
any of this before, or at least not with this detail; he knows that Tsutsui’s
hair is too long, knows the other has a tendency to slouch that makes him look
even more immediately submissive than he already is by nature. But it’s never
felt electrified before, never carried the weight of a punch to knock all the
air out of Kaga’s lungs until he’s not sure which emotion is stronger, if it’s
the heat in his veins or the chill fright of recognition that is more
overwhelming his senses.
“Fine,” he manages after a moment, offering the word with the rough edges on it
that he’s never had to fight for, before, never had to strain to put on the
tone of his voice. “Get a third person and I’ll play in the tournament with
you.”
Tsutsui’s head comes up immediately, his eyes going wide behind his glasses as
all the tension in his expression flickers away and into shock instead. His
lips part on speechless surprise, his stare catches and clings to Kaga’s face,
and Kaga can feel himself starting to flush, can feel heat rising across his
cheeks as Tsutsui gapes at him.
“You still have to get another person,” he says, ducking his head to reach and
snatch another bite of food to stuff into his mouth. When he talks around the
bite it’s obstruction enough to hide any unusual heat or strain on his voice
even if Tsutsui were paying attention to the detail. “I’m not helping with that
part.”
“Yes,” Tsutsui says, blinking hard like he’s trying to reorient himself in
reality. “Right. Yes, that’s fine, I’ll take care of it.” He reaches across the
desk to grab at Kaga’s wrist; his fingers close tight around the sleeve of the
other’s coat before Kaga can think to jerk away. “Thank you so much, Kaga!”
“It won’t make a difference,” Kaga tells him, dragging his hand free by force
and scowling hard across the desk at the other boy. “You’ll never find a third
player anyway and I’ll get to keep playing shogi.”
“I will,” Tsutsui says, still smiling like he’s not heard Kaga’s dismissal at
all. “Thank you.”
“Shut up,” Kaga tells him, and looks down to frown hard at what still is left
of the lunch spread out in front of him as he reaches to take another bite and
cut off even the possibility of further conversation.
It doesn’t matter that he’s not looking at the other. Kaga’s pretty sure he
won’t be able to unsee the flecks of color behind the grey of Tsutsui’s eyes
any more than he’ll be able to ignore the self-awareness of unwanted affection
flickering electric in his veins.
***** Creased *****
“Your turn,” Kaga snaps from the other side of the Go board, his voice as rough
as if he didn’t only just place his piece. “Faster, idiot, you’re never going
to get better if you go so slow.”
“Give me a minute,” Tsutsui protests, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his
nose as if he really needs them adjusted. He can see well enough, and Kaga’s
move isn’t that surprising; it’s just that he can’t see a way out of the trap
the other is closing around him, and he’d like to stall the inevitable
conclusion as long as he can. “I need to think.”
“You’re not thinking, you’re reading,” Kaga growls. He’s glaring at Tsutsui
from across the board, his arms folded over his chest and his eyes so dark with
his chin tipped down that all the softer color Tsutsui knows is there is
entirely eclipsed by shadow. “Put the stupid book down and play.”
“I’m just checking my options,” Tsutsui attempts as he pages through the
reference book he has next to him. “It’ll just take a minute.”
“Stop,” Kaga insists, and then there’s fingers closing at the top of Tsutsui’s
book, a hand obscuring the page for a moment before Kaga drags the book free of
the other’s hands by force. Tsutsui is left with his hands empty and thoughts
reeling while Kaga snaps the book shut on itself and tosses it aside so
carelessly Tsutsui flinches for the damage the impact will do to the cover.
“The next time you open that when you’re playing me I’m burning it.” Tsutsui’s
eyes widen at this threat but Kaga doesn’t so much as bat an eye at the force
of his statement; he’s still glaring across the table, looking as sincerely
furious as if there’s a personal affront to him included in the pages of the
practice manual he just dragged from Tsutsui’s hands. “I’m taking the time to
play this dumb game with you because you can’t find anyone else to practice
with and you won’t even play me.”
“I am playing you,” Tsutsui attempts, lost in the illogic of Kaga’s irritation.
“We’re playing right now.”
“Not when you’re using that damn book as a crutch.” Kaga’s jaw is set, his
words hissing past gritted teeth. “If I wanted to play against a machine I
could just pick your moves right from the pages without you even being here. I
thought you wanted to practice for your stupid tournament.”
Tsutsui’s heart is pounding, his whole body tense on adrenaline with nowhere to
go; Kaga’s gaze is fixed on him with an intensity that makes him feel every
wrinkle of his uniform coat and every stray lock of hair catching at his
glasses. The other’s eyes are narrowed, his mouth drawn down into the weight of
a frown at his lips; Tsutsui can almost feel the heat of irritation radiating
off the other’s skin as Kaga glares at him. There’s the weight of silence
between them for a moment, bearing down on Tsutsui’s shoulders while he feels
his cheeks flush into a burn of embarrassment under Kaga’s focused frustration,
and finally he ducks his head to break eye contact and look down at his hands.
“I do,” he says, his voice very small, his shoulders tipping in to fit the size
of his body to the scope of his words. “I’m getting better.”
“I hadn’t noticed,” Kaga tells him, the words as harsh as his tone. “Stop being
so scared of losing, it’s just a stupid game.”
“I’m not scared of losing.”
“You are,” Kaga insists. “You’re so scared of me winning that it takes twice as
long to finish the game as it should, you can’t play like this in a
tournament.”
“I’m not scared of losing,” Tsutsui says again, honesty giving his words force
even against the irresistible inertia of Kaga’s certainty. “I don’t mind
losing. I always lose against you.” His shoulders are tipping in farther, his
chin nearly touching his chest; his heart is still pounding overfast against
his ribcage, his hands are starting to tremble even pressed hard against each
other in his lap, but Kaga’s silence demands an explanation, and honesty is too
easy on his tongue for him to hold back. “It’s just. You’ll only play one game
with me at a time and I want to keep playing with you as long as I can.”
There’s a beat of silence. Tsutsui is afraid to look up; he doesn’t want to see
Kaga’s reaction, is afraid of what kind of frustration he’ll see behind the
dark of the other’s eyes if he raises his gaze from the flex of his fingers
pressing hard against each other. But his pulse is racing, his breathing coming
too fast for him to catch himself back to calm, and he has to look up, he can’t
stand the suspense of not knowing. He takes a breath, and sets his shoulders,
and then raises his chin to look up in a rush, like he’s jumping off a ledge
and needs to move before he loses his nerve.
Kaga is staring at him. His focus hasn’t wavered, the force of his attention is
still pinned to Tsutsui’s face; but the tension in his jaw is gone, has eased
into shell-shocked distraction as he gazes blankly at the other. He looks like
Tsutsui has just delivered some unbelievable revelation, like he doesn’t have a
framework for making sense of the other’s words; but he doesn’t look angry
anymore, just confused and a little bit flushed across his cheeks, as if he’s
getting too warm in the enclosed space of the Go club’s room. When he blinks
his focus slips, his gaze trailing down over Tsutsui’s face for a moment, and
Tsutsui can feel himself going warm with self-consciousness, like his skin is
prickling itself to heat under just the weight of Kaga’s stare. Kaga’s gaze
catches at his mouth, lingers for a moment against the part of his lips, and
then drops away entirely to the Go board in front of them, his chin coming down
as his cheeks flame to sudden heat to match the bright color of his hair.
“You’re an idiot,” Kaga growls at the Go board, reaching out to knock against
the edge of it so hard the array of stones slides off their alignment with the
spaces on the board. “If you want to play more with me all you had to do was
ask.”
“Oh,” Tsutsui says, feeling a little shocked and breathless like the air in the
room has gone inexplicably thin between them. Kaga braces a hand against the
table and pushes to his feet, and Tsutsui shoves back from the table himself in
reflexive alignment to Kaga’s action. “But. Why are you leaving?”
“I have to go,” Kaga says, and he’s turning towards the door before Tsutsui can
stop him, leaving the scattered outline of their game and walking away with
complete disregard for Tsutsui pushing to his feet behind him. “I have plans
with the shogi club this afternoon.” He reaches for the door, pushes hard
against the handle; Tsutsui is left to watch him open the door and step out
into the hallway with any attempt at protest he might make crushed to quiet on
his tongue. He thinks Kaga will leave without saying anything else; but the
other boy pauses with one foot still in the room, his head turned to look down
the hallway rather than back to meet Tsutsui’s gaze.
“Next time,” he says, his voice gruff and harsh in the back of his throat like
he’s fighting back a cough. “I’ll play against you as long as you want.”
Tsutsui can feel happiness hit him in a rush, like sunlight cresting the
horizon and warming his skin in a sudden glow of heat. “Really?”
“Leave the book at home,” Kaga growls instead of answering. “If I see you using
it again I’m going to tear it up.” And then he’s gone, striding out into the
hallway and leaving the door to clatter shut behind him without any attempt to
catch it back to softness. Tsutsui is left in the empty classroom with the
creased pages of his book, the scattered pieces of the Go game to clean up, and
his heart thudding itself all out-of-rhythm against the inside of his chest.
Even after he’s cleaned up the classroom and smoothed his book back to
tidiness, Tsutsui can’t catch his breath, and he’s not sure he really minds
that much.
***** Bright *****
Tsutsui doesn’t say anything as he follows Kaga out of the tournament hall.
He’s been quiet ever since Hikaru ended the last game of the tournament, barely
speaking even to mumble apologies when the other’s age was discovered and their
brief victory was swept away by disqualification. Kaga’s not sure if Tsutsui is
disappointed that they were disqualified or relieved to have their secret found
out; for himself, the pleasure of a victory would have been nice to bring home
in offering for his father’s ever-ready judgment, but the admission that he was
playing Go again is one he hasn’t been looking forward to, even if the
tournament win would likely make the end result worth it. It’s just as good to
have the satisfaction of knowing they were good enough to win without any real
need to bring it up at home; the idea has him grinning as he pushes open the
door to the tournament hall and steps out into the quiet of the all-but
abandoned hallway.
“Well,” he says, speaking loud as the door to the other room swings shut behind
them. “That’s over with.” He draws his arms up over his head, stretching out
the tension in his shoulders and pressing his fingers together until the joints
crack; when he lets his arms fall he can feel his body dropping into its usual
stance, can feel the temporary pressure of competition gone like it was never
there at all. “Now I can get back to shogi where I belong.”
Tsutsui takes a breath. This isn’t that remarkable in and of itself except for
the force on the sound, the sharp edge of the inhale as he fills his lungs that
says he’s bracing himself for something unusual. “Kaga.”
Kaga doesn’t look at Tsutsui. He keeps his gaze fixed on the doors in front of
them, keeps his expression disinterested and neutral, as if the shiver of
electricity that runs through him at the sound of Tsutsui’s voice doesn’t exist
at all. “Yeah, what do you want?”
Tsutsui stops walking. It takes Kaga a moment to realize the other has stalled
his forward movement, another second to react enough to stop his own footsteps
and glance sideways, and by that time Tsutsui has already folded himself into a
bow and is ducking his head so far forward Kaga can’t see anything of his face
but the fall of his hair in front of his expression.
“Thank you,” Tsutsui says without straightening, his voice strained by the odd
position and echoing oddly shrill in the enclosed space. He sounds like he’s
fighting for the words, like he’s struggling to get them out; Kaga’s spine
prickles again, shivering down the center of his back like his skin is refusing
to accept its location on his body. It’s an unpleasant feeling, uncomfortable
and ticklish in the back of his mind, but Tsutsui’s head is ducked down and he
doesn’t look up to see the way Kaga grimaces in response to his position. “For
playing in the tournament with me. I appreciate it very much.”
“Stand up,” Kaga growls, the order based as much on discomfort as on
acceptance. Tsutsui tips his head up, looking up over the top of his off-center
glasses and through the shadow of his hair, but he doesn’t straighten, and Kaga
takes a step forward over the safe gap between them to grab roughly at
Tsutsui’s shoulder. “I said stand up.” He makes a fist at the other’s coat and
 drags hard at Tsutsui’s clothes to pull the other bodily back to upright.
Tsutsui stumbles backwards, his footing too shaky to match the violence of
Kaga’s actions, and Kaga’s isn’t steady enough to catch them both; they both go
backwards, Tsutsui only keeping to his feet by the hold Kaga has at his
shoulder and Kaga pushing until they both run up hard against the wall. Tsutsui
lands hard, all the air in his lungs blowing out of him in a startled rush, and
Kaga speaks fast, talking the louder to cover up the uncomfortable self-
consciousness that came with Tsutsui’s bow to him. “What are you thanking me
for, idiot, we didn’t even win the tournament.”
“We would have,” Tsutsui says, sounding breathless in a way that shivers fire
all through Kaga’s blood. “If Hikaru were actually going to Haze, we would
have. We could, next year.”
“Next year,” Kaga repeats. Tsutsui’s eyes are very bright behind his lopsided
glasses; he has his head tipped back against the wall to meet Kaga’s gaze. Kaga
hadn’t realized how much taller he is than the other boy. “The Go tournament
next year.”
“Yes.” Tsutsui reaches up to push the frames of his glasses farther up his
nose; he’s smiling, Kaga realizes, his expression glowing into warmth as he
watches the other, like there’s something worth smiling about in the scowl Kaga
is sure he’s wearing. “If Hikaru comes to Haze, and you come to play with us
again, and I practice--”
“I won’t.” Kaga says it at once, a reflexive answer more than a deliberate one;
but it’s enough to cut off Tsutsui’s speech at least, enough to shatter the
pretty picture of the impossible future the other is painting, and in the pause
left by Tsutsui’s silence Kaga can find the words to chase away next time like
he’s pushing a ghost away from the air. “I told you, I play shogi now.”
“But you’re good.” Tsutsui’s smile is fading, his eyes going soft on concern;
his fingers tighten against the book he still has pressed close against his
side. “You’re good at Go.”
“I’m better at shogi,” Kaga says shortly. He’s not even sure that it’s true;
maybe it’s just that there’s no Touya Akira in shogi, maybe it’s that his good
is good enough in shogi as it wasn’t in Go, as he can never make it be. He
doesn’t care. It’s winning that matters, in the end, it’s victory that earns
him a nod or even a smile from his father, and if shogi can keep him away from
noticing the way Tsutsui’s glasses are too big for his face and staring at the
faint suggestion of freckles over the bridge of the other’s nose, all the
better for him. “I told you, I was only going to play this once.”
“But.” Tsutsui’s eyes are going wider, his expression going softer; when he
blinks Kaga can see his eyes go liquid with emotion behind the shine of his
glasses. “But if Hikaru comes to Haze--”
“Then you’ll still need to find someone else to make your stupid club,” Kaga
says, harsh on the certainty of the words. “I’ve told you, I’m done with Go.”
“There would be three of us,” Tsutsui says, but his voice is going softer, is
trailing into the resignation that Kaga can see settling over the line of the
other’s shoulders like a weight pressing against the seams of his coat. “We
would have enough for a club if you joined too.”
Kaga can imagine it. Games at lunchtime over the fragile shape of collapsible
Go boards, Tsutsui’s laugh from over the width of a table, hours with the
setting sun as backdrop for ‘just one more game,’ for just a few more minutes
spent in the other’s company. Kaga could tease Tsutsui out-of-composure when he
played Hikaru, could take the time when Tsutsui is distracted by thinking over
his next move to watch the other through his hair, to see the way Tsutsui’s
mouth sets itself onto focus and the way he runs his fingers along the frames
of his glasses when he’s really distracted by what he’s doing. It would be an
indulgence, a pleasure, something to look forward to with the consistency of a
club meeting instead of the occasional games they manage at Tsutsui’s house
when Kaga can get the time away from homework or shogi; and it’s an indulgence
Kaga can’t afford himself, can’t allow himself to take even as he tells himself
it would be just for a year, just for a few months, just for a handful of days
before he went back to shogi. He’s better at shogi, he prefers shogi; there’s
only one reason he would join a Go club instead, and he can’t run the risk of
anyone guessing at his rationale.
“Find someone else,” he says, more harshly than he means, but he doesn’t
apologize for the edge on his voice, even when Tsutsui’s mouth trembles and his
lashes collect the weight of tears against their feathery dark. It’s a stupid
thing to cry about, Kaga tells himself, it’s stupid for Tsutsui to care so much
about something so unimportant, and he lets the other’s shoulder go to reach
for the book under his arm instead of thinking about the tension in the back of
his throat or the burn that’s collecting to pressure behind his eyes. Kaga’s
fingers close against the cover and pull hard at the shape of the book in
Tsutsui’s hold, but Tsutsui moves as the shape slides free of his grip,
reaching out to catch the other side of it and hold desperately to it. His head
ducks, his shoulders tremble, but his hold is unwavering, even when Kaga tugs
against the book so hard Tsutsui rocks forward off the wall. Kaga looks down at
the edge of the book, at Tsutsui’s grip on the far side, at the strain of the
other’s knuckles going white with the force of his hold; Tsutsui’s not looking
at him, Kaga can’t see his eyes for the shadow of his hair and the shine off
his glasses, but he can see the set at the other’s mouth, can see the tension
along his jaw set into more resistance than he thought the other boy was
capable of. His heart skids, his breathing catches in the back of his throat;
and then he eases his pull on the book and lets his hold go more steadying than
dragging.
“Stop relying on this,” he says, the words rough in his throat but low enough
that no one but Tsutsui will hear them. Tsutsui’s head shifts, like he’s
thinking about lifting his chin, but he doesn’t, and Kaga keeps talking to the
dark fall of his hair instead of the shine of tears in the other’s eyes. “You
play fine without it.” There’s a tension in the back of Kaga’s throat, a strain
holding back his words; he has to swallow to clear it, has to cough to undo the
knot enough for him to speak.
“You’re a better player than you think you are,” he says, and lets the book go.
Tsutsui pulls it in towards himself, presses it close against his chest like
armor as he lifts his head, and Kaga turns away fast, before he sees more than
a glimpse of Tsutsui’s wide-eyed shock at the meaning of his words. The sun is
bright against the frosted glass of the doors but he stares at the illumination
as he strides down the hallway to push them open and leave Tsutsui behind him;
by the time he gets outside his eyes are watering but he doesn’t do anything
more than blink hard to clear the damp from his lashes.
By the time the door opens behind him again, the warmth of the sun has burned
away any evidence of unallowable emotion from his eyes.
***** Resignation *****
The Go club is more of a success than Tsutsui expected it would be.
Kaga keeps his word, unfortunately. That had been Tsutsui’s greatest hope
originally, even if he knew it was fragile like butterfly wings and likely to
collapse if he looked at it too long; after all, Kaga had told him no, had told
him no with no hesitation in his voice or his expression, and Tsutsui has never
known Kaga to change his mind after he makes it up. But Shindou does come to
Haze, and he brings another player to the club with him, and even if Fujisaki
can’t play in tournaments with Tsutsui and Shindou she’s enough to fill out the
numbers of the club and a more-than-pleasant addition to the group. Fujisaki
has dark eyes and a soft smile and hair that reminds Tsutsui of Kaga’s, and if
she doesn’t have the same sharp-edged magnetism running through her veins that
Kaga does she’s far easier to spend time with, even when Tsutsui’s heart is
beating faster than it should against the inside of his chest. Besides, Tsutsui
can see the way Fujisaki looks at Shindou, even if Shindou never bothers to
look up from the goban long enough to see it for himself, and so he doesn’t
need to worry about the reciprocation he’s not sure what to do with or a
girlfriend he’s not completely sure he wants; he can focus instead on playing
games with Shindou that he almost always loses and with Fujisaki that he almost
always wins while quietly appreciating the glow of the sunlight off Fujisaki’s
hair and the soft sweet of her laugh whenever she manages to make a move that
impresses Tsutsui or startles Shindou.
It’s a pleasant way to spend the time. They can’t go to tournaments, not with
only three players with mismatched genders; but for a while Tsutsui is content
just to have a club to go to and more people to play Go against than the
predictable patterns in the book he touches less and less with each day that
goes by. He thinks Kaga might be proud of him, if Kaga is ever proud of
anything other than himself; but it’s all left to his imagination, because Kaga
spends all his time playing shogi and none at all with Tsutsui anymore, so
Tsutsui can imagine as much pride in the other’s dark eyes as he likes. It’s a
nice indulgence in fantasy, even if Tsutsui knows that’s all it is, and with
Fujisaki’s smile and Shindou’s laugh Tsutsui can almost forget about the gap
Kaga’s absence leaves in his life, can almost talk himself into something more
than unrequited appreciation of Fujisaki’s gentle kindness and pretty smile,
can almost tell himself the draw he always felt for the cut of Kaga’s mocking
laughter and the off-hand shove of his bullying is a relic of childhood that he
is leaving behind with every passing year.
Mitani undoes that pleasant fiction. Mitani comes in the door of the club with
sullen shoulders and angry eyes and hair the color of flame and Tsutsui can
feel all his blood go to steam in his veins at the first vicious snarl Mitani
gives him from across the distance of the classroom. Mitani doesn’t care about
Tsutsui -- he saves his attention for Shindou and his very occasional kindness
for Fujisaki -- but Tsutsui burns for Mitani, Tsutsui can feel his heart aching
towards greater speed in his chest every time Mitani is even in the room. His
hair flickers like fire, his voice cuts like a knife, and every time he steps
into the club space Tsutsui’s throat goes tight with unformed want, his chest
aches with nostalgia for a memory he tries not to look at too closely. It’s not
that he likes the dismissive huff Mitani gives him whenever he thinks Tsutsui’s
done something stupid any more than it was the abuse and mockery Kaga offered
that drew Tsutsui in towards him when they met in elementary school; but
there’s something clear and shining about both of them, some shared edge under
their personalities that makes them seem brighter than Tsutsui can ever imagine
being, as if they take up a little more space in the world just via the
aggression they offer that Tsutsui can’t hope to match. And Mitani brings more
with him than that presence that Tsutsui can catch contagious in his veins, can
reflect back like he’s a mirror glowing the brighter for the other’s proximity;
he offers the possibility of a tournament, creates the potential for the boys
in the club to register for a match and play in competition with someone other
than the familiar faces they see across the goban on a daily basis. It’s a
thrilling idea, for Tsutsui, presses tight against his chest with an excitement
only barely dimmed by the bittersweet ache for Kaga’s perpetual absence; but
he’s become accustomed to that, long ago resigned himself to Kaga’s complete
disinterest in him or his chosen pursuits, and so when he looks forward to the
tournament he does so with a smile he doesn’t have to fight for and with
anticipation he doesn’t have to feign.
It’s then that Shindou comes back with plans to take the insei test. He arrives
bright, smiling all over his face and glowing with that strange inner light
like he’s generating radiance from within his own self, like he’s alive and
bright in some way that Tsutsui has never completely understood; it’s hard to
remind him of the ban on amateur tournaments for insei, painful to see the way
that excitement flickers out into shock as the book of kifu drops from his
hands to the floor. It’s Tsutsui who speaks first, who says “Good thing you
realized before taking the test” as something between relief and sympathy; and
so it’s Tsutsui who sees the hesitation behind Shindou’s eyes, the flinch
before he answers that speaks to his true reply before he has yet found the
words to disagree. Tsutsui goes silent, feeling the weight of the loss like a
blow while Shindou is still visibly struggling with his decision; but Tsutsui
knows what it’s going to be, can see it clear on the other’s face well before
Shindou is aware he has made it. Mitani is the one who protests, who hisses the
low growl of a threat on his words, the simmering beginnings of anger like a
warning siren far in the distance; but Shindou doesn’t notice, or doesn’t care,
because his answer is formed around “Touya…” trailing off in that way he does,
as if everyone else in the room has entirely ceased to exist in the shadow cast
by Touya Akira. Tsutsui flinches, bracing himself for the inevitable explosion
before it hits, and then:
“Shindou!” Mitani growls, his anger breaking free of the brittle cold that it
always comes with, with him, that it is only ever the stronger for how he holds
it back and forms it in on itself. “You made me join the Go club for the
tournament!” Tsutsui is cringing, instinct telling him to retreat out of the
path of even secondhand danger, but Mitani is lunging forward to grab at a
handful of Shindou’s jacket and Tsutsui can feel adrenaline surge into his
veins, can feel the sudden strain of responsibility knot into the force of
action against the length of his spine. Mitani is shaking Shindou by his hold,
is still shouting into the other’s face, and Tsutsui is stepping forward and
reaching out to stick his hand into the midst of the hurricane, snapping
“Mitani!” with a force on the words stronger than any he has ever before used
and that he knows will still fall far short of reaching the other boy. Mitani’s
jaw is set, Mitani’s gaze is fixed, and Tsutsui is sure the other boy isn’t
hearing or seeing any of the others around him, isn’t so much as aware of their
presence for the white-knuckled focus he has on Shindou’s face. Tsutsui’s heart
is pounding, his skin prickling with the need to stop the fight and his throat
tight on echoed emotion from the pain digging into every line of Mitani’s face,
and he’s just opening his mouth to offer words that he hasn’t thought through
when there’s movement at the corner of his eye and a voice saying “Hey,
Tsutsui” in such familiar tones that Tsutsui’s whole body goes instantly,
startlingly hot before he’s even recognized the speaker.
Kaga’s inside the room by the time Tsutsui turns, crouching low just under the
sill of the window he leapt through. There’s a cigarette at his lips, sweat
darkening his hair to his forehead, but neither of those are what Tsutsui
notices any more than he hears the shouts of pursuit from the other side of the
open window. What Tsutsui notices is the color of Kaga’s hair in the sunlight,
the flex of his fingers at the floor as he catches himself to lean in backwards
under the sill, and the curve of almost-a-smile against his lips as he fits
himself into the shadows.
“Kaga!” Tsutsui blurts, the surge of heat in his veins pulling voice from his
throat before he has the least chance to close his mouth on the sound.
Kaga doesn’t even look at him. “Sorry to interrupt your fun, but hide me,” he
says, the words a command with all the casual weight of assumed obedience
behind them as he pulls his cigarette from his lips and tosses it in Shindou’s
direction. “Here, take this.”
“Wha--?!” Shindou blurts, catching the cigarette more from reflex, Tsutsui
thinks, than intent. “What do I do?”
“The smoke!” Tsutsui gasps, heart racing for too many reasons to pull apart
right now, and lifts his hands to wave frantically through the bitter trail of
cigarette smoke hanging in the air of the room. “The smoke!” He can’t find more
coherency for his statement than that, but either the gesture or the strain on
his voice is enough, because the other club members all follow his lead in
waving their hands through the air in an attempt to disperse the evidence of
Kaga’s cigarette. They only have a moment; then there’s a shadow at the window,
the form of the P.E. teacher looming at the window, and they all freeze where
they are to meet the suspicious stare he fixes them with. Kaga is still
crouched below the sill, his jacket pulled up high to cover the eyecatching
bright of his hair; his shoulders are mere inches from the teacher’s
fingertips, if the man so much as glances down he’s sure to see Kaga below him.
He looks around the room, from Mitani to Fujisaki to Tsutsui, all with their
hands still raised into the air overhead; and then he fixes on Tsutsui, his
forehead creasing into suspicion as he gazes at him.
“Tsutsui,” he growls. “You seen Kaga?”
Tsutsui doesn’t glance down to meet Kaga’s gaze. His heart is pounding so fast
he feels lightheaded. “No, I haven’t.”
“That bastard,” the teacher grumbles, and turns away to stride back away from
the window without ever looking down at the shape crouching below him. There’s
a pause for breath, a moment while everyone in the room waits for the threat of
danger to pass; then Kaga lifts his head to peer up towards the sill, and
Shindou reemerges from the hall to ask “Alright?” and Tsutsui takes a breath
and sighs relief and says “Yeah,” with his whole body sagging heavy on the
easing of the panic in his chest.
Kaga slides his jacket back off his hair and straightens to his feet as he
settles it back into place. “Thanks, thanks,” he says, smiling satisfaction as
the tension in his shoulders relaxes back to his casual slouch.
Tsutsui can’t think. His heart is still racing, if for different reasons than
either Mitani and Shindou’s fight or the sudden appearance of the teacher and
the ensuing deception; but Kaga is standing in front of him, and grinning
reckless amusement down at him, and all Tsutsui can manage to do is yell
“Kaga!” with as much frustration as he can muster to cover the tremor of
excitement still radiating through him at Kaga’s unexpected reappearance in his
life. Kaga doesn’t even flinch at Tsutsui’s volume, much less the shrill edge
of his voice; he just laughs, his whole face glowing into delighted amusement,
and Tsutsui can feel his heart drop like it’s falling to the floor at Kaga’s
feet just at that one spill of amusement from the other boy. Fujisaki is still
in the room, with her soft eyes and pretty hair and simple kindness, and Mitani
is still seething over Tsutsui’s shoulder, made up of those rough edges and
vicious insults that satisfy some dark masochism that aches inside Tsutsui’s
chest alongside the beat of his heart. But Kaga’s in front of him, bright hair
and brighter smile and insults that come with a smile and the almost-affection
of a laugh under them, and with Kaga in the room Tsutsui can’t make himself so
much as glance at anyone else.
It’s a kind of comfort, in a way. Kaga might not be in the Go club, and Tsutsui
might see him a bare handful of times over the span of months; but at least he
knows, now, that there’s no point in trying to talk himself into the ease of a
relationship with a pretty girl or even the self-destructive pain of an
unreciprocated crush on a boy’s cruelty. It’s all just an attempt to find Kaga
again anyway; no one else is ever going to shine as bright in Tsutsui’s eyes as
Kaga does, and has, and always will. It might not be requited, he might not
even have the comfort of Kaga’s presence anymore since the other boy left Go to
pursue the shogi he says he’s better at; but Tsutsui can deal with that, he
thinks, he can accept whatever comes even if he’s fated to be abandoned with
nothing but his broken heart for company.
Once he knows where he stands, Tsutsui doesn’t need a book to walk him through
the end game.
***** Breathe *****
Kaga doesn’t see much of Tsutsui during their last year of middle school.
It’s for the best, he tells himself, when he catches a glimpse of sunlight off
glasses or the shift of too-long hair against the collar of a uniform coat and
finds himself turning reflexively before he realizes it’s not the person he’s
always looking for, the person he’s always thinking of no matter how hard he
tries to keep his focus on shogi and nothing else, not Go and not the Go club
and certainly not Tsutsui’s wide eyes and soft mouth. It’s better to keep his
distance, better to do by physical separation what he can’t seem to manage by
willpower alone and remove the draw Tsutsui exerts all unknowing by just not
being close to it. It helps, a little; at least Kaga can keep his mind on what
he’s doing during the day, mostly, and when he’s playing shogi he can lose
himself entirely to the flow of the game, can forget about everything else
except the pieces on the board, including his old friend and the uncomfortable
pressure inside his chest whenever he thinks of Tsutsui’s face. It’s not enough
to stop the dreams, the hazy almost-thoughts of the other boy that follow him
into sleep and creep into the fringes of illusions more pleasant than Kaga
wants to admit and detailed in all the wrong ways; but Kaga gets used to those,
since he can’t get rid of them, and by the time he’s out of the shower in the
morning he’s washed the memories from his mind along with the evidence of them
from his body. And the year passes, between boring classes and the interest of
shogi games and the constant effort to keep Tsutsui from his mind, and by the
time graduation comes Kaga can feel it like relief down in the very center of
bones, can almost taste the release from the hallways that are still too close
to exactly the person he is trying to avoid with all the power in his command.
He’s looking forward to the freedom. Playing shogi doesn’t require him to
attend high school; the day of the graduation ceremony is the last time he’ll
have to wear a uniform, the last time he’ll have to sit through speeches from
boring adults he doesn’t care about. He almost is an adult all on his own, he
tells himself, he can make his own way and find his own path to success; and if
it’s far away from Tsutsui and the too-vivid imagination the other’s presence
brings, all the better. The thought is enough to carry Kaga through the dull
span of the teachers’ speaking, and the not-quite rhythm of the other students
graduating, and then it’s his turn to shuffle to the front and accept his
diploma from the barely-interested grip of a teacher Kaga doesn’t care about at
all. He turns out to the crowd, ready to file back to his seat and slouch
through the rest of the ceremony; and Tsutsui is clapping for him, the rhythm
of his motion so striking it catches all Kaga’s attention even out of the blur
of the rest of the crowd. Tsutsui’s eyes are wet, his cheeks damp with tears
Kaga can see even at this distance, but he’s smiling, glowing all over his face
as if Kaga’s graduation is more thrilling for him than his own impending one,
and Kaga can feel his heartbeat skid, can feel his months of carefully
constructed distance dissolve like they were never there at all. His cheeks go
hot, his face flushing into a self-conscious glow he can’t shake off, and he
ducks his head in a rush, staring fixedly at his feet as he makes his way back
to his seat so he doesn’t have to see the way Tsutsui is looking at him. He
keeps his head down through the next handful of students, hunching his
shoulders and telling himself he won’t look up; but then the announcer calls
Tsutsui’s name, and Kaga’s gaze lifts like he’s answering the sound of his own,
his reaction too involuntary and necessary for him to hold back. Tsutsui is on
stage, his jacket straight on his shoulders and his glasses crooked on his
face; he’s still crying, his face is still shining with tears as much as with
happiness, but when Kaga looks at him Tsutsui looks back, turning his head to
beam at Kaga like there’s been no time at all between this moment and the last
time they spoke. Kaga’s heart turns over, his cheeks burn again, but there’s a
pressure against his chest, too, the weight of bittersweet happiness too sharp
and not-quite-pleasant for him to easily turn aside from. He keeps watching
instead, watches Tsutsui stumble down the steps and make his way back to his
seat, and by the time the other has sat back down Kaga has talked himself into
a pass for the day, for the hour, for the span of time between the roar of
applause for the graduating class and leaving the front gates of the school.
He’s held himself back for months, has kept his distance for week upon week of
endless restraint; he thinks he’s earned a break, even if just for this short
gap of time.
The end of the ceremony is met with utter chaos. The room is filled with sound
echoing off the rafters high overhead and feeding in on itself until Kaga can
barely take a breath for the noise. He makes for the door instead, aiming for
the freedom of the main courtyard rather than trying to make his way through
the crush of the crowd to any of the friends he’ll be waving off after today to
see again or not as the future allows. Even outside it’s busy, the courtyard
filled with clusters of friends promising to stay in touch even with the force
of reality to pull them apart; but it’s quieter, at least, with the open sky
overhead and the cherry trees raining the soft pink of blossoms down to scatter
over the pavement under Kaga’s shoes. Kaga pauses underneath the dark spread of
the branches of one, glances up to the flowers clinging to the tree in place of
leaves, and from behind him: “Kaga!” in a voice so bright and familiar he
doesn’t have to turn to recognize the speaker. He does turn anyway, his
reaction to Tsutsui’s call too immediate to hold back, and Tsutsui launches
himself at Kaga as the other turns, catching him in an impulsive hug before
Kaga has a chance to even take a breath of shock. Tsutsui’s arms are around his
neck, Tsutsui’s pressing close against him; for a moment Kaga can breathe in
the smell of the other’s shampoo clinging to his hair, can feel the weight of
Tsutsui’s hold tugging against his shoulders like the other is entrusting his
balance to Kaga’s keeping. Kaga’s spine stiffens, his breathing stalls in the
back of his throat and refuses to shift; but this is a hug, after all, he knows
how he’s meant to respond, and his arm is coming up almost of its own volition
to fall around the curve of Tsutsui’s waist and awkwardly weight the other’s
body against his. For a moment Kaga has Tsutsui in the hold of his arm, has
Tsutsui warm and smiling against him; then the other lets his hold go, and Kaga
lets his arm fall, and Tsutsui is stepping away to glow happiness at him with
no awareness in his expression of Kaga’s self-conscious strain.
“Congratulations!” Tsutsui says, spilling the sound past his lips as he beams
at Kaga. His lashes are heavy with tears, emotion apparently running too high
in him to be contained to calm reactions for the moment; as Kaga blinks at him
Tsutsui lifts a hand to push his glasses up and scrub at the damp on his
cheeks, but even this has no dimming effect at all on the bright of his smile.
“We did it, Kaga!”
“Yeah,” Kaga says, the words coming wooden from the pressure in his chest and
the focus on Tsutsui’s smile that he can’t seem to blink free from his eyes.
“Congrats.”
“I didn’t think it was really going to happen,” Tsutsui says, still trying to
stem the flow of his tears with his sleeve and completely failing to even keep
up with the new ones. “I thought we’d get expelled or held back before now.”
Kaga’s laugh is startling even to him, a burst of amusement that comes so fast
he doesn’t even realize it’s pressing at the back of his throat until it’s
free. “Yeah, well, I was doing my best to get kicked out,” he says, and just
like that he can move again, can reach out to swing a teasing punch against
Tsutsui’s upper arm. Tsutsui stumbles sideways at the impact and lifts his hand
to rub against the hit, but his smile doesn’t flicker, and Kaga’s grinning too,
now, his reactions finally catching up to the importance of the moment. “You’re
way too much of a nerd to get held back, though.”
Tsutsui laughs, even Kaga’s attempt at mockery reflecting into delight in his
throat that Kaga can feel shimmer through the whole of his body like it’s
trying to echo the thrum of sound in Tsutsui’s voice. “I guess so,” he says,
and then he’s letting his arm go and reaching out for Kaga again, closing his
fingers over the cuff of the other’s coat like he can’t stay away, as if Kaga’s
body is as much a magnet dragging him closer as his own is for Kaga’s barely-
restrained impulse. “I’m so glad, though. Aren’t you glad?”
Kaga still can’t breathe. His throat feels raw, like it’s been worn rough by
tears he hasn’t shed, like suddenly having Tsutsui right here in front of him
is undoing all the resistance he has carefully built into a wall between them
over the last few months. Tsutsui’s fingers are tight against his wrist; he
would swear they feel like a brand, like the heat rushing to the surface of his
skin to meet the other’s touch will sear and scar and leave him marked with
some indelible proof of the desire in his own veins, the secret want that grips
his chest into pressure he can’t shake off no matter how he tries.
“Yeah,” he says, and means it, even though he feels like he’s choking, feels
like he’s dying for want of the air surrounding all the space around him. “Let
go, loser,” and he twists his hand away, breaking free of Tsutsui’s hold even
before the other has gone through the motion of easing his grip.
“Ah,” Tsutsui says, “sorry” but he’s still smiling, even after Kaga has shoved
his hair roughly back from his face and bought himself enough time for his
blush to fade, and when Kaga looks back up to see Tsutsui’s dark eyes shining
with happiness, all the pressure in his chest isn’t enough to hold back the
answering smile at his mouth.
It’s just for now, he tells himself, just for this moment. It’s only a few
minutes, there’s no one here to see, no one to judge casual contact between
childhood friends during a moment of celebration. It won’t hurt anything, he’s
sure, he’ll have this and then they’ll leave and he’ll go on about his life and
forget all about Tsutsui and the heat he always sparks low in Kaga’s stomach.
Still. When Kaga reaches out to drop his arm around Tsutsui’s shoulders, he
feels like he can breathe for the first time in months.
***** Shade *****
Tsutsui spends high school on his own.
He’s not completely isolated. It’s nothing like things were when he was in
elementary school, when Kaga speaking to him was like a beam of sunlight
picking him out on a cloudy day, when the relief of having someone, anyone to
talk to more than made up for Kaga’s overwhelming aggression during what passed
for conversation. There’s a Go club at Tsutsui’s high school, one prepopulated
before he ever starts; he’s one of three first-years who join the handful of
senpais there, and he’s not good enough to make the cut for tournaments but
it’s nice just to have people to play with, to have friendships that form
easily over the width of a goban and the pleasure of casual competition.
Tsutsui likes the games, likes the conversation, likes the feeling of having a
place to belong, until even Kaga’s absence has faded to a gap in his life that
he can live around, that he can go days without thinking about at all.
In his second year of high school he gets a girlfriend. It’s not Tsutsui’s
doing; she’s another member of the Go club, a quiet girl who he has never
spoken to except to accept her mumbled requests to play a game against him. But
he comes to school one morning to a letter in his shoe locker, and leaves class
to hear a confession in the tree-shaded back of the school, and he has no
reason to refuse and he’s warm with the glow of flattery, so he accepts and
spends the whole of his walk home turning over the word girlfriend in his head
to see how it fits against his sense of himself. It’s nice, he decides by the
time he comes in the front door, and he might not be shivering with electricity
like he used to in middle school but it’s a comfortable sort of warmth
nonetheless, the glow of a fire across a room instead of the crackle and snap
of lightning in the air, and Tsutsui finds himself smiling over his homework
more than actually working on it.
There’s news of Kaga, sometimes, when Tsutsui goes looking for it. Any
communication between them ended as abruptly as a door slamming with their
graduation; Tsutsui had tried calling twice, weeks apart, just to see how Kaga
was doing. But the first time Kaga was out of the house, and the second he was
too busy to come to the phone, and even though Tsutsui had left a message for
him he wasn’t surprised when there was never any follow-up call to his original
attempt. Kaga’s busy, after all; he’s playing shogi against professionals, now,
until it’s easier for Tsutsui to read the newspaper for news of him than to
continue with ultimately futile attempts to connect with the other directly. He
seems to be doing well, whenever Tsutsui goes out of his way to pick his name
out of the list of matches and tournaments; he wins handfuls of games, doesn’t
lose until the semi-finals or finals, and that’s the most Tsutsui can let
himself pay attention to before he starts to feel that uncomfortable pressure
settling in against his spine like an itch he can’t reach to scratch away. He
locks himself in his room after that, to work on homework if he can focus or to
lie across the folded blankets of his neatly-made bed, and if he has to make an
effort to fantasize about his girlfriend instead of a mocking laugh and rough
hands at least he does put in the necessary work to manage it.
His classes are easy, his homework time-consuming but straightforward. Near the
end of his second year Tsutsui gets added to the list for Go tournaments and
starts playing matches in the tense-charged atmosphere that comes with official
competition. His girlfriend goes to all his games, is always waiting for him
afterwards with a smile and, after his first win, the press of her hand warm
and soft in his. Tsutsui decides he likes that too, likes how simple happiness
can be if he reaches for it, if he lets himself be content with little things
like the way her fingers fit around his or the way her hair falls to a curtain
around her face when she blushes and ducks her head under the weight of it. He
likes how dark her lashes are, likes how soft her mouth looks and feels, as he
finds out the day their high school wins a tournament game and she pulls him
around a corner of a shadowed hallway to catch at his hair and pull him into a
kiss. Tsutsui had been thinking about Kaga, had seen the reporters taking notes
at the corner of the room and been wondering if Kaga will remember the name of
his high school, if Kaga will recognize his picture in the black-and-white
photograph of the winners; and then his girlfriend’s fingers are in his hair,
and her mouth is pressing close against his, and Tsutsui’s eyes go wide as all
his distracting thoughts give way to startled awareness of how soft her mouth
is against his.
He likes kissing. He likes kissing a lot, whenever they can find a dark corner
or a few minutes alone before the rest of the Go club arrives or after they
have dispersed to their homes at the end of the day. His girlfriend is warm,
and her mouth is sweet, and after a while she gets more aggressive, will press
herself against him when there’s a wall at Tsutsui’s back or, on one
particularly memorable occasion, straddle his lap for a span of five
breathless-risky minutes when they both get out of class and to the clubroom
early. Tsutsui takes her out for dinner on Christmas, and when he blushes his
way through explaining the reservation he made at a love hotel she goes
crimson, and ducks her head on a smile, and reaches out to take his hand under
the edge of the table. They make use of the reservation and the room after
dinner is over; Tsutsui finds it overwhelming, can barely catch his breath for
the sheer distraction of the tangle of her hair in his hands, and the strange
slick of sweat on skin pressed close together, and the wholly unfamiliar heat
of another person’s body so near to his own. It’s over too fast, before he can
even decide if he likes it or not; but they stay another hour, and try things
again, and by the time they leave Tsutsui has decided he does like this, likes
it even better than kissing and definitely more than the effort of the
fantasies he constructs for himself late at night. He doesn’t have to chase
Kaga away from his thoughts when he can barely remember his own name for the
heat in his veins; there’s nothing to remember, nothing to feel guilty for,
just the immediate physicality of the sensation and the pant of their breathing
coming together.
That’s how the last of his high school goes. He plays Go, and kisses his
girlfriend, and sometimes does more, when he can afford a hotel for a few hours
or her house is empty for an evening. They talk about the future once: but
Tsutsui’s going to university, and she’s not, and it’s a short conversation
that they end up chasing off with the simpler distraction of their bodies
moving together. It’s not a permanent relationship, they both know, and if
Tsutsui feels a flicker of relief along with the bittersweet ache of preemptive
loss, he doesn’t let himself think about it, and he doesn’t put it into words
either out loud or in his own mind. It’s enough to be content, to be simply
satisfied for the span of a few months, and Tsutsui doesn’t think about
graduation and he doesn’t check the newspapers for news of shogi competitions.
He cries at graduation. He knew he would -- Tsutsui has always cried easily,
and graduations carry more than enough emotional weight to win tears from him -
- but he feels the loss, this time, even more clearly than he did in middle
school. His girlfriend holds onto him for long minutes, crying into his
shoulder until the fabric is soaked through with the wet of her tears and he’s
leaving damp spots against the windswept tangle of her hair; and then she lets
go of him, and steps back, and she’s not his girlfriend any longer. There are
other goodbyes, congratulations and farewells and more tears, happiness and
loss too close together to be parted by any kind of rational thought, and by
the time Tsutsui turns and walks past the gates of his high school for the last
time he feels empty, like he’s cried out everything that has made him who he is
and left just a hollow shell to ghost back along the streets to the house that
will only be his for as long as it takes him to find enough work to support
himself. It’s quiet when he arrives, with no one to reply to his habitual “I’m
home,” and Tsutsui doesn’t wait for a nonexistent answer; he toes his shoes off
in the entryway, pushes them carefully to the side so they will be out of the
way when his mother returns home, and then climbs the stairs to his bedroom. He
feels lighter, drained, like he’s lost some comfort at the same time he has
shed an unbearable weight; his diploma is set against his desk to be carefully
stored later, his jacket folded and hung over a chair, and then he goes to the
bed to stretch out across the blankets and gaze unseeing at the ceiling while
his mind runs over the weight of the day. He thinks about cherry blossoms,
thinks about tears wet on his face; and he thinks of Kaga, lingering over his
memory of the other’s features as he hasn’t allowed himself to do for months
that add up to more than a year. He wonders if Kaga looks different now,
wonders if Kaga ever thinks of him; wonders if Kaga has gone to a hotel like
Tsutsui has, if he’s gasped himself into pleasure over a stranger in a
reflection of Tsutsui’s own experience. The idea alone is enough to flush
Tsutsui’s skin, to shudder an echo of long-lost electricity through his veins;
and this time, when his thoughts tip sideways towards fantasy, he doesn’t chase
them away.
His imagination unfolds so easily, as if it were a flower waiting the arrival
of springtime to burst into full bloom over the span of a handful of
heartbeats, as if the idea were always hovering in the back of his mind,
unacknowledged and unappreciated but there all the same, growing and taking on
shape with every experience he’s lived through over the last years. It’s a
simple thing to transpose his memories of sweat-slick skin with Kaga’s body
against his, easy to imagine the weight of Kaga’s mouth crushing hard against
his lips; Tsutsui is gasping before he’s even thought of Kaga’s hands on him,
before he’s thought to frame the grip of his own hand as the slide of Kaga’s
hold instead. Kaga’s hand would be rougher, maybe a little more calloused, and
he would tighten his fingers harder, and-- and Tsutsui is coming before he has
time to finish the thought, before he has more than sketched the image of Kaga
behind his tight-shut eyes. His orgasm leaves him gasping, shaking all through
the whole of his body with a force he can’t restrain like he’s being lit up
from the inside out, like all the cells of his body are jolting into life after
being stalled-still for so long he had forgotten what it felt like. He shudders
against the bed, quaking through aftershocks that run through him as if it is
truly his world that is shaking itself apart, that is coming undone at the
seams, and once it’s past he’s left to pant for air as he gazes at the ceiling
and settles himself into the new trajectory of his life.
He’ll stay single from now on, he thinks. It might not offer the satisfaction
or the comfort a relationship provides; but it’s not fair, he thinks, to be
always looking for shades of red in the dark of someone else’s hair.
***** Jealousy *****
Sometimes Kaga thinks he should have gone to high school.
Not that he misses the education. There’s nothing he would have learned in his
classes that would better prepare him for the stress of the life he’s chosen to
pursue, nothing he would have gained from the hours of daily boredom that would
make him any more successful in the shogi games he often wins and too-
frequently loses; but it would have been a delay, at least, would have bought
him the span of a few years to stall before committing himself to the
independence that long since lost its original appeal under the crushing weight
of the necessary responsibilities that come with living alone. Nothing would be
different, Kaga thinks; except he might be a little older, at least, might not
feel so ultimately disillusioned with everything about his existence by the
time he turns eighteen. The idea is a pleasant one, at least in the confines of
his head where he doesn’t have to introduce it to the rough edges of reality,
and that’s where Kaga wants to keep the things he likes best anyway. He keeps
the daydream of the high school life he passed on in the back of his thoughts,
alongside the memories of Tsutsui’s smile that fail to dim with time as they
were meant to, and if he doesn’t let himself think about either during the day
they both appear in his dreams, when the walls he’s erected around his
subconscious cave to a touch as if they’re made of sand.
It’s not that Kaga is miserable. Miserable would imply some kind of focused
dislike for his current existence, and he definitely doesn’t feel that. He’s
just tired all the time, tired of the tiny apartment his father pays for with
less and less grace each month and tired of the tournaments he can almost-win
when an almost is no better for his future than an outright loss would be. He’s
tired of thinking about high school, tired of thinking about his old friends,
tired of missing the simple companionship of elementary school, when he didn’t
have to avoid Tsutsui and the awkward thoughts that came with the other’s smile
and the biggest concern he had each day was who he would be eating lunch with.
Elementary school was easy, with money in his pocket to buy a lunch and the
sure win of playing Go against Tsutsui after school, and there are times in the
humid quiet of his darkened apartment that Kaga wishes he could be ten again,
wishes that he could turn back time and retreat to those early years before he
had thought of anything as complicated as making a living or taking care of
himself.
He has a job, of sorts. It’s a part-time delivery job, enough to give him money
for groceries and occasional nights out that always turn out to be more
depressing than otherwise. His father bought him the scooter the job required,
and his employer paid for him to get a license; Kaga doesn’t mind the work,
even if it takes hours of time away from the constant review of past tournament
matches and stress for upcoming ones. It’s nice to have nothing more important
to think about than the crisscross of the city streets, nice to have the ruffle
of wind across his skin instead of the stale air of enclosed spaces with too
many bodies in them; Kaga thinks, sometimes, that he’s happiest when he’s
working his extra job, or at least feels the most alive. It’s good to move,
good to clear his mind of everything except for the hum of the engine under him
and the idle consideration of traffic flowing around him, the traffic that he’s
part of in a way he never feels part of the crowds of people he interacts with
most days. It feels a little like playing a game of shogi, a good one, one of
the ones when he’s calm enough and playing well enough that he loses himself to
the flow of the pieces, that his actions fall more by instinct than intent,
like all the stress and burden of being an adult falls away to let him just be
for a little while.
He’s in the midst of it one afternoon, caught in traffic at a red light and
paying more attention to the flow of the cars around him than to the idle thrum
of thoughts in his head. He’s on his way back from a delivery, working his way
through the hum of cars to his workplace without any particular rush, now that
his delivery is done; he’s thinking about how much time he has left in the day,
wondering whether he should try cooking something for dinner or just buy a meal
from the convenience store on the way home. He should do the first, he knows,
with the sort of vague guilt that always comes with the should and have to of
maturity; and just as surely he knows he won’t, is already thinking through the
ready-made options on the convenience store shelf as a cluster of pedestrians
turn off the sidewalk and start to cross in front of the stopped traffic. He
thinks he’ll have something nicer tonight, maybe spend a little more on food
than he usually does; and then one of the crossers turns towards the others,
and laughs, and becomes Tsutsui in the span of time it takes Kaga to blink.
Kaga’s whole body prickles with startled adrenaline. He hasn’t seen Tsutsui in
years, has thought about the other as little as his stubborn subconscious will
let him; but there’s no question it’s Tsutsui in front of him, with the same
too-long haircut falling into his face and his smile bright on the edge of
self-consciousness under the expression. He doesn’t see Kaga; he’s looking at
the two people with him rather than scanning the vehicles, his attention held
by whatever he’s saying, and Kaga doesn’t say anything, just gapes disbelieving
at the ghost of his old friend given life again by this accidental contact.
Tsutsui is smiling, Tsutsui is laughing; and then the person he’s talking to
lifts a hand to push a long strand of hair back behind a jewelry-adorned ear,
and Kaga blinks and sees: Tsutsui with a woman, with a child, with the easy
rhythm of comfort on his strides. The child is too old to possibly be
Tsutsui’s, Kaga realizes after the first moment of horrified panic, and when he
looks again the woman looks more friendly than romantic; there’s a gap of
several inches between her hand and Tsutsui’s, at least, and Tsutsui has a Go
book under his arm that offers a straightforward explanation for the dynamic of
the obvious relationship. But Kaga’s still shivering with that first moment of
panic, still feeling himself shaking with adrenaline for what he thought for a
moment he was seeing, and then Tsutsui is across the street and the light is
changing and there’s no time left for Kaga to call out to get the other’s
attention even if he wanted to. The car behind Kaga honks irritation at his
delay in starting, offering nonverbal protest to his continued stop in the
middle of the lane, and Kaga revs the engine at once, throwing himself forward
with such acceleration that it knocks all thoughts of Tsutsui from his head for
a moment while he struggles to maintain his balance and control of the scooter.
He recovers himself after a moment, or at least regains his physical balance;
his mental composure remains in pieces for the whole ride back to work, leaving
him to nearly crash twice in a handful of blocks before he finally pulls into
his parking spot and shuts off the scooter with something closer to relief than
he has ever before felt at the action.
“I’ll call him,” Kaga growls to himself, framing the words into aggression in
his throat like they make up the bricks of the defensive wall he’s erecting
around his thoughts, around the ache of uncomfortable pressure in his chest and
the weird, desperate thrum of his pulse coming too-hard in his veins. “Just to
catch up.” He pulls the key from the ignition, pockets it without thinking
about the motion; when he turns to go back into the building his head is bowed,
his thoughts still tangled around the warmth of Tsutsui’s smile in the midday
sun. “As a friend.”
He doesn’t think about the uncomfortable tension in his chest, doesn’t let
himself focus on the chill that hit him when he first saw what he thought was a
family around the other. If he puts a name to it, he’ll have to acknowledge why
he would be jealous, and he can’t find a reason safe enough to look at for very
long.
***** Excitement *****
Tsutsui never thought university would be easy. He threw himself into his
studies even in middle school, when Go with the club was the only allowance he
made to any kind of extracurricular activity, and high school was harder still
as he fit the ever-increasing demands of his classes around new relationships.
The absence of a romantic partner is a boon, at the moment -- it lets him give
his studies the focus they require of him, at this level of education -- but
even so he can barely keep his head above water, can barely stay on top of the
assignments and studying required by his classes. He hasn’t yet made any
friends at university, or at least none that go beyond the mild acquaintances
born from shared exhausted and occasionally sympathetic smiles after the
completion of a test or a particularly intense class project. There are
occasional calls from Tsutsui’s high school friends, even less common trips out
to get a cup of tea together; but Tsutsui can feel the gap in their lives like
a chasm that spans far more than the immediate inconvenience of conflicting
schedules, and either his friends do too or they just don’t have the time to
see him more often than once every month or two. Mostly Tsutsui is left to his
own devices, which means he’s left to fill the hours of his day with the
tutoring work that helps pay for rent on his apartment and working through the
constant flood of homework that never seems to lessen no matter how much he
fits into the hours before exhaustion takes hold of him to force him to
collapse into rest. He hardly has time to think about those friends he’s stayed
in contact with, much less those from years prior, and if he thinks of Kaga at
all it’s during dreams hidden by sleep so deep that he’s forgotten them by the
time he’s made it to the bathroom for his morning shower.
He’s studying for a math test tonight, working through an assignment that spans
four pages, of which he’s only finished one in two hours’ time. His head is
aching in spite of the three cups of tea he’s had since he got home, protesting
either the lack of sleep from the night before or the delay on his dinner,
Tsutsui doesn’t know which. He’s thinking about pausing to get another cup of
tea, and perhaps to find a dose of pain relievers for the rising headache
pressing against his temples, when the phone rings, a harsh jangle of sound
that startles him into a yelp of shock before he can collect the fragments of
his scattered attention enough to push his assignment aside and get up to take
the call. He wonders if it’s one of his high school friends, is already working
through his schedule for the next few days to find a half-hour for a trip to a
coffee shop or similar; and then he picks up the receiver and offers “Hello,
this is Tsutsui,” in the polite tone he always drops into for phone calls.
There’s a crackle of sound, a huff of breath hard against the other end of the
line, and “You haven’t relaxed at all, have you?” in a voice that skitters
electricity all down Tsutsui’s spine even before he’s found the link to
recognition in the depths of his memories.
“Oh my god,” he says, startled clear out of any attempt at graceful response.
“Kaga?”
“Yeah.” Kaga sounds a little rougher, a little sharper than he did in middle
school; his voice is lower, it rumbles along the phone line and prickles
sensation over Tsutsui’s scalp as if Kaga is in the room with him, as if there
are fingers ghosting against the strands of his hair. “Been a while.”
“It has.” Tsutsui lifts a hand to touch his hair. It doesn’t stop the tingle of
awareness running hot across all his skin. “I didn’t expect to hear from you.”
“Should I have sent warning ahead?” Kaga snaps.
“No,” Tsutsui says, a little too fast but completely unable to calm the frantic
edge off his voice. “No, I’m glad.” His voice cracks, skidding out over the
last word as it hasn’t done since middle school; he shuts his mouth hard and
takes a deep breath in an attempt to ease the tension rising in every line of
his body. “I’m really glad to hear from you.” That comes out better, softer and
heavy with sincerity, and for a moment it just hangs in the air, gaining weight
that makes Tsutsui color as Kaga delays his response. Finally:
“Yeah,” gruff again, without any overt acknowledgment of the warmth on
Tsutsui’s tone. “It’s been years since I heard anything from you, I thought I’d
see what you were up to. Graduated high school, got married, had a kid?”
“No,” Tsutsui says reflexively, rejection of the last half of Kaga’s question
without thinking of the first. “I mean. Yes, I graduated. I don’t have a child.
I’m going to university.”
“Yeah,” Kaga says. “You would.” Then, fast, before Tsutsui has a chance to says
anything else: “I gotta go to a practice match for shogi,” the words cutting
off the stuttering progress of the conversation before Tsutsui can voice
protest. His heart sinks, disappointment weighting all his limbs, but Kaga
keeps talking, as rapidly as he always used to when he was criticizing
Tsutsui’s Go play, back when their conversations were more Kaga talking at
Tsutsui than any kind of a dialogue. “Let’s meet for coffee tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Tsutsui repeats, his heart trying to fall and speed at the same
time and twisting on pressure in his chest that makes it hard to breathe. “I--
I have class tomorrow, I can’t--”
“When are you done with class?” Kaga growls. “You can’t be busy all day.”
Tsutsui isbusy all day. He has classes all morning, and three hours of tutoring
to do in the evening; there will only be an hour and a half in the middle, and
he was planning to eat lunch and finish his math homework then so he can go
straight to bed after eating dinner in the evening.
“Eleven,” he says. “Are you--”
“Eleven’s fine,” Kaga says, cutting off Tsutsui’s question before it can
entirely form. “I’ll see you at the new coffee shop downtown.” He doesn’t ask
if Tsutsui likes coffee, doesn’t ask for Tsutsui’s input at all; he just runs
over him, declaring how things are going to be without any indication of
hesitation for Tsutsui to so much as catch his breath.
“Okay,” Tsutsui says, feeling dizzy, feeling hot, feeling his whole body
tingling with self-consciousness and disbelief at once. “I’ll see you then.”
“Yeah,” Kaga says. “See you” and he’s hanging up, cutting off the hum of the
phone line without waiting for a response from the other.
Tsutsui is left with the phone still in his hand, his palm sticky-hot against
the plastic and his heart pounding in his chest while he stares unseeing at the
corner of the wall in front of him. It takes him a moment to move, and then
it’s slowly, carefully unbending his arm so he can reach and set the phone back
in the receiver as if he’s going to startle himself awake if he moves too
quickly. His heart is fluttering in his chest, his cheeks hot with excitement
and pleasure and nerves all together; when he lifts a hand his fingers are
shaking, very slightly, like leaves caught by the unexpected chill of a
springtime breeze.
Tsutsui needs to get back to his homework. His assignment sheet isn’t even
half-done, and with his little free time tomorrow given away he’ll need to get
everything done tonight instead of finishing off the last of the assignment
over his lunch. But for a long span of minutes all he can manage to do is lift
his hands, and shut his eyes, and smile helplessly into the trembling warmth of
his palms.
He can’t remember the last time he was this excited for a meeting.
***** Hoping *****
Tsutsui hasn’t changed.
Kaga had braced himself for disappointment. It’s been years since he even spoke
to the other, there’s a gap of time between them too large to be easily stepped
over with a single phone call and a trip to a coffee shop. Kaga certainly feels
different, feels like he’s wearing the stress of his current life in the hunch
of his shoulders and the scowl on his face. But when Tsutsui comes through the
door of the shop breathless and flustered Kaga feels like he’s seeing a memory
come to life, and when Tsutsui pushes his glasses up and sees Kaga waiting his
whole expression lights up into unmitigated joy, his mouth curving onto a smile
so wholly unrestrained it reminds Kaga of nothing so much as the children they
were when they first met over an elementary school lunchtime.
“Kaga!” Tsutsui veers towards Kaga’s table from the door directly, without even
hesitating over going up to the front counter instead. He has a bag over his
shoulder, the strap straining with the weight of the books inside, but he
doesn’t appear at all fazed by it, or maybe he’s just distracted by Kaga’s
presence; he doesn’t stop to set the bag down or to sit in the seat on the
other side of the table, just stumbles forward over the distance between them
to throw his arms around Kaga’s shoulders before the other has any chance to
process what’s happening. For a moment Tsutsui is pressed close against Kaga,
the frames of his glasses digging in hard against the other’s temple and his
breathing gusting warm against Kaga’s cheek, and Kaga’s spine goes tense, his
skin prickles with a sudden rush of self-consciousness.
“It’s great to see you,” Tsutsui says against his hair. The words are warm
against Kaga’s skin and ticklish along the side of his neck. “I’m so happy to
talk to you again!”
“Get the fuck off me,” Kaga tells him, his voice rough on stress he can’t level
out to even the appearance of calm. He lifts a hand to push against Tsutsui’s
shirt and urge him off and Tsutsui lets him go as he steps backwards, leaving
Kaga with heat all across his cheeks and the too-clear impression of Tsutsui’s
chest under the force of his palm. “What’s wrong with you, haven’t you grown up
at all?”
“I guess not,” Tsutsui says, but he’s still smiling, glowing with delight as if
being insulted by Kaga is the single greatest happiness of his life. “It’s been
years, I never expected to hear from you.”
“Can’t I call a friend to catch up?” Kaga snaps. “I just wanted to know what
you’ve been up to. Still living that boring, ordinary life you always wanted?”
Tsutsui huffs a laugh without any of the bright happiness in his eyes so much
as dimming. “I guess so. I’m going to university most of the time and working
whenever I don’t have classes.”
“That can’t leave you much free time.” Kaga reaches out for his coffee and
takes a long swallow, even if the liquid is too hot to drink without scalding
his tongue. “Your girlfriend can’t be too happy about that.”
Tsutsui blinks, a little of the sparkle in his gaze fading to make space for
confusion. “What? I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Kaga scoffs. “It’s been a while but you’re no better at lying now
than you ever were.” His skin is hot, his spine prickling with tension; he
takes another swallow of his coffee just for something to do with his mouth
while he tries to strip the strain of unwarranted frustration from his tone. “I
saw you out with someone and her kid the other day. Older women your thing,
then?”
Tsutsui looks completely lost. “A woman and a…oh.” His cheeks flare to crimson
and he ducks his chin down in an utterly futile attempt to hide his blush. “You
mean Yamada-san.”
Kaga raises an eyebrow. “Guess I do. How many girlfriends do you have,
Tsutsui?”
“She’s not--” Tsutsui cuts himself off and reaches up to adjust his glasses
needlessly. “I work for her. I’m tutoring her son in Go. We’re not...there’s
nothing romantic between us.”
“You sure?” Kaga drawls. “With her husband busy at work all day and a young
university student coming over every evening?”
“I’m sure,” Tsutsui says firmly, and he does lift his chin then to fix Kaga
with a focused stare. He’s still blushing all over his face but his gaze is
steadier than Kaga expected; it’s enough to underline his words with sincerity,
and that’s enough to ease the knot of pressure in Kaga’s chest that he hasn’t
been able to shake alone. “What about you?” Tsutsui asks, his cheeks still
flushed with lingering self-consciousness. “Are you seeing someone?”
“Too busy,” Kaga says shortly. It’s a familiar excuse, worn-in by years of
repetition every time his parents ask, and it’s far easier to offer that as a
reply than try to pick apart the way his stomach twists at the idea of going to
a mixer or taking a girl back to a love hotel, even just for a night. “I’ve got
games and practice matches when I’m not in the middle of a tournament.”
“Right,” Tsutsui says. “I read about you sometimes in the paper. You’ve been
doing well the last few years.”
“Not good enough,” Kaga snaps, more roughly than the statement requires.
“You’ve been seeing all my losses, huh?”
Tsutsui’s mouth dips into a frown, his forehead creases into apology. “I’ve
been really impressed,” he admits. “You make it to the semi-finals of almost
every tournament.”
“And I haven’t won any,” Kaga says. “I didn’t go pro so I could do alright. If
I don’t win it’s pointless.” Tsutsui ducks his head to fix his gaze on the
table, looking as dejected as if Kaga has reached out and slapped him, and Kaga
flinches, his grimace going unseen by Tsutsui.
“Whatever,” he says, and falls back to lean against his chair as Tsutsui looks
back up at him. He waves a hand through the air to push aside the harsh edge on
his words as much as the bitter self-deprecation that hovers around him like a
weight he can’t shake free. “It’s not important anyway.” He tips his head to
the side and finds the sharp edge of a grin to offer across the table. “You’re
tutoring in Go?”
“Ah.” Tsutsui flushes again, with self-consciousness this time. “Yes. Just in
the evenings, to help pay for the rent on my apartment.”
“I never would have guessed you would be trying to teach other people to play,”
Kaga teases, his grin coming more easily as he sees Tsutsui’s cheeks flush
darker. “Or do you just read from that book you used to like so much?”
Tsutsui ducks his head and huffs a laugh of response. “I don’t use a book. I’m
just teaching young kids, nothing too serious.”
Kaga takes another sip of his coffee. “Whatever parents will pay you for,
right?”
“Yeah.” Tsutsui sighs and reaches up to push his hair back from his face. “It’d
be nice to tutor at a higher level; it’s hard to cover rent with what I’m
making now, and I’m already cutting it close with how much time I spend working
and the hours I’m in class. But even a low-level Go class can provide better
training than I can.”
“Huh,” Kaga says. His heart is beating faster, his skin prickling into warmth;
he blames the coffee, even if this amount of caffeine is more than typical for
him to have at this hour of the morning. “You kept playing through high
school?”
Tsutsui nods. “I did.” The smile he aims down at his hands is soft, almost
tender; it makes Kaga’s jaw set, makes him flinch back from this visible proof
of nostalgia he’s not part of, years of Tsutsui’s life he doesn’t know anything
about. “It was just for fun, of course. But I do really like the game.” He
lifts his chin to blink focus back across the table at Kaga; some of that
softness is still lingering behind his eyes and at the curve of his mouth. It
makes Kaga’s heart twist uncomfortably in his chest. “I always loved playing
against you in elementary school.”
“You were always a pain to play against,” Kaga informs him. “You were too damn
slow, Go should be played faster than that.” Tsutsui smiles himself into a
laugh, admission to Kaga’s point that does nothing to diminish the bright
behind his eyes, and Kaga looks down into his cup of coffee again, frowning as
if the expression will give him the mental support he needs to resist the
flutter of his heartbeat rushing too-fast on adrenaline. “You’re having trouble
paying rent? Are you living in the really nice part of town or something?”
“Ah.” Tsutsui shakes his head, rejection coming so immediately Kaga doesn’t
need to wait for the “No,” that follows to confirm the negation. “I’m trying to
support myself as much as possible, but it’s hard to find a place to live
that’s within my budget.” He shrugs and ducks his head in the passive surrender
so familiar to Kaga from elementary and middle school. “I guess it’ll get
easier after I graduate, but that’s still a couple years off.”
“I know what you mean,” Kaga says. Tsutsui looks up at him, his mouth curving
on appreciation for the minimal sympathy offered by Kaga’s words, and Kaga’s
whole body goes as warm as if he’s stepped into sunlight, as if the heat that
has so long been dormant in his veins is rising to remind him what it feels
like to be truly enthusiastic about something again. “My dad bitches about my
rent every month he pays it. If I don’t start winning tournaments soon I’m
going to have to get a roommate or something.”
“I keep thinking about that myself,” Tsutsui admits. “Everyone I know is still
living with their parents or with some friends already, though, I don’t know
anyone else who’s looking to share an apartment.”
Kaga looks at Tsutsui from across the table. For a moment Tsutsui’s head stays
bowed, his mouth dipping into a frown of resignation as he stares at his hands
like he didn’t just hear the implication of his words. Kaga can see the moment
realization hits, can see the way Tsutsui’s shoulders tense before he lifts his
head to blink wide-eyed at Kaga.
“I mean,” he says, his cheeks flushing back to self-consciousness as he tries
to backtrack himself out of the unstated suggestion. “Not that you need to--if
you want to room with someone who plays shogi too, or in a different part of
town, I wouldn’t--”
“Why would I want to share a room with my competition?” Kaga asks, speaking
loud enough to cut off the stammering rush of Tsutsui’s apologetic words. “If
I’m going to have a roommate I’d rather it be someone I know already, anyway.”
Tsutsui closes his mouth and blinks once. “Oh.” He sounds a little startled,
looks more so. “So you. Do you want…?”
Kaga shrugs hard. “Sure,” he says, and takes another overlarge swallow from the
edge of his coffee cup. “If you’re a pain in the ass I’ll just move out on my
own again anyway.”
Tsutsui colors crimson all across his cheeks and immediately begins assuring
Kaga that he’s a good roommate, that he’ll clean up after himself and if he’s
doing anything wrong all Kaga has to do is tell him so, as if Kaga didn’t know
all of this already, as if he wouldn’t put up with far worse than whatever
Tsutsui has to offer for the sake of having the support of someone else’s
company when he comes home at the end of yet another lost tournament or a
marathon practice session. He lets Tsutsui talk, and huffs into his coffee by
way of response, and keeps the shivering weight of satisfaction along his spine
safely unvoiced inside his chest.
He doesn’t want to admit to Tsutsui how badly he was hoping for exactly this.
***** Interrupt *****
Living with Kaga is awful.
Tsutsui isn’t sure how the other managed to survive on his own for as many
years as he has. Maybe he just existed in a level of discomfort and filth that
makes Tsutsui shudder to think of; Tsutsui hopes, sometimes, that is the case,
only because the alternative is that he has let all the effort he put into his
home situation go as soon as there was someone else there to do it for him, and
that makes Tsutsui feel a little like a mother and more like a maid and he’s
fond of neither sensation. It’s frustrating to be constantly washing all the
dishes for the both of them, irritating to be the only one who ever makes an
attempt at cleaning the bathroom or the kitchen, and Tsutsui doesn’t have much
choice if he wants to live in some modicum of cleanliness but that doesn’t stop
the slow-building frustration along his spine every time Kaga opens another
beer instead of offering to help bring in the laundry. It doesn’t take Tsutsui
that much longer to clean up after two people than just himself -- the basic
chores of the apartment have to be done anyway, and the increase in volume for
dishes and clothes and food isn’t enough to add much time -- but it is
irritating to have to track down the plates and cups Kaga leaves in his room,
or the bathroom, or the living room, instead of in the sink where it would at
least be easy to find them. Tsutsui has gotten in the habit of checking the
bathroom counter for glasses and the living room table for napkins and missing
silverware; but he’s sure, now, that they’re running short on plates, and after
going over the other locations as thoroughly as he can think there’s only one
place left they can be.
His knock against Kaga’s bedroom door is tentative at first. “Kaga?” Tsutsui
cringes at what feels like the too-loud sound of his own voice in the enclosed
hallway; but there’s no response from inside, not even the growl he gets when
he wakes Kaga from a nap or some particularly interesting shogi game he’s
reviewing. “Kaga, do you have any dishes in there?” Still no response. Tsutsui
wonders if Kaga’s home at all; but when he takes a step back to glance towards
the front door the other’s keys are still in the corner of the table by the
door where he last left them, his shoes are still toppled over on themselves in
the entryway. Tsutsui frowns and knocks again. “Are you there, Kaga?”
There’s a rustle of movement, a muted “Fuck”; at least that answers the
question of whether Kaga is present or not. Tsutsui hesitates, uncertain if he
should call out again now that he has Kaga’s attention; but there’s sound from
inside the room, the low thud of something hitting the floor and a murmur of
unintelligible irritation, so he subsides and waits for Kaga to open the door.
It takes a few minutes, longer than Tsutsui expected; and then the door comes
open all at once, with no warning, and Kaga is scowling down at him and all the
air leaves Tsutsui’s lungs at once.
It’s not because of the scowl. Kaga is angry most of the time that Tsutsui can
see, and the more when Tsutsui is reminding him about basic consideration in a
shared space; that alone would barely be enough for Tsutsui to notice at all,
much less to win any kind of a reaction from him. But Kaga is wearing a scowl,
and boxers, and absolutely nothing else, and for a moment everything that had
been in Tsutsui’s head evaporates to a moment of helpless appreciation of the
tanned skin on display in front of him.
“What do you want?” Kaga growls at him. He leans into his hold against the
door; the movement flexes across his shoulder, presses his collarbone taut
against the skin and lifts the curve of his bicep to clarity.
“Uh,” Tsutsui says. His skin is prickling with self-consciousness. He’s pretty
sure he’s starting to blush. “I. We don’t have any clean plates.”
Kaga raises an eyebrow. “Okay.”
“I wanted--” Tsutsui’s attention keeps sliding away from Kaga’s face and down
to his thighs, to the shadow of dark hair against the other’s calves that goes
thinner and lighter the higher up Tsutsui’s gaze goes. He should stop staring
at Kaga’s boxers. “Do you have any dishes in here?”
“I dunno,” Kaga says. “Hang on.” And he’s turning away, leaving the door open
behind him and Tsutsui struggling for breath as quietly as he can manage.
Kaga’s hair is longer than it used to be, he thinks; the dark fall of it is
brushing the other’s shoulders, now, some strands catching at the damp of sweat
clinging at the line of Kaga’s spine. The whole of Kaga’s back shifts as he
reaches to collect a plate, muscle shifting under skin with easy grace, and
Tsutsui can feel himself going harder inside his jeans, can feel each beat of
his heart swelling his cock hot against the inside of his clothes. He reaches
down while Kaga’s back is turned, tugging hard against the waistband of his
pants in a mostly-futile attempt to hide his arousal before the other can
notice, but Kaga’s turning back around and he doesn’t have time for more,
barely has time to snatch his hand away from his clothes and attempt a
stupendous failure of an appearance of casual patience.
“Here,” Kaga says, shoving a stack of plates and silverware at Tsutsui. “That
what you wanted?”
“Ah,” Tsutsui manages, sounding only half-strangled on the heat thudding
against his chest. His hands are shaking when he takes the dishes from Kaga.
“Yes. Thank you.”
“You don’t have to be so jumpy about my room,” Kaga informs him, leaning
against the edge of the doorframe and crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s
not like the door is locked, you can just come in if you want to check for
plates or something.”
“Oh,” Tsutsui says. His heart is pounding so hard he can’t even think through
the protest that Kaga ought to bring his dishes in to the kitchen himself, that
if Tsutsui is to do all the chores the least Kaga can do is offer some minimal
effort to clean up after himself. Just at the moment Kaga’s doorway seems like
an uncrossable barrier, stepping into the other’s room seems like an act of
such immediate intimacy it makes Tsutsui blush harder even than he was before.
“It’s your room, I don’t want to interrupt.”
“What’s there to interrupt?” Kaga asks. “It’s not like you’ll catch me doing
anything worse than jerking off.”
Tsutsui’s entire body goes blisteringly hot. His face is burning, his cheeks
radiant as if with sunlight caught under his skin; embarrassment tenses against
his spine, self-consciousness flares to strain in his grip on the plates, and
desire aches in his cock, flushing him so painfully hard against his jeans it
takes everything he has to not lower the plates in a completely transparent
attempt to cover how hot the idea of Kaga touching himself makes him.
“Jesus,” Kaga groans, pushing a hand through his hair to shove it back from his
face. “You’re such a prude, Tsutsui.” He waves a hand through the air,
dismissing Tsutsui’s presence as he rolls his eyes. “Go wash the dishes or
whatever else it is you virgins do to take the edge off.” He’s grinning,
amusement sharp at his mouth and dark in his eyes, and Tsutsui has to move, has
to turn away and retreat back down the hall before his knees give out from
under him. He thinks he hears Kaga laugh, a quick burst of sound behind him,
but the door shuts again before Tsutsui can glance back, and after a moment of
hesitation he continues on to the kitchen.
He does wash the dishes. He washes them very carefully, and very thoroughly,
and with his attention completely fixed on what he’s doing and not at all on
what Kaga was or is doing to leave him half-dressed and warmed over with sweat
along the curve of his spine. It takes him almost a half hour to get everything
washed and dried and put away, and the delay has absolutely no effect at
diminishing the heat pressing hard against the inside of his jeans. Tsutsui
stands in the kitchen for some minutes after the dishes are done, thinking
about knocking on Kaga’s door, thinking about locking himself in his own room,
thinking about getting caught by Kaga returning the interruption Tsutsui
offered; and then he sighs himself into resignation, and goes to the bathroom
to take the coldest shower he can stand.
The cold eases the heat under his skin, and after long enough forces the
arousal from his veins. The memory of tan shoulders and bare thighs are,
unfortunately, not so quick to dissolve.
***** Guaranteed *****
Kaga’s at the kitchen table when Tsutsui gets home.
“I’m back,” Tsutsui calls, so softly the words are nearly lost to the sound of
the door swinging shut in his wake.
“Welcome home,” Kaga shouts back, more out of habit than with any real thought.
He’s staring at the beer bottle in his hands, framing his palms around the
condensation-cool of the glass without thinking about that either; the light of
the setting sun coming through the window catches to patterns against the dark
of the bottle and fractures into jagged illumination against the far edge of
the table. Kaga can hear Tsutsui coming down the hallway, can hear each of the
other’s steps falling as carefully as if this isn’t his own home, or as if Kaga
could possibly be doing something that would be interrupted by the other’s
footfalls. Usually Kaga finds this amusing, occasionally it’s irritating; today
he just notices it, distantly, like the sound of rain against a roof high
overhead. He doesn’t look away from the bottle in his hands.
“Have you eaten yet?” Tsutsui asks as he comes down the hallway towards where
Kaga is sitting at the table. “I was thinking about…” His voice trails off in
time with his footsteps as he draws into eyeshot and sees Kaga at the table
with the half-empty bottle of beer in his hands and his focus on the shift of
his fingers against the glass. Kaga can feel the weight of Tsutsui’s eyes on
him, can feel the shiver of familiar electricity slide down the back of his
neck and light his skin to uncomfortable heat under the burden of his clothes;
but even that is distant, for once, like something seen on a television screen
rather than an experience belonging to him in reality.
“No,” Kaga says in answer to the question. His voice sounds odd in his ears. “I
haven’t eaten.”
“Oh.” Tsutsui sounds worried. It’s easier to pull apart the emotion in his
voice than it is for Kaga to taste the feelings on his own; right now Tsutsui’s
concerned, uncertainty rising into the beginnings of panic that Kaga doesn’t
have to look to know is printed clear across the other’s face. “Are you
hungry?”
“Sure.” Kaga takes a breath, feels the motion of it drag in the back of his
throat and fill his lungs. “Tsutsui.”
There’s a pause, longer than it should be, like Tsutsui is trying to make a
guess as to Kaga’s next words. “Yes?”
Kaga exhales hard, hard enough that the wind of it rustles the peeled-off label
of his bottle against the table. “I had a semi-finals game today.”
The room goes very, very still for a moment. Tsutsui doesn’t move; for a moment
Kaga thinks the other might be holding his breath. Kaga waits, measuring out
time by the rhythm of his heart pounding in his chest; and then Tsutsui takes a
breath, and says “Did--” and Kaga speaks over him at once, before the other can
finish forming whatever question he was going to offer.
“I won.”
There’s a beat of silence. Then, all at once: a rush of breath, a gasp of
“Kaga,” and when Kaga lifts his head to look up Tsutsui has both hands clapped
over his mouth and his eyes wide and going liquid with the threat of tears
behind his glasses.
“Oh my god,” Kaga says, his voice still feeling weird and echoey inside his
head. “It’s nothing to cry about.”
“I know,” Tsutsui says from behind the weight of his hands. His eyes are
enormous, all but glowing with the damp of emotion; Kaga thinks he might be
able to pick out flecks of green from the dark shadow of them if he looks long
enough. He doesn’t. He looks back to his bottle, blinks at the refracted light
against the table while Tsutsui gasps through an inhale weighted with enough
emotion for the both of them. “I’m just so happy for you. Congratulations,
Kaga.”
“Yeah,” Kaga says, and then there’s movement in his periphery, the action of
Tsutsui throwing himself forward just as Kaga turns reflexively to meet his
action. Arms catch around Kaga’s neck, Tsutsui’s face presses hard at his
shoulder, and Tsutsui is dropping to his knees alongside the other’s chair,
taking an enormous breath of happiness hard against the front of Kaga’s shirt
as he steadies his hold around the other’s neck. He’s warm to the touch,
leaning in heavy against Kaga’s chest, and Kaga moves right away, reflex and
the warm purr of alcohol in his veins making the action of his arm easy as he
lifts it to catch hard around Tsutsui’s waist. He pulls harder than he means
to, his arm tensing around the other’s body to drag Tsutsui in close against
him, and he can hear the way Tsutsui’s breathing rushes out of him in a gasp at
the force, but Tsutsui doesn’t complain, and Kaga doesn’t let him go.
“Good job,” Tsutsui says into his shoulder. The words are hot at Kaga’s skin.
“I’m so, so proud of you.”
“Shut up, I haven’t won the finals yet,” Kaga says, but he’s starting to smile,
he can feel the shock-frozen emotion inside his chest melting and spilling
across his expression under the warmth of Tsutsui’s hold on him. He has the
advantage of height by nearly an inch, with their current positions; when he
turns his head in towards Tsutsui his mouth is on level with the other’s ear,
his lips nearly brush Tsutsui’s skin when he speaks. “You finally going to
celebrate with me tonight?”
Kaga can feel Tsutsui go tense against him, can feel the tremor of uncertainty
that runs through the other’s shoulders under his hold. “What--”
“You never drink with me,” Kaga says without letting Tsutsui go and without
turning his head away from the other’s ear. Tsutsui’s fingers tighten against
the back of his neck, Tsutsui’s breathing rushes to fire at his shoulder, but
Kaga can feel his heart racing in his chest on delayed-reaction adrenaline, as
if the sight of Tsutsui’s excitement has finally made his victory real in a way
it wasn’t before, and the heat coursing through him is roaring into a heady
self-confidence that tells him he could do anything, have anything, if he just
reaches out to claim it. “Come on, Tsutsui, it’s no fun drinking by myself.”
Kaga can hear the way Tsutsui takes a breath at his shoulder, can feel the
brief, involuntary tug of the other’s arm around his neck. “I,” he says, and
for a moment Kaga thinks he’s going to capitulate, that he’s going to surrender
to Kaga’s suggestion as easily as he did to his hold. But then he takes a
breath, and says “I don’t like beer,” and all the apology lacing his tone isn’t
enough to take off the edge of rejection under it.
Kaga lets his hold go and reaches up to shove roughly at Tsutsui’s shoulder
instead before the other has yet unwound his arms from around Kaga’s neck.
Tsutsui topples backwards, his hold giving way abruptly to the force of Kaga’s
motion as he falls to sit heavily on the floor and blink shock up at Kaga from
behind the weight of his glasses.
“You sound like a kid,” Kaga tells him, straightening in his chair and reaching
for his half-empty bottle to punctuate with a pointed swallow. His skin is hot
everywhere Tsutsui touched him; he gulps an overlarge mouthful of beer just to
feel the bitter of the taste burn at the back of his throat and give him a
different reason for the tremor running under his skin than the obvious one. “I
bet you don’t even drink coffee.”
“I do,” Tsutsui says without trying to get up from the floor. He looks faintly
confused, sounds a little bit hurt; Kaga’s chest knots unpleasantly, as if his
heart is trying to turn itself over against his ribcage. He takes another
swallow of his beer. “I drink alcohol, sometimes, too.”
“Sure,” Kaga scoffs. “Girly drinks in pink glasses, right?”
Tsutsui’s forehead creases. “I like sake,” he says, his mouth steadying from
the tremble of uncertainty it had and into something a little closer to a
frown. “I just don’t find beer to my taste.”
“‘To your taste,’” Kaga repeats, trying to make a mockery of the phrasing, but
it falls short on the pressure in his chest and he can’t give it the sharp edge
he wants. There’s a moment of silence; then Kaga looks back to his bottle and
digs his fingernail in roughly against a strip of paper still clinging to
adhesive along the outside curve.
“Fine,” he says, like he’s granting some major concession and not just
foregoing the company of a similarly intoxicated Tsutsui for the evening. “Next
time. When I win my tournament.” His chest is aching, his heart struggling for
an ordinary rhythm against the pressure crushing down on him; the mouthful of
beer he swallows does nothing to ease the tension in his throat. “I’ll buy you
a whole bottle of sake. I’ll even drink it with you.” He looks back to Tsutsui,
still sitting on the floor and staring up at him with wide eyes. His frown is
gone, his lips soft and barely parted; he looks stunned, as if Kaga has just
promised to give him the world instead of half a bottle of alcohol. Kaga lets
his hold on his beer bottle go and reaches out to extend a hand across the
distance between he and Tsutsui. “Deal?”
Tsutsui blinks and looks down at Kaga’s hand for a moment. Then he sits up
straighter, reaches to push his glasses up his nose, and stretches out to close
his fingers tight around Kaga’s hand.
“Yes,” he says, and when he looks up his eyes catch flecks of green out of the
light illuminating them. “I promise.”
Kaga’s never won a shogi tournament before. Over the last few months he’s
resigned himself to loss, has stopped even really feeling disappointed when
he’s knocked out a few rounds from true victory over his competitors. It’s all
to be expected, he’s told himself, losing is inevitable if he doesn’t have the
skill for the game he needs to win.
He doesn’t need skill for this tournament. This time, he’s certain, his
motivation to win is enough to carry him clear through the finals on willpower
alone.
***** Rushed *****
“C’mon,” Kaga insists from the other side of the table, where he’s leaning hard
against the support of his elbow as he lifts his beer to his lips again. “Don’t
tell me you’re done already.”
“I think I’ve had enough,” Tsutsui says again, not for the first time. His sake
cup is full -- Kaga has been seeing to that for the last few hours -- but he
doesn’t reach for it, isn’t sure he can trust his unsteady grip or the sway of
the room to bring the liquid to his mouth unspilt. “Really, I’m. I won’t be
able to stand if I have any more.”
“It’s not a party until you’re on the floor,” Kaga tells him, upending the
bottle to catch the last few drops of beer on his tongue. “I thought you would
have more stamina than this. Or do you just not want to celebrate with me?”
“I do,” Tsutsui says, frowning with the strain of attention necessary to see
the holes in the logic of Kaga’s slurred-over speech. “I am celebrating with
you. I’m glad you won.”
“I did great,” Kaga says. “I’ve never won a professional shogi tournament
before.”
“I know.” Tsutsui looks up from his cup of sake, his face breaking into a
helpless smile like it has every time Kaga mentions this fact. “I’m so happy
for you.”
“Yeah,” Kaga says, grinning with vicious satisfaction pressing against the
curve of his mouth. His fingers tighten against the empty bottle and twist the
glass against his hold, but he doesn’t look at his hand; he’s staring at
Tsutsui instead, turning the full force of his attention to the other. “You
like it when I win, don’t you?”
Tsutsui laughs. “Of course,” he admits without any hesitation. “I’m always
happy when you’re happy.”
“Yeah,” Kaga says again. He glances at the bottle, frowns himself into focus as
he digs a thumbnail under the edge of the label to peel an inch of it free of
the shine of the bottle. “I won for you, you know.” His gaze cuts back up to
catch at Tsutsui’s face. “I told you I would.”
There’s a shiver of heat that runs down Tsutsui’s spine, a breath of
electricity unfolding out into his veins as if Kaga’s words carry more weight
than they actually do, as if the implication under them is intentional and not
an intoxicated misphrasing of the other’s meaning. “Yes,” he agrees, trying to
keep his voice level in the back of his throat, trying to keep his gaze focused
on Kaga’s eyes instead of dipping down to cling to the part of the other’s lips
instead. “I knew you would, you’re good enough to--”
“No,” Kaga cuts him off, his voice coming hard and sharp, and he shoves the
bottle away across the table with enough force that it topples to the side and
rolls off the edge. Tsutsui startles at the sound, reaches out involuntarily to
catch the bottle as it falls, but his fingers come up short and the bottle
rattles to the floor, shedding a few drops of liquid as it lands. Tsutsui
frowns at the spill, starts to lean over to return the bottle to upright, but
Kaga’s hand comes out to close hard at his arm, the other’s grip so tight
Tsutsui doesn’t even think to try to pull free, and when he looks back up
Kaga’s staring at him with as much focus as if the beer bottle never existed at
all.
“You’re not listening,” Kaga informs Tsutsui, his voice purring over irritation
in the back of his throat to match the frown dragging at the corners of his
mouth. Tsutsui is listening now; but Kaga’s fingers still tighten on his arm,
Kaga’s hold still shakes roughly at him to jolt him against the edge of the
table. It hurts, both the bruising strength of Kaga’s too-tight hold and the
impact with the lip of the table in front of him, but Tsutsui has gone
breathless with sudden, startled adrenaline and lacks even the air to give
voice to the ache of pain running under his skin.
“I didn’t win ‘cause I was so much better,” Kaga says. When he blinks his
lashes fall heavy over his eyes, blurring his vision out-of-focus before he
visibly struggles himself back into it, but his mouth is set, the frown of
intensity at his lips unwavering. He smells like the beer he’s been drinking,
and his hold is too tight on Tsutsui’s arm, and Tsutsui’s heart is pounding
frantic against the inside of his chest and he can’t figure out how to calm it.
“I won ‘cause I wanted to.” He frowns harder, swallows like he’s looking for
moisture for his mouth. “For you. I told you I was going to.”
“Yes,” Tsutsui agrees. He doesn’t try to wrench free of Kaga’s hold.
“You like it,” Kaga tells him, and for a brief, heartstopping moment Tsutsui
doesn’t know what Kaga’s referring to, feels like the other has read the rush
of his heartbeat from the grip he has on Tsutsui’s arm, has picked apart the
flush of rising heat from the haze of intoxication coloring Tsutsui’s cheeks to
pink. Tsutsui’s eyes go wide, his breathing catches on pointless denial, and
Kaga continues. “You like it when I win.” He lifts his other hand from the
table without easing the hold of his first and stretches out to catch his
fingers around the back of Tsutsui’s neck; his grip tangles into the other’s
hair, his palm shoves roughly against the back of Tsutsui’s head, and all
Tsutsui’s blood is going to fire, he feels like he’s melting forward in
helpless surrender to whatever it is Kaga wants to do to him. “Don’t you?”
“Oh,” Tsutsui says, his voice breaking in his throat like it hasn’t since he
was in middle school, since the time when Kaga smiled more than he frowned and
the heat of desire was a flickering heat in his chest instead of a burden
weighing hard against his shoulders. “Yes.” He’s not quite sure what he’s
agreeing to, not entirely clear what Kaga is asking; he thinks he’d agree to
anything, with Kaga’s hands so tight against him and Kaga’s eyes so dark with
focus on his face.
“I knew you did,” Kaga tells him, his voice purring into the low hum of a growl
in the back of his throat. “You always liked that best in middle school, too,
didn’t you?” His fingers in Tsutsui’s hair tighten, his touch digs in hard
against the back of the other’s head; Tsutsui can’t find enough air for his
lungs in the space between his mouth and Kaga’s. “You liked me winning more
than you liked winning yourself.” He leans in farther over the table, his hands
dragging Tsutsui in closer too; the edge of the table catches at Tsutsui’s
ribcage, presses against the effort of breathing in his lungs, but he doesn’t
try to pull himself free, just lets Kaga’s hold drag him half across the span
of the table. He feels dizzy, light-headed, like the effect of the alcohol in
his veins is surging suddenly sharp and irresistible under the pull of Kaga’s
hands. “You liked me beating you.”
“What?” Tsutsui manages. His voice is fluttering like wings in the back of his
throat, struggling for traction against the too-thin air at his lips. Kaga is
still watching him, his eyes half-lidded into consideration that runs straight
down Tsutsui’s spine like an open flame. “Kaga?”
“You liked me,” Kaga tells him, and then his hand at Tsutsui’s head pulls, and
Tsutsui topples forward and into the crush of Kaga’s mouth against his. The
impact is rough, as immediately bruising as the tension of the other’s hold
digging in hard against Tsutsui’s arm; there’s teeth at Tsutsui’s lip, a
vicious demand for friction that catches and tears before Kaga is bracing
Tsutsui in place and turning his head to force his tongue past the startled
part of the other’s lips. There’s bitter on Tsutsui’s tongue, the sour bite of
beer sliding into his mouth on the force of Kaga licking past his lips, and
then his startled-slow brain catches up to the reality of this, of Kaga kissing
him, and Tsutsui can hear himself make a tiny, startled whine of sound in the
back of his throat as the rush of waiting heat catches up to the moment. He’s
shutting his eyes, is lifting a hand out towards Kaga’s arm; and Kaga pulls him
sideways, hard, the force so sudden and so sharp that Tsutsui is falling before
he realizes he’s lost his balance. The floor is waiting for him, his impact
hard enough that it jolts them both out of the friction of the kiss, and Kaga’s
following him down, hissing irritation as he falls over Tsutsui as if the brief
gap of time is a personal affront.
“Fuck,” he growls, harsh consonants tearing at Tsutsui’s mouth as he tries to
gasp for air suddenly absent from the overheated world. “Fuck you, Tsutsui,
you’re so.” There’s no finish to the sentence, nothing but the crush of Kaga’s
mouth against Tsutsui’s again; Tsutsui can barely hold to the structure of
language at all, with Kaga shoving him down against the floor and bruising
against his mouth like he’s trying to crush the mark of his affection indelibly
under the other’s skin. Kaga bites at his lip again, licks far into Tsutsui’s
mouth like he’s trying to taste the sweet of the sake off the back of the
other’s tongue, and then he pulls away again, pressing a rough kiss to
Tsutsui’s cheek before dropping down to lick hard just under the curve of his
ear. Kaga’s mouth is wet and leaves the shivering cold of damp in its wake, but
Tsutsui feels like he’s on fire, like all his blood is trying to turn to steam
and escape his veins entirely. He’s hard inside his jeans, his cock is surging
to heat in time with the beat of his heart, but Kaga is too, Kaga is grinding
himself down against Tsutsui like he’s trying to press the other straight
through the floor and Tsutsui can’t remember how to catch his breath with Kaga
so close against him.
“Kaga,” he says, a name with no meaning beyond the sound of the syllables,
carrying no force except the desperate groan in the back of his throat that
spills to thrum against Kaga’s lips pressing to heat at the dip of his
collarbones. Tsutsui gets a hand up, gets his fingers into Kaga’s hair, and
Kaga makes a low sound of frustration at his skin and lets his hold on
Tsutsui’s arm go to reach down instead.
“Fuck,” he snaps again, irritation grinding vicious in his throat, “move your
damn knees, Tsutsui.” Tsutsui doesn’t have a chance to obey, even if he could
figure out what Kaga meant; the other is pushing at his leg even as he speaks,
forcing Tsutsui’s knees wider as he shoves his leg into the space between the
other’s. Kaga shifts, presses himself closer, and then his hips are fitting
between Tsutsui’s knees, the weight of his body forcing Tsutsui’s legs open at
an uncomfortable angle. Tsutsui can feel the ache running up the inside of his
thighs, can feel the beginnings of protest at the unfamiliar position; but Kaga
is growling satisfaction, is closing his fingers at Tsutsui’s waist and
grinding forward and down, and when the friction of his body catches to press
hard against Tsutsui’s hips Tsutsui’s protests evaporate at once and give way
to a convulsive jerk of pleasure to match the sudden startled moan that breaks
free from his throat.
“Yeah,” Kaga says, sounding overheated and radiant and pleased, “yeah, fuck,
Tsutsui” and he does it again, rocking his hips forward like he’s trying to
press them skin-to-skin through the too-thick barrier of denim between them.
The motion catches Tsutsui’s jeans against the flush of his cock and drags
rough friction against his skin, but the whimper of heat in his throat is
entirely drowned out by the growl of satisfaction in Kaga’s, the sound so loud
Tsutsui can feel it run down his spine like an electrical charge.
“Fuck,” Kaga spits, and he’s dragging his hand free of Tsutsui’s hair, bracing
his palm flat on the ground so he can push himself up and off the other. His
hair is a mess under the drag of Tsutsui’s fingers, his eyes blown so dark
Tsutsui can’t make out any color in them; he’s looking at Tsutsui’s body, at
the shift of breathing in the other’s chest and the spread of Tsutsui’s knees
around his hips rather than up to meet the weight of the other’s gaze. Tsutsui
can see Kaga’s throat tense on a groan as his attention drags down to the taut
front of Tsutsui’s jeans, can see his teeth flicker bright behind an overheated
smile as he frees Tsutsui’s hip and reaches for his jeans instead.
“You want me,” Kaga says, like this is any kind of a revelation, or maybe just
for the satisfaction of feeling the words rolling across his tongue. Tsutsui
opens his mouth to reply, to gasp some pointless acquiescence to this
statement, and Kaga’s palm presses down against him, the weight of the other’s
touch grinding heat sharp and aching up the whole of his spine. Tsutsui jerks
against the floor, his fingers tensing involuntarily on Kaga’s hair, and Kaga
makes a low sound of appreciation and curls his fingers in tighter like he’s
trying to close his hand on Tsutsui right through the denim.
“Did you dream about me?” Kaga asks. His fingers drag, the friction blinding
Tsutsui with an excess of heat, and Tsutsui shudders through his whole body
like Kaga’s touch is electrifying him, is turning him into something bright and
glowing with more force than he would ever be able to muster alone. “Did you
fantasize about me touching you?” His hand slides away, the friction easing
enough for Tsutsui to gasp a desperate lungful of air before Kaga’s hand
tightens at his hip, before Kaga’s hold braces him still against another rough
press of the other’s body against his. “Did you think about me fucking you?”
“Oh,” Tsutsui pants, his heart racing, his breathing stalling. “Kaga.”
“Tell me,” Kaga growls at him, and his words are darkness, bitter as the
clinging taste of his beer caught against the inside of Tsutsui’s mouth.
“Tsutsui, tell me.”
“Oh god,” Tsutsui moans. “Yes, Kaga, yes, I did.”
“Yeah,” Kaga says, sounding more satisfied than surprised. “Tell me.” His
fingers unwind from Tsutsui’s hip, his knees shift wider; Tsutsui whimpers in
the back of his throat but Kaga’s looking down instead of at his face, is
fumbling with the front of his jeans one-handed.
“What?” Tsutsui gasps. “You want...what?”
“Talk,” Kaga demands. His jeans come open for the force of his fingers, he
pushes his clothes roughly aside, and then he’s closing his hand around the
heat of his cock, is moving to stroke over himself before Tsutsui even has a
chance to make sense of what’s happening. “Tell me what you thought about me
doing to you.”
“Oh,” Tsutsui says, breathless and overwhelmed and still dizzy with the alcohol
as much as with the arousal flaring sunbright into his veins. Fantasies offer
themselves to his mind, the outlines of imagination familiar with repetition
forming themselves on the heat lancing up his spine; but his tongue stalls, his
voice dying to the sudden tension of self-conscious embarrassment, as if the
addition of speech will somehow give him away more thoroughly than the heat of
his cock under Kaga’s too-rough touch a moment before. Kaga’s head is ducked,
his breathing catching faster as he finds a rushed rhythm to the pull of his
hand; and then he lifts his chin, his eyes sliding back into focus on Tsutsui’s
face, and Tsutsui gasps a choking inhale and starts to speak as if the weight
of Kaga’s gaze was a spoken command.
“I thought about you touching me,” he says, starting simple, backtracking over
years of increasingly detailed fantasy to the first one, to the one still clear
and soft with overuse against the backdrop of tight-shut eyes. “About your
hands on me and you--”
“God,” Kaga interrupts him. “Is that seriously the best you could come up
with?” His mouth is dragging on a mocking grin, his expression tense with heat,
but his eyes are still soft, strangely dark and intent on Tsutsui’s features.
“I guess I shouldn’t expect anything better from a virgin.”
“Not just that,” Tsutsui says, his voice dipping low on hurt and defensiveness
at the same time. “I thought--I thought about you meeting me in a love hotel,
somewhere downtown after one of your games.”
Kaga’s eyelashes flutter. “Yeah?”
Tsutsui nods. “Yes.” He lets his hold on Kaga’s hair go to reach for the front
of his own jeans and work the button loose of the denim; Kaga glances down,
huffs a laugh of amusement, but he doesn’t move to stop Tsutsui, and Tsutsui’s
too radiantly hot to pause for the flicker of self-consciousness that hits him
as he unfastens his jeans so he can work his hand inside the fabric. “I used to
think about running into you after graduation and you taking me out for drinks
and--”
“And fucking you until you screamed,” Kaga purrs, finishing the sentence with
so much heat that Tsutsui’s cheeks go scarlet with flame even as his cock
twitches under the glancing weight of his touch. “Is that right?”
Tsutsui’s heart races, his breathing hitches. Under his fingers his cock is
aching, the head slick to the touch; everything feels surreal, like this must
be the most vivid dream he’s ever had, like maybe he’s fallen asleep over the
table and drifted into oddly clear alcohol-infused hallucinations. His cheeks
are burning with heat, the air of the room is chill against his hips; his cock
is free of his pants, waiting the catch of his fingers, and over him Kaga is
breathing hard, is panting through inhales as he jerks over himself like one of
Tsutsui’s fantasies come to life.
“Yes,” Tsutsui says, and closes his fingers around himself as his blood
blossoms into steam, as Kaga groans incoherent heat over him. “That’s right.”
His heart is pounding doubletime in his chest, his breathing burning with every
inhale as if the air itself has caught the tang of alcohol from the half-full
cup of sake still on the table; even Tsutsui’s embarrassment feels far-off,
distant, like something seen on the horizon to be dealt with in some
unimportant future. He’s stroking over himself hard, pressing his fingers
closer against his skin with some half-formed intent of increasing the
sensation to its usual immediacy instead of the strange distance that is coming
with it now; but Kaga’s gasping hard, Kaga’s ducking his head down to watch his
own hand or Tsutsui’s, Tsutsui isn’t sure which, and when he speaks it’s so low
Tsutsui isn’t sure he’s meant to hear, isn’t certain Kaga really processes that
he’s still listening at all.
“I’ve wanted you for years,” Kaga growls, his hand dragging over himself with
rough haste that all but keeps Tsutsui from even seeing the dark flush on the
other’s cock. His shoulder is straining, his position tense with effort, but he
doesn’t move to relax, and Tsutsui doesn’t reach out and run the risk of
breaking whatever insanity has brought them both to this moment together. “Just
like this.” His hips buck forward, a half-inch of movement that comes with a
hiss in the back of his throat; when Tsutsui looks up at him Kaga’s cheeks are
flushed, his eyes half-lidded into such shadowed heat Tsutsui’s not sure Kaga’s
really seeing him at all anymore, not sure if Kaga’s seeing anything except the
culmination of too many fantasies layered atop each other to leave space for
reality. “Fuck, Tsutsui, tell me you want it.”
“I want it,” Tsutsui says immediately, not entirely clear on what it is but
ready to beg anyway, ready to catch the words Kaga gives him on his tongue and
echo them back into whatever encouragement Kaga needs to keep doing what he’s
doing. “I want you.”
“Yeah,” Kaga says, the words hissing past the set of his jaw and the edge of
his clenched teeth. “You want my cock.”
Tsutsui’s face flames to red, his cheeks burn into fire; but it’s distant, it’s
far-off, it’s someone else’s skin going so hot at the feel of unspoken words in
his chest. “I--” he starts, stops; and then, in a rush, drawn out of him by the
friction of his hand closed tight around himself, “I want your cock.”
“God,” Kaga groans, his hips bucking forward against his hand again. There’s
slick at the head of his cock, Tsutsui can see the liquid catch the light when
Kaga’s hand shifts; the other’s strokes are going frantic, are speeding past
the point of comfort and into desperation. “Do you want me to come on you,
Tsutsui?”
Tsutsui takes a breath, feels his chest tightening on shock even as his cock
jerks in his hold, as the heat in his stomach twists and catches to a surge of
desire at the mental image Kaga’s words sketch out. “Kaga--” he starts, and
Kaga hisses over him, groans “Fuck” sharp in the back of his throat, and jerks
into orgasm over Tsutsui’s stomach. He comes over Tsutsui’s shirt, the sticky
liquid spilling wet and hot across the other’s fingers, and Tsutsui gasps with
startled heat as Kaga’s shoulders sag, as the tension drains out of his face to
leave the slack heat of satisfaction in its wake. His hips are rocking forward,
jolting through tiny, involuntary shudders of relief as the last aftershocks
run through him, and Tsutsui is moving faster, his strokes made sticky by Kaga
spilling over his fingers and his heart pounding too hard for him to care. Kaga
takes a breath, deep enough for Tsutsui to hear it shuddering through the whole
span of the other’s chest, and Tsustui comes in a rush before he’s quite ready
to, striping over the mess Kaga has already made of him. His vision blurs to
white, his spine arches through the rush of heat; and in the distance Kaga
purrs over a laugh, something low and half-mocking in the back of his throat as
Tsutsui shivers through the rush of sensation in his veins.
“I knew you wanted it,” Kaga says. There’s a shift of movement, action in
Tsutsui’s periphery while he’s still trying to blink his vision back into
focus, and then wet at his mouth, the crush of Kaga’s lips hard against his for
a moment of pressure that steals Tsutsui’s breathing. Kaga’s hand lands in
Tsutsui’s hair, sticky fingers catching against the other’s head to hold him
steady as he opens his mouth and licks in far against the back of Tsutsui’s
tongue; Tsutsui is still whimpering when Kaga pulls away, his skin prickling
with aftershocks and his lips numb with friction.
“Next time I’ll fuck you for real,” Kaga tells him, growling the words to heat
over Tsutsui’s parted lips under his. “I’ll make you come so hard you can’t see
straight.” And he’s moving away, his fingers drawing away from Tsutsui’s hair
so he can brace himself at the floor and push himself up and away. Kaga’s
balance is unsteady, his feet stumble before he can catch himself enough to
pull his pants back around his hips and make his way down the hallway to the
bathroom; Tsutsui doesn’t try to move at all, just stays where he is on the
floor with damp drying to a sticky shine on his skin and the bitter taste of
beer caught on the back of his tongue.
When he swallows, he imagines he can feel Kaga’s heat caught against the rhythm
of his wildly-pounding heart.
***** Hurt *****
Kaga wakes up with a headache.
He knew he would. He knew as much last night, when he was standing under the
spray of the shower slowly going cold against his shoulders while the world
spun gently around him. He drank too much, and ate too little, and when he
collapsed into bed he did so with his vision blurry and in the full awareness
that he was going to wake up hungover even if his stomach let him sleep through
what remains of the night. It does -- the unbreakable unconsciousness of
intoxication overrides whatever nausea the alcohol left in its wake -- and when
Kaga wakes it’s with a pounding headache, and sweat-sticky skin, and the taste
of Tsutsui at the back of his throat.
There’s no hope of forgetting. He’s turned away from his dreams before, has
washed himself clean of repressed desire with his morning shower and pressed
back the force of want that sits inside his chest alongside the beat of his
heart; he’s had years of practice, and the more so in recent months, with the
constant weight of Tsutsui’s presence lingering in the air like the smell of
summer-warm grass crushed underfoot. But this is different, now, Kaga knows it
is even before he pushes himself half-upright in bed, and the swoop of horror
that knots his stomach has more to do with that awareness than with the effect
of the alcohol still lingering in his veins. Kaga remembers too-clearly, more
clearly than his intoxication should allow for, and his memory is hazy at the
edges and unclear at the start and end but the middle is too clear for mistake.
Tsutsui gasping under him, Tsutsui’s lashes heavy over the grey-green of his
eyes, Tsutsui’s fingers clutching in Kaga’s hair and Tsutsui’s throat tight on
a moan of heat as he arched and quaked into pleasure with Kaga’s come still
drying on his stomach. There are fractured segments of conversation, Tsutsui’s
trembling lips forming out words at Kaga’s demand that make Kaga flush hotter
just to think of, and the feel of Tsutsui’s mouth soft and submissive to the
force of Kaga’s, and a promise, too, next time hanging in the air like a shadow
to cloud the usual illumination of Kaga’s life.
He wishes he could leave it. It would be easier to turn away, to ignore this,
to reject this confirmation of something he has known about himself for far
longer than he has any desire to admit. But even now, even with guilt heavy as
lead in his stomach, the memory of Tsutsui’s parted lips and ready surrender
are flickering heat into his blood and flushing his cock half-hard against the
fall of his boxers. Kaga grimaces and reaches down to grind a palm against
himself like he can push the arousal away, like he can reject the evidence of
heat as quickly as he rejects the cause of it. But it’s there, now, too clear
to be papered over with thin excuses of idol pinups or the face of some far-off
female classmate, and there’s no question, this time, no way for Kaga to hide
the source of his desire even from himself. He grimaces again, pushes to his
feet with haste utterly careless of the way it makes his head spin on the
dizziness of his hangover, and when he moves it’s to stumble towards the door
in pursuit of the cold shower that will solve the problem for this moment if
nothing else. He reaches for the handle, wrenches the door open, and nearly
runs into Tsutsui coming down the hallway.
Kaga jumps back as fast as Tsutsui does. His whole body flashes hot,
embarrassment and arousal fighting for dominance in his veins; he hadn’t
thought through the speed of his action, hadn’t considered the possibility that
Tsutsui would be awake yet. Tsutsui stares at Kaga for a brief moment, his eyes
wide with undisguised shock; and then his cheeks flare to brilliant red, and he
ducks his head as he gasps an inhale only barely shaped around “Kaga” in the
back of his throat.
“Hey,” Kaga says, because he doesn’t know what else to say with his face
burning to heat that goes unseen thanks to the duck of Tsutsui’s head.
“Morning.”
“Good morning,” Tsutsui says in the direction of his feet. He lifts a hand to
urge his glasses higher up his nose but he doesn’t lift his head; he’s fully
dressed, at least, most of his skin covered by jeans and a pale t-shirt. His
hair is falling soft against the back of his neck. Kaga can see the line of
bone pressing close against the skin as Tsutsui’s head tips farther forward.
“How. How did you sleep?”
“I passed out,” Kaga tells him. His heart is pounding hard in his chest, urging
him towards fight or flight; it’s adrenaline steering his words, now, pushing
him towards some kind of resolution before Tsutsui lifts his head, before
Tsutsui notices that Kaga’s more than half-hard inside his boxers, before
Tsutsui finds the words to ask a question Kaga doesn’t have the answer for.
“You’re a harder drinker than I thought you were.”
“Ah,” Tsutsui says, and starts to lift his head. “What?”
Tsutsui’s chin is lifting. Kaga can see the other’s gaze sliding up over him,
can see the scarlet flush of self-consciousness coming into the illumination of
the hallway. In a moment Tsutsui will see Kaga’s face, will see the blush of
the other’s embarrassment confirming more than Kaga wants to admit to himself,
giving more away than Kaga has available to offer; there’s only the gap of a
heartbeat, only enough time for the whip-quick lash of adrenaline, and it’s
that that blurts sound over Kaga’s lips, that spills “I didn’t think you’d be
able to get me to black out” before he has had time to think through the words.
It’s remarkable how fast the color drains from Tsutsui’s face. He’s still
blushing when he starts looking up, red saturating every inch of his skin Kaga
can see and starting to spread along the curve of his throat to spill to his
collarbones; but as his eyes come into focus on the other’s face he’s gone
white, all the embarrassment in his veins faded out to leave just high spots of
disbelieving color along his cheekbones. Kaga’s stomach drops, his heart goes
into freefall; but his mouth is still moving, is still offering words to chase
back the unbearable weight of discovery from the silent shock in the space
between the two of them.
“It’s been a while since I drank enough to pass out like that,” he says, off-
hand, as if his spine isn’t aching with tension, as if his hands aren’t
cramping with the desire to ball into fists that he can slam through a window,
into a wall, against the straining self-consciousness trembling in his legs.
“Hope I didn’t do anything too embarrassing or anything.”
Tsutsui’s mouth works on air, the action soundless for a moment before he
blinks, and shuts his mouth, and swallows hard. He’s still staring at Kaga, his
eyes still wide with shock; they look like they’re swallowing all the
illumination in the world, like they’re glowing from within to leave Kaga
standing in the weight of his own shadow.
“No,” Tsutsui manages, then, and Kaga nearly flinches, caught somewhere between
relief and resignation that Tsutsui is going to follow his lead in this the
same way he has followed Kaga in everything else. “I don’t think so.”
“You too?” Kaga asks, too-loud and too-fast, but Tsutsui doesn’t seem to notice
the giveaway rush of the words; he’s cringing back from the force of them,
dropping his chin into surrender to the lie Kaga is imposing on them both, and
Kaga keeps talking, watching the force of his words bruise unhappiness into the
set of Tsutsui’s mouth and the crease at his forehead and totally unable to
stop the rush of relieved dishonesty in his throat. “Figures, I should have
known you’d be out if I was.” He reaches out, his hand lands hard at Tsutsui’s
shoulder; there’s a shiver of electricity between them, a jolt that runs all
the way up Kaga’s arm and tenses in his fingers, but Tsutsui just sags to the
force at his sleeve, tipping sideways under the impact like he lacks the
strength to keep himself upright. Kaga’s breath catches, his chest aches on
emotion, and when he talks it’s louder to compensate, his teasing so overstated
it echoes off the enclosed walls and pounds against his already aching head.
“Don’t worry about it, we’ll make a man of you yet. Next time you’re starting
with beer right from the start.”
“Yes,” Tsutsui says, sounding so entirely defeated that Kaga doesn’t even feel
any satisfaction at winning this capitulation so easily. “Next time. Sure.”
“Yeah,” Kaga says, and pulls his hand away, and keeps going past Tsutsui to
lock himself in the bathroom. The fan is too loud when he turns it on; the
white noise pounds at his temples and behind his eyes until he doesn’t even
bother turning the light on, just finds the faucet in the dark and turns the
water to the coldest setting to run while he strips off his t-shirt and boxers.
He shuts his eyes when he steps under the spray, and grits his teeth against
the ache of the cold across his skin; but even in the dark all he can see is
the misery on Tsutsui’s face, the absolute unhappiness that he is solely
responsible for.
The ache in his head is nothing compared to the one inside his chest.
***** Overwhelmed *****
The second time Tsutsui drinks with Kaga, he does it on purpose.
The first time was a surprise. He hadn’t expected the way the alcohol turned
Kaga’s eyes dark and heavy with want any more than he had expected to shudder
into orgasm pinned under the shadow of Kaga’s body over him, the pleasure
distant and hazy with his intoxication but the force of Kaga’s presence as real
and inescapable as the memory the next morning, the memory Tsutsui isn’t sure
he shares even with Kaga. Kaga’s been almost completely absent since that
night, out at games or drinking at bars instead of at home; but Tsutsui asks
about his matches when he can, and reads the paper for the results when he
can’t, and every time he sees a victory he remembers the set of Kaga’s jaw,
remembers I won for you growled with so much heat on the words they sounded as
much like anger as affection before Kaga reached out over the edge of the table
to crush bruises into Tsutsui’s mouth that took days to fade. Tsutsui thinks
about that, recalls the friction of Kaga’s body against his every time he reads
about a victory, and the day Kaga leaves for the finals of his next tournament
Tsutsui goes out to buy a pack of beer for them both. He hasn’t forgotten that,
either, even if Kaga has; and by the time Kaga comes in the door of their
apartment Tsutsui has a bottle already open, is offering a toast “To your win”
before Kaga has yet shed his jacket and while Tsutsui’s heart is still pounding
to panic in his chest. He’s sure Kaga will remember, sure Kaga will comment;
but Kaga just stares at him, and reaches for the beer in Tsutsui’s hand, and
when he takes a long swallow of the liquid Tsutsui can watch the motion of
Kaga’s throat on the liquid like the promise he was hoping to get.
They make it to the bedroom before Tsutsui has his second beer. The beer is
harder to drink than the sake, the bitter tang of it catches at the back of his
throat and chokes him until it’s hard to swallow more than a sip at a time; but
it doesn’t matter, not when his hands are trembling more with anticipation than
intoxication and Kaga is growling every other word like an innuendo. Kaga
drinks his first beer in a rush, starts at least a second that Tsutsui knows
of; he might be on his third by the time he reaches across the table to grab at
a fist of Tsutsui’s shirt and drag him forward and into a kiss. Tsutsui is
ready for it this time -- he’s moving as fast as Kaga is, stumbling forward to
land on his knees alongside Kaga’s chair instead of just falling like he did
the first time -- but Kaga only holds him still for a few minutes of kissing
before he pushes his chair back and away and closes his hand hard at Tsutsui’s
wrist to drag him to his feet instead.
“Let’s get more comfortable,” he says, his voice as dark as his eyes, and
Tsutsui’s whole body goes so hot he can’t manage to collect his balance
himself. Kaga has to pull him upright, has to hold him there with mocking
laughter about not being able to hold his alcohol, and then he’s pushing open
the door to his bedroom and pushing Tsutsui forward onto the bed and Tsutsui is
falling, landing atop a tangle of blankets creased from Kaga’s sleep and left
in a mess to catch his abrupt forward motion. They smell like Kaga, when
Tsutsui presses his face against the pillow, a little spicy and a little bitter
and rich all the way down, like the unbearable force of Kaga’s presence is
filling the room and Tsutsui’s lungs and leaving him dizzy and as breathless as
if Kaga is pressing the air out of his lungs himself. Tsutsui’s skin is hot,
his body thrumming itself into the ache of familiar desire, and when he moves
it’s to buck his hips forward without thinking, to grind himself down against
the resistance of Kaga’s sheets in a helpless, desperate attempt at friction to
relieve the heat pooling low in his stomach.
There’s a laugh from behind him, a growl of rough amusement to match the force
of the hand at Tsutsui’s hip that shoves his shirt up off his skin. The bed
shifts with Kaga’s weight, the other’s knee lands heavy between Tsutsui’s, and
his hand is sliding sideways along the edge of Tsutsui’s pants, fumbling for a
hold on the button keeping the clothing up over the other’s hips.
“Virgin,” Kaga purrs, sounding pleased and entertained as he undoes Tsutsui’s
pants with a force more effective than gentle. There’s glancing friction
against Tsutsui’s cock, the press of Kaga’s palm against his pants offering the
possibility of more, and Tsutsui groans and rocks forward again, straining for
traction he can’t get against the angle of Kaga’s wrist. Kaga just laughs
again, drags down at the zipper of Tsutsui’s pants and rocks back so he can
curl his fingers inside the other’s clothes and force them down and off his
hips in a single rushed movement. “You’re that desperate for my cock, that
you’re trying to get off just from being on my bed?” Kaga drags at Tsutsui’s
pants, tangles them around the other’s knees; Tsutsui arches his back and rocks
his weight up over his hands against the mattress so Kaga can pull his clothes
down and off his legs. The denim of his jeans catches at the soft of one sock,
dragging it free in the same movement, but Kaga doesn’t stop to strip off the
other; he’s leaning back in instead, shoving his knee hard against the inside
of Tsutsui’s leg until the other slides his feet farther apart to make space
for Kaga to kneel behind him. “You’re gonna come as soon as I get a couple
fingers inside you, aren’t you?”
Tsutsui shakes his head, weak protest even if he knew his denial to be true; he
has no idea what he’s going to do, can’t entirely believe that this is actually
happening, even with the faint haze of intoxication to ease his acceptance of
everything that’s occuring right now. “No, I--”
“Shut up,” Kaga tells him without letting Tsutsui finish his sentence. “You
don’t even know, it’s not like you have any experience anyway.”
Tsutsui feels his fingers tighten against the sheets under him, feels the
pressure in his chest twist and knot into something very nearly anger in his
veins. Kaga’s hands are on him, the weight of the other’s palms sliding across
the backs of his thighs and up, fingers tightening like he’s appreciating the
give of Tsutsui’s skin under his touch, and maybe it’s the desperation that
does it, that pushes Tsutsui to blurt “I do” like it’s a confession pushed out
of him under the weight of Kaga’s touch.
Kaga’s fingers slide, pause, go still against Tsutsui’s skin. “What?” he asks,
the rhythm of his speech broken to confusion by this interruption. “You do
what?”
“I do,” Tsutsui repeats before realizing that’s not what Kaga’s asking, that
his response was perfectly audible but his subject left unclear. “I do have
experience.” Kaga’s fingers tighten again Tsutsui’s legs, a flicker of reaction
clear under his touch, and Tsutsui hurries on to spill further clarity into the
sudden quiet of the room. “Not a lot, I mean. Not recently. But in high school,
I--”
“Who,” Kaga grates, loud and rough enough that it stills Tsutsui’s voice
entirely against the pressure in his chest. Tsutsui gasps for air, feeling a
little like he’s choking on the sudden harshness in Kaga’s tone, and Kaga’s
fingers tighten against him, digging in painfully against the back of Tsutsui’s
thighs. “Who was it, who did you let fuck you, Tsutsui.”
“What?” Tsutsui manages, and then, on a hiss of startled hurt as Kaga’s
fingernails catch and scratch against him, “No one, I did...I had a girlfriend,
for a while, in high school.”
“A girlfriend,” Kaga repeats. “You had a girlfriend.”
“Yes,” Tsutsui says. He turns his head against the sheets, trying to look back
over his shoulder at Kaga kneeling behind him. “We had sex a few times and
broke up when we graduated. It doesn’t really matter, I just--”
“Shut the fuck up,” Kaga snaps again, his voice raw in the back of his throat.
“‘It doesn’t matter.’” His voice is higher than usual, pitched to make a
mockery of Tsutsui’s; the last word tapers into a growl, hissing hard in the
back of his throat, and when his hands tighten this time it’s to shove hard at
Tsutsui’s legs and force them wider on the bed by inches. Tsutsui’s knees slide
apart, the inside of his thighs aching with the angle, and Kaga leans forward
against him, the weight of his jeans pressing hard against Tsutsui’s skin.
“It doesn’t matter,” he repeats, but in closer to his own voice, now, dragging
the words low and as long as a promise. “So you stuck your dick in some girl in
high school.” He rocks forward, hard, his weight shoving Tsutsui down against
the bed, and Tsutsui gasps at the pressure, at the feeling of being pinned for
a moment between Kaga bearing down against his hips and the soft resistance of
the bed under him. His cock catches on the sheets, the heat of his own body
catching and reflecting back to him, and Kaga rolls his weight forward in a
long, deliberate stroke, like he’s practicing the motion to come. Tsutsui can
feel Kaga’s jeans catch against his skin, can feel the drag and tug of friction
against him, and he’s trembling against the bed, caught somewhere between
desire to offer unnecessary apology and the need to plead for more, to beg Kaga
to open the weight of the zipper pressing against his skin and just--
“Whatever,” Kaga says, his voice shutting off the overheated spill of Tsutsui’s
inner monologue as much as it does any protest the other might offer. “It
doesn’t matter. I don’t care.” He sounds like he cares, he sounds like he’s
hissing on anger with every word, but Tsutsui can’t see Kaga’s face and those
fingers are sliding up the inside of his thigh, drawing up by inches to press
between the angle of his shaking legs. “I’m still going to be the first to fuck
you for real.” His fingers slip over Tsutsui’s skin, the texture of his touch
dragging across sensitive nerve endings, and Tsutsui can’t help the way his
body jerks at the weight of Kaga’s fingertips against his entrance, at the
threat of pressure that comes with the rough drag of the other’s hand over him.
“That’s right, isn’t it?” Kaga demands, his fingers rubbing against Tsutsui
like he’s feeling out the heat of him, like he’s tracing out the flex of heat
in the skin under his fingers. “You saved this for me, right?” Tsutsui’s breath
leaves him in a rush, his spine tensing on a jolt of electricity, and Kaga
pushes harder, until Tsutsui can feel himself giving way to the force in spite
of the burn of friction that comes with it. “No one else has ever touched you
here, have they. Tell me, Tsutsui.”
Tsutsui takes a breath, feels it thrumming to flame in his chest. “No,” he
says, and his heart is pounding and his cock is aching and Kaga’s touch is
pushing against him and Tsutsui’s stomach feels like it’s in a freefall of
heat. “No, Kaga, no, just you. Only you.”
“Good,” Kaga says, and then his fingers are sliding away and Tsutsui is gasping
a strangled breath that sounds like relief and tastes like disappointment, his
body relaxing away from the threat of friction while his cock jerks for more
against the tangle of the sheets under him. Kaga leans forward, his weight
pressing Tsutsui down hard against the bed as he reaches to stretch out and
slide his fingers under the edge of the mattress, and Tsutsui can’t breathe and
can barely move and he doesn’t want Kaga to move either, doesn’t want Kaga to
ever be anywhere but just like he is, pressing Tsutsui down hard against the
crumpled sheets of his bed. Tsutsui takes a breath, desperate and straining
against the sheets under him, and Kaga pushes back up over his knees, the crush
of his body absenting itself as rapidly as it came. Tsutsui hisses an inhale,
trying to fill his lungs and steady the pounding of his heart while Kaga twists
open the bottle he was stretching for.
“Only me,” Kaga repeats, spilling lubrication over his fingers with enough
carelessness that the liquid splashes off his skin to splatter against
Tsutsui’s thighs and the dip of his spine. Tsutsui flinches with the cold, his
body tensing reflexively against the splash of the droplets, and Kaga casts the
bottle aside with no care at all to where it lands. His hand lands at Tsutsui’s
thigh again, his fingers dig in close against the other’s skin to hold his leg
at the angle it already is, and then his touch is back, as rough as before but
slippery with lubrication now, the cool of the liquid coating his skin rapidly
warming as his fingers press hard against Tsutsui. “Have you ever done this to
yourself, Tsutsui?”
Tsutsui shakes his head against the sheets. The frames of his glasses are
digging uncomfortably against the bridge of his nose. “No.”
“I’m first,” Kaga purrs, sounding hot and vicious and satisfied, and then he
pushes in all at once, forcing a finger past Tsutsui’s entrance in a single
rushed thrust. Tsutsui cries out against the sheets, his shoulders hunching and
back curving against the sudden flare of heat and pain and friction, but Kaga’s
groaning too, his breathing shuddering out into full-throated heat as he works
his touch farther into the other.
“No one else,” he says, like he’s savouring the sound, and draws his finger
back to thrust in again, farther by an inch than the first push. It feels
strange and invasive; his touch is prickling friction all up the length of
Tsutsui’s spine and stretching uncomfortable tension out into him, but
Tsutsui’s head is spinning, the alcohol or the heat or both together overriding
his better judgment, until the only clear thought in him is Kaga’s inside me
with near-frantic heat to match the way his cock is going slick with pre-come
against the sheets under him.
Kaga’s still talking. His voice is low, the words toppling one over another so
fast Tsutsui thinks he’s not meant to hear, thinks they’re intended more for
Kaga’s benefit than his own, like some kind of soundtrack to set the rhythm for
the rushed stroke of Kaga’s hand as he works his touch farther inside the
other’s body. “No one else, just me, no one else has felt you like this, I’m
the first one, you’re going to let me touch you and then you’re going to let me
fuck you and I’ll know what you feel like and no one else will, it’ll be just
me.”
“Yes,” Tsutsui gasps against the sheets, as Kaga pulls his finger back and
pushes against him with two together. “Only you.”
“Good,” Kaga growls, and his fingers sink into Tsutsui’s body, the double width
of them stretching Tsutsui until he gasps against the sheets, his legs flexing
in strained, unformed motion over the bed under him. “That’s how it should be.
You should be mine, you should always have been mine.”
“You were,” Tsutsui starts, and Kaga’s fingers force inside him and he breaks
off into a moan, instinct protesting the pain of Kaga’s touch pushing too-rough
into him but the back of his thoughts panting for more, his spine arching with
the want to have both Kaga’s fingers as deep inside him as the other can reach,
three fingers, whatever it takes to stretch him open so Kaga can pin him to the
bed and fill him with the slick thrust of his cock. The idea steals Tsutsui’s
breath, leaves him trembling with helpless force over the sheets, and it takes
a conscious effort of will to pull his thoughts back into alignment enough to
muster the coherency for the rest of his sentence. “You were gone, you
graduated, it was--” Another shove of Kaga’s fingers, another full-body tremor
along Tsutsui’s spine; he’s left gasping, clutching at the sheets while Kaga
growls wordless over him and draws his touch back to fall into a rushed rhythm.
“I didn’t think I was ever going to see you again.”
“You still wanted this,” Kaga tells him, and his fingers are pushing Tsutsui
open and his words are pulling apart Tsutsui’s defenses and Tsutsui is laid out
over the bed for Kaga, as submissive to the other’s demands as he has ever
been, if Kaga had only been asking this of him. “That’s why you met with me.
That’s why you stare at me when you think I’m not looking. How many times have
you gone back to your room to jerk off to the thought of me naked, Tsutsui?”
Tsutsui whimpers into the sheets, his hips jerking forward to press him harder
against the bed. “God.”
“It’s only fair,” Kaga tells him, his fingers sliding back and away and leaving
Tsutsui aching and empty and trembling with unfulfilled desire. Behind him
there’s the sound of fabric rustling, the rattle of a zipper drawing down, and
Tsutsui shuts his eyes and breathes deep and feels the electricity of
anticipation fill his chest and expand behind his eyes and glow to fire low in
the depths of his stomach. Kaga’s hold at his leg doesn’t ease, but there’s the
wet slick sound of skin-of-skin; he must be jerking over himself one-handed,
Tsutsui thinks, pressing his fingers against the curve of his cock and in under
the swollen head and Tsutsui can’t breathe, can’t find air from the space
around him for the pounding anticipation coming hard in his chest.
“Ithought about you,” Kaga says, and his knees are pressing hard inside the
line of Tsutsui’s, his weight is shifting on the bed. There’s the catch of
denim against Tsutsui’s legs, the weight of Kaga’s pants slipping half-off his
hips as the other moves, and then heat against Tsutsui’s skin, the slick
resistance of Kaga’s cock dragging over him, and Kaga’s voice, so resonant
Tsutsui imagines he can feel it running all along his spine from that point of
contact between them: “I’ve never wanted anyone but you.”
“Oh,” Tsutsui says, and then, on the start of an epiphany: “Kaga, have you--”
and Kaga thrusts into him, hard, a jolt of force that blows all Tsutsui’s slow-
forming realization out of his head to make space for the bright moan that
tears out of him instead. He’s heat, he’s friction, his body is tensing hard in
protest and want at once and over him Kaga is groaning, is gasping through
something nearly pain as he rocks forward to drive farther into Tsutsui’s body.
“Fuck,” he’s hissing, his hips drawing back by a half-inch to thrust forward
again hard, without giving Tsutsui a chance to react or relax to the force of
his movement. “God, fuck Tsutsui, you’re so fucking tight.”
“Oh,” Tsutsui wails against the sheets, half pain and half heat and all
incoherent, nothing but helpless desperation spilling to liquid sound over his
tongue as the intrusion of Kaga’s cock slides impossibly deeper into his body.
“Ah, Kaga.”
“Yes,” Kaga groans, and he draws back in truth this time, Tsutsui can feel the
motion dragging inside him before Kaga bucks forward again with arrhythmic
force. “Like that, Tsutsui, do you like the--” Another thrust, bright and
blinding and curving Tsutsui’s spine into involuntary heat. “--The way my cock
feels in you?”
“Oh,” Tsutsui pants. “God.”
“Say it,” Kaga demands, his voice breaking open on heat, his hips stuttering
into force without any pattern that Tsutsui can grasp, without anything to tell
whether this thrust will be a long slow drag or a sharp, fast rush of friction
forcing space for itself inside him. “I want to hear you tell me you like it.”
“I like it,” Tsutsui says, obedient without even quite knowing if the words are
true, without being certain that the heat straining along his spine is pleasure
or just tension. “Kaga.”
“I know you do,” Kaga purrs, the words slurring so fast over each other Tsutsui
can barely pick them apart into coherency. “This is all you really wanted, is
someone’s cock up your ass for you to come around.” His hips buck forward into
another rough thrust and Tsutsui’s eyes go wide, his whole body tensing on
sensation so strong that for a moment he doesn’t even parse it as pleasure.
He’s moaning without realizing it, almost shouting in the sudden surge of heat,
and over him Kaga growls incoherent approval and grabs at his shoulder, pushing
hard to pin Tsutsui down against the bed under him as he moves into him with
reckless speed.
“You like this better than fucking some girl,” Kaga tells him. His thumb is
digging into Tsutsui’s shoulder with painful force; Tsutsui suspects there will
be a bruise there, in the morning or even later tonight, if he bothers to look
for it. “You were made to be taken, I know you were, you’re going to come
better for me than you ever did for her.” The hand at Tsutsui’s shoulder
tightens, the pressure dips in harder, and Kaga’s other hand is coming around
his hip, his fingers seeking out the flush of Tsutsui’s cock against the sheets
with more speed than care. His grip closes around Tsutsui’s length, his hand
jerks up hard and fast, and Tsutsui shudders against the sheets, his whole body
clenching reflexively against the first surge of heat that follows Kaga’s
fingers pulling pleasure out into his veins. Kaga groans over him, a rough, raw
sound in the back of his throat, and when he moves it’s harder, faster, his
hips setting the frantic pace his stroking grip only follows as an
afterthought.
“You feel so good,” he says, but the words are low, Tsutsui’s not sure he’s
meant to hear them and he can barely focus anyway, with the alternate force of
Kaga fucking into him and stroking over him to pull his attention to pieces
around the impact of the other’s actions. “You’re so hot and tight and fuck,
Tsutsui, you’re--” as his words disintegrate into a helpless groan, as his hips
jolt forward to spike another flare of impossible sensation up Tsutsui’s spine
and white out his vision for a moment of breathless heat. “You look so good
with your legs spread open for me, shit, Tsutsui, you feel--” Another break,
giving way this time to a clenched-teeth hiss of sound as the rhythm of Kaga’s
movements goes deliberate, slowing in exchange for a harder force that Tsutsui
can feel up the whole length of his spine with every thrust.
“Come on, Tsutsui, you’re gonna come for me, right?” with strain collecting on
the words, with Kaga’s hand at Tsutsui’s shoulders tightening even more than
his stroking grip around the other’s cock. “Come for me, let me feel you, I
want to feel you coming while I fuck you.” Kaga’s thrusts are going slower,
going shakier; Tsutsui can hear heat under the other’s voice, can feel the
tension in Kaga’s body straining in that hold at his shoulder, but he can’t
answer, can’t find air for the electricity coiling tight in his stomach and
drawing closer on itself with every drag of Kaga’s touch over him. He’s
shaking, he’s trembling, he’s sure Kaga can feel how close he is, and over him
Kaga is pleading: “Tsutsui, please, please, let me, I want to, I want you,
Tsutsui.” Tsutsui gasps for air, fills his lungs with the words to say I’m
close, with the breath to say hold on; and Kaga’s thumb slips over the head of
his cock, pressing in deep against the sensitive skin, and all the tension in
him snaps into calm in a sudden rush of awareness.
“Oh,” he says, his voice surprisingly loud and clear in his throat. “Kaga, I”
and then his cock pulses, and his body convulses, and everything he might have
said gives way to a wail of heat that skids and breaks into desperation in the
back of his throat. He’s coming over Kaga’s fingers, Kaga’s wrist, Kaga’s
sheets, but it doesn’t matter because Kaga is groaning over him too, Kaga is
bucking forward to spike friction deep inside Tsutsui and coming with a rush of
heat Tsutsui imagines he can feel filling the whole of his body. The hand at
his shoulder tenses, eases, and Tsutsui gasps for air against the sheets and
feels the tension of anticipation release into the shaky weight of satisfaction
all through his limbs. He’s still breathing hard, his heart is still pounding
on adrenaline in his chest; but over him Kaga is shuddering through a sigh of
relief and leaning in to fall heavily against Tsutsui’s back. His shirt catches
at the weight of Tsutsui’s, his weight pins Tsutsui uncomfortably close to the
bed; Kaga’s wrist is caught under his hip, Kaga’s fingers are still curled idly
around his cock, but Tsutsui doesn’t reach for a protest, and over him Kaga’s
mouth is catching at his hair, Kaga’s breathing is gusting loud against his
ear.
“There,” Kaga says, his voice trembling in the back of his throat like he’s not
quite sure what to do with it. “I’m the first one to have had you like this.”
Yes, Tsutsui could say. You’re the first person I ever wanted to touch me like
this. You’re still the only one I dream about. I don’t want to have anyone but
you ever again.
“Yes,” he says aloud, his voice half-muffled against the sheets. “It’s you.”
Kaga growls satisfied heat against the back of Tsutsui’s ear, his voice low and
purring even before he presses a rough kiss against the side of the other’s
neck. Tsutsui can’t catch his breath with Kaga on top of him like this, can’t
stop the desperate pounding of his heart in his chest, but he doesn’t try to
pull away and he doesn’t ask Kaga to move. He shuts his eyes instead, and lets
his thoughts wander to heat, and lets the weight of Kaga’s body crush him down
against the tangle of the sheets under him.
Tsutsui has always liked the way Kaga overwhelms him.
***** Clear *****
After the second time, Kaga stops waiting to win tournaments.
His first victory was in order to get Tsutsui drunk, so Kaga could see the
flush of intoxication spread out over the other’s cheekbones and win the easy
smile of delight off alcohol-kissed lips. Kaga didn’t intend for the night to
go as it did, with Tsutsui on the floor under him gasping and trembling into
heat, and he was sure, the next morning, that Tsutsui was going to say
something, was going to put words to the memories Kaga said he forgot and
actually recalls with crystalline clarity in the darkness of his bedroom at
night. But Tsutsui had let Kaga claim ignorance, and had let him go back to
drinking alone and playing shogi matches with a new, desperate edge of
motivation under his games, and when Kaga came home from his second win it was
to find Tsutsui pale and trembling with nerves and offering him an already-
opened beer like it’s his own self he’s extending between shaking fingers. Kaga
had accepted, knowing full well what it was he was doing in bringing the bottle
to his lips, and that evening had ended even better than the first. Tsutsui
didn’t say anything the next morning either, didn’t even try to meet Kaga’s
gaze when they passed each other on their way to breakfast and a shower
respectively. Kaga could hardly claim ignorance now, when his sheets smell like
Tsutsui’s skin and the top layer is stained with proof that Tsutsui wailing
into orgasm under him wasn’t some extraordinarily clear fantasy, but Tsutsui
doesn’t make him lie and Kaga goes on to take his shower with relief trembling
through the whole of his body. Tsutsui has made breakfast for him when he gets
out, and they eat over surprisingly companionable conversation, and when the
sun starts to set Kaga pulls out what remains of the beer Tsutsui had waiting
for him yesterday, and drinks two, and then takes Tsutsui to the couch and
finds out what expression he makes when Kaga fucks him while Tsutsui is on his
back with his legs looped around Kaga’s hips. Kaga lasts longer the second
time, with the shuddering waves of tension running over Tsutsui’s face to urge
his stamina to hold out, and if he comes first that just means Tsutsui’s own
orgasm draws his the longer, pulling deep-down aftershocks of pleasure out into
him with every clenching wave of heat that hits the other. The next time Kaga
gets Tsutsui to come first by minutes, and keeps fucking him through it, and by
the time Kaga gives in to his own orgasm Tsutsui looks so heat-dazed Kaga is
starting to wonder if he can’t force a second wave of pleasure from the other.
Two days later Tsutsui lets Kaga fuck past the part of his lips and come in
sticky stripes over the shine of his glasses, and it’s later that week that
Kaga figures out how to angle the drive of his hips forward into Tsutsui to
draw helpless moans of heat spilling up the other’s throat. Tsutsui comes twice
that time to Kaga’s one, and even afterwards he’s shaking when Kaga collapses
against him, keeps trembling with little jolts of sensation until Kaga finally
pulls out to leave Tsutsui to shudder himself to breathless relief over the
tangle of Kaga’s bedsheets.
It becomes almost routine. Kaga doesn’t claim that he doesn’t remember their
interludes, and Tsutsui doesn’t ask if he does; during the day they interact
much as they did before, with the appearance of casual friendship over shared
meals or hours of time spent alone in their respective rooms. But Kaga keeps
buying more beer for the fridge, even when Tsutsui all but stops drinking it,
and every night Kaga makes his way through one or two bottles before the purr
of intoxication in him runs up against anticipation and destroys any claim to
patience he might have. They end up on the couch, or the kitchen floor, or over
Kaga’s bed, and even past the haze of alcohol that pulls his focus apart Kaga
always pays attention to the way Tsutsui’s voice breaks over his name, and the
way Tsutsui’s shoulders hunch and his fingers clench as he comes, and the
infinite impossible details of the way Tsutsui feels, the heat of his body and
the wet of his mouth and the thousand and one specifics Kaga has to cling to
for warmth in the morning, when his hangover and his guilt hit him with equal
force to turn his stomach and strip away the few hours of satisfaction he gains
with the damp heat of Tsutsui’s body underneath his.
The achiness is the worst. Kaga doesn’t know if it’s the too-frequent hangovers
or just the constant exhaustion of too many late-night interludes in a row, but
he’s weak now in a way he never used to be, even when he drank twice as much
and woke up still dizzy with the trailing edge of intoxication. His knees are
shaky when he wakes up, his balance sometimes gives way completely as if his
legs are refusing to hold him upright; first thing in the morning he has to
fumble his way into the bathroom by clinging to the support of the walls in
case his whole body goes slack in that way it does, sometimes, without any
warning but the whirl of his balance veering to dizziness for a moment as his
ears ring with far-off noise. Sometimes he makes it there before Tsutsui wakes
up and avoids an audience for his uncertain footsteps; more often Tsutsui is in
the living room, or the kitchen, and if he notices Kaga’s unsteady stride he
doesn’t comment on it any more than he comments on the ever-accumulating weight
of the relationship they have formed in the hollow space of the empty bottles
that overflow their recycling bin to collect in neat rows on the floor around
it as well. This morning Kaga woke up with a throbbing ache behind his temples,
and his vision spinning faintly around him, and when he tried to make it to the
bathroom he collapsed halfway there as if his limbs had been drained of all
their strength at once to drop him to shiver against the floor until his
control over them returned. Eventually the involuntary trembling stops, and he
can pick himself up and make it past the door to sit on the floor of the
bathroom with his head over his drawn-up knees and feel his whole body aching
as if with the exhaustion of an entire day’s worth of movement. He feels hazy,
like his thoughts aren’t quite in focus and all the discomfort still layered
into his body belongs to someone else, maybe, like he’s just borrowing it for
the purposes of the day; and then there’s a sound at the door, the patter of a
knock against the half-open weight, and “Kaga?” in a low enough tone that it at
least doesn’t make Kaga’s headache worse.
“Fuck off, Tsutsui” Kaga says without looking up at the door.
Tsutsui does not fuck off. He hesitates instead, Kaga can all but hear the
considering inhale he takes in the doorway; and then he pads forward, his bare
feet catching against the tile of the bathroom to bring him closer than Kaga
can stand to have him when he feels like this. “Are you alright?”
“I’m sitting on a bathroom floor at eight in the morning,” Kaga growls. “Do I
look like I’m alright?”
“Are you sick?” Tsutsui asks. Kaga doesn’t lift his head to see the crease of
concern across the other’s forehead; he can imagine it well enough without any
need for sight, can picture the frown of worry catching at the corners of
Tsutsui’s mouth.
“I’m hungover,” Kaga tells him. “Go away and stop trying to mother me.”
Tsutsui still doesn’t obey. There’s a rustle of sound as he shifts to kneel
alongside Kaga on the floor of the bathroom; and then a weight, the ghost of
contact against the back of Kaga’s bare shoulders. Kaga’s whole body tenses as
if Tsutsui’s touch has electrified him, his shoulders flexing hard under the
other’s fingers; the pressure makes his headache spike to agony for a moment,
whiting out his vision with blinding pain and tightening his chest on a hiss of
hurt instead.
“Sorry,” Tsutsui says, snatching his touch away; but he goes on talking in
spite of it, still lingering overclose at Kaga’s side. “You didn’t even have
that much to drink yesterday, did you?”
Kaga’s spine tenses again, his shoulders hunching into defensiveness as if
Tsutsui’s touch is back, as if Tsutsui is threatening him with a blow instead
of the breathless care of his physical contact. “Fuck you,” he says, and lifts
his head to glare at Tsutsui from under the cover of his hair falling over his
face. “What, do you goddamn count how many beers I have?”
Tsutsui’s eyes go wider, his mouth goes soft. “What? No, I--”
“I don’t need you to goddamn baby me,” Kaga tells him, aggressive on the words
to push away whatever else Tsutsui might be about to say, to cut off the
dangerous edge of conversation about the night before. They never talk about
the evenings, never discuss how much Kaga has had to drink or the fact that
Tsutsui recently has been entirely sober for what he lets Kaga do to him, and
they especially never acknowledge that however frequently he drinks Kaga is
nothing like intoxicated enough to plead forgetfulness for the ever-increasing
array of memories of Tsutsui moaning to heat underneath him. Kaga’s heart is
racing, his whole body as tense as if he’s about to take or throw a punch, and
his headache is still there and his vision is flickering to shadow but there’s
no space to consider it, not with the danger of this conversation demanding his
full attention. “Just because you’re not enough of a man to keep up with me
doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy a beer in the evenings. Maybe I’m stopping by a bar
with friends before I get back here, did you think about that?”
Tsutsui’s hands are up in front of him, his wrists turned out into reflexive
surrender against the force of Kaga’s hissed words. “That isn’t...I didn’t
mean--”
“Leave me the fuck alone,” Kaga spits.
Tsutsui’s mouth draws down on a frown. “I’m just worried about you.”
“I don’t care,” Kaga tells him, and turns his head away again to press against
his knees once more. “Just do it where I don’t have to hear about it.”
He thinks, for a moment, that Tsutsui’s going to say something else, that he’s
going to take a breath and push forward into the conversation Kaga doesn’t want
to have now or ever. But when there’s sound it’s just Tsutsui getting to his
feet, the soft whisper of his clothes over themselves instead of the greater
weight of his voice, and Kaga’s shoulders are easing into relief even before he
hears the sound of Tsutsui’s footsteps carrying him out of the bathroom again.
His headache presents itself for his attention once more, his temples
protesting the intensity of the adrenaline now running hot through him, but all
his skin is shivering cold with the fear of what almost happened, with relief
for what he barely dodged. It’s enough to ease the pounding of his heart and to
release the tension hunching across his shoulders, and for the first few
minutes after Tsutsui leaves Kaga feels almost content just from the force of
the relief prickling up his spine and cool against the back of his neck.
He hears the door shift, this time. The tension surges back to his shoulders,
curls to panic in the grip of his fingers; but Tsutsui doesn’t say anything
this time, and doesn’t come in to kneel alongside Kaga again. He just pads
forward, his feet catching at the floor as he approaches; there’s a click of
sound, something heavy tapping against the floor, and then the footsteps
retreating again as Tsutsui leaves the bathroom and tugs the door mostly shut
behind him. Kaga stays where he is for several long seconds, waiting to see if
Tsutsui is going to return; and then he turns his head and blinks focus back to
his eyes to see what Tsutsui brought in to him. It’s a glass of water, half-
full and set within easy reach but out of range of Kaga’s braced-out foot; the
surface has gone still since Tsutsui left, the liquid inside as clear as the
cup itself. Kaga stares at it for a long moment, looking at the barely-visible
line the surface makes against the inside of the glass while he considers the
taste of water against his aching throat, thinks about the effort needed to
press shaky fingers to the slick shine of the cup. Then he turns away again to
drop his forehead to his knees once more and to shut his eyes to the
distraction of sight, and leaves the water where it is in favor of breathing
through the rush of pain that hits his head like a wave of agony reasserting
itself.
Tsutsui doesn’t come back in to check on Kaga again, and Kaga doesn’t actually
take a drink from the glass; but he keeps looking at it, between the waves of
trembling that break and overwhelm him, and if he feels the awareness of
Tsutsui’s concern like a touch at the back of his neck there’s no one there to
see him shiver with the sensation.
***** Helpful *****
By the end of the first month, Tsutsui has stopped drinking entirely.
He was never a big drinker, even before Kaga moved in; alcohol makes Tsutsui
feel fuzzy and vaguely hazy in a way that is sometimes fun with a group but
often just makes him sleepy alone, and it never seemed worth the expense of
buying anything if all he was going to do with it was fall asleep hours before
he usually does. With Kaga around he has new reason to do so, at first from the
insistent pressure exerted on him by the other and every time after that from
the shiver of want that purrs through his veins at the memory of Kaga’s hands
on him, at the thought of Kaga’s mouth crushing hard against his own. But then
Kaga stops waiting for victories, and stops waiting for Tsutsui to join him in
a drink, and after a few days of Kaga pinning him down to the soft of the couch
after he’s made it through a pair of beers Tsutsui gives up the warm flush of
alcohol completely in exchange for the crystalline clarity of sobriety for the
things Kaga does to him. Kaga never asks if he remembers; after the first time
they don’t talk about it at all during the day, but in the evenings Kaga purrs
taunts against Tsutsui’s ear that indicate a more-than-functional recollection
of the things they’ve done previously. Tsutsui isn’t sure how Kaga is
maintaining whatever facade he’s established in his own head; but it’s clear
that without the alcohol he won’t let himself indulge, and however often
Tsutsui thinks of saying something he never does. Kaga is an adult as much as
he is, and if Tsutsui can choose to stay silent in exchange for the orgasms
that leave him shuddering boneless over Kaga’s sheets each night, he feels he
has no space at all to criticize whatever choices Kaga makes for himself.
At least not drinking himself wholly sidesteps the question of hangovers and
keeps him from the tremors and headaches that seem to cling to Kaga longer and
longer with each passing day. Tsutsui knows better than to interrupt Kaga while
he’s maneuvering himself into the bathroom; the best he can do is make a pot of
the coffee he doesn’t drink himself, and lower the blinds to block out the
sharpest of the early-morning sunshine, and wait for Kaga to emerge once his
headache passes enough to allow him to do so. It takes almost an hour, this
morning; Tsutsui is well over halfway through his own pot of tea when the
bathroom lock clicks open, and even when Kaga emerges into the hallway he looks
miserable, pale and clammy and with such heavy shadows under his eyes that
Tsutsui wonders if he managed to sleep at all.
“Good morning,” Tsutsui offers without thinking, distracted from the
implications of his speech by the shiver of concern that flickers through him
at seeing Kaga holding the edge of the counter like he’s struggling to keep
himself upright.
“What the fuck about it seems good to you?” Kaga growls, offering such a scowl
in response that it would have entirely cowed Tsutsui’s younger self into
ducked-head apologies and a flush of embarrassment. But Tsutsui’s been living
with Kaga for months now, and sleeping with him for unacknowledged weeks, and
his personal self-consciousness barely registers in his thoughts for the worry
pressing itself against the inside of his mind.
“Sit down,” he suggests, getting to his feet while Kaga hunches hard over the
counter and lifts a hand to press against his forehead. “I’ll bring you some
coffee.”
“Who said I wanted coffee,” Kaga hisses at the support under his elbows. “It’s
not like I need to be any more jittery.” But he doesn’t look up to glare
Tsutsui to stillness, and after a moment Tsutsui continues with his stated goal
to retrieve a mug and fill it nearly to the top with the coffee he brewed an
hour ago.
“You’ve been feeling badly an awful lot,” he says while his back is still
turned to Kaga at the counter. He pauses to give the other a chance to respond,
or maybe to deny this perfectly obvious fact the same way he denies so many
perfectly obvious things; but there’s just silence so unbroken Tsutsui isn’t
completely sure Kaga is even listening to him. He glances back but Kaga is
still mostly upright, if slouching hard against his arm braced at the counter;
he has his head dipped down so his hair falls to shadow over his face and
Tsutsui can’t see the expression he’s wearing, but his shoulders are tense
under his shirt, his arms straining as if his legs can’t hold him upright. It
makes Tsutsui wince in sympathetic discomfort, eases his movements as he sets
the coffee pot back down as softly as he can, and when he steps forward it’s to
reach for the sugar set out in a dish on the other side of the counter. “Do you
think something might be wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” Kaga says to the surface of the counter. His voice is low
and echoes off the smooth surface until Tsutsui can’t hear anything but
exhaustion under the words. “It’s just a hangover, Tsutsui.”
“You’re like this every day,” Tsutsui tells him as he stirs a pair of spoonfuls
of sugar into the hot dark of the coffee in front of him. “Isn’t that too
often?”
“It’s not,” Kaga says. “You’re just such a lightweight all you have to do is
breathe around an open beer and you’re on the floor.” He lifts his head
fractionally as Tsutsui approaches, blinks hard in a visible attempt to bring
his gaze into focus; when he reaches out for the cup of coffee the motion is
slow with the effort required, his fingers trembling like he’s not sure they
can bear the weight. Tsutsui’s fingers brush against the warmth of Kaga’s palm;
he can feel the contact spill heat down his spine like an electrical shock, but
Kaga doesn’t seem to notice, and Tsutsui manages to fight back the urge to pull
his hand away with anything other than perfectly ordinary speed. Kaga brings
the cup towards his mouth with that same carefully deliberate focus. “You just
don’t know how to have a good time.”
“I do,” Tsutsui protests, but he’s speaking softly, and he doesn’t follow the
claim up with the obvious truth that he’s certainly having a better morning
than Kaga is, at least so far. The other swallows a mouthful of coffee without
hesitating to check the taste or temperature, then takes a breath and downs
another long drink as he straightens somewhat from the support under him. It’s
as if he’s coming alive, or coming awake in a way he hasn’t been in spite of
his technical consciousness for that last hour; by the time he lowers the cup
from his mouth again he’s standing straight enough to show off the few inches
of height he has on Tsutsui and has his head lifted enough for the dimmed
morning light to catch shades of red into his gaze at it gains focus.
“That’s the stuff,” Kaga says, his voice too rough to make the statement quite
a compliment but still enough to radiate pleased warmth out into Tsutsui’s
veins. Kaga extends the cup over the counter without saying anything and
Tsutsui reaches to take it, turning away to refill the coffee and the sugar
both while Kaga groans incoherent protest to the idea of consciousness and
shifts at the counter. When Tsutsui turns back around Kaga’s pushed a hand
through his hair and has urged the dark weight of it more-or-less off his
forehead; he’s looking at the window and the drawn blinds, now, his expression
strangely soft with the temporary contentment offered by the coffee Tsutsui
holds out to him again.
“I’ll get you some ibuprofen,” Tsutsui says as Kaga takes the cup from him with
somewhat steadier hands.
“Fuck,” Kaga sighs, already bringing the mug to his mouth for another swallow.
“I can take care of myself. You sound like my mother.”
“I know,” Tsutsui says, and goes to get the ibuprofen for Kaga anyway.
***** Deserved *****
Kaga is awake when Tsutsui gets up.
This is a rare occurrence. Tsutsui is one of those irritatingly productive
people who wake up with the sun to begin doing chores and making unnecessarily
complex breakfasts before work or classes begin; Kaga never beats him to
consciousness, usually doesn’t emerge from his own bed until hours after
Tsutsui is up and about. But that only applies if Kaga achieves unconsciousness
in the first place, and last night he was so dizzy he barely made it to the
couch at all after getting his fingers down inside Tsutsui’s undone jeans and
jerking him into full-body tremors of orgasm underneath the shadow of Kaga’s
body. Kaga barely remembers getting off himself at all, beyond the soft of
Tsutsui’s hair under his fingers while he held the other’s head still against
the forward motion of his hips; the relief that came with the physical release
is absent from his thoughts entirely, as if he’s lost a span of time neatly
clipped from beginning and end of the event. He fell over when he tried to get
to his feet, his whole body going slack as if all his bones had simultaneously
given way; he doesn’t remember getting back onto the couch, only that he did,
somehow, and he’s been lying still since then, staring vacantly at the ceiling
while the hours of night flicker past in stop-gap time. He hopes for sleep,
hopes for some magical end to the knotting guilt in his stomach and the ache of
agony behind his eyes; but there’s no such reprieve, and then he hears a
bedroom door creak open to announce Tsutsui’s waking. There’s the sound of a
door clicking softly shut, the tread of gentle footsteps down the hall; and
then a pause, hesitation as Tsutsui sees the light in the living room, and
“Kaga?” soft and as uncertain as if there’s anyone else it could be.
Kaga doesn’t bother answering. There’s no point, not when it will fail to
change anything about Tsutsui’s actions, and sure enough he can hear the
footsteps resume after a moment to prove the other’s continued approach.
Tsutsui catches a breath as he draws within sight of the couch but Kaga doesn’t
angle his head to look at the other; he shuts his eyes instead, surrendering to
the wave of dizziness that comes with the dark rather than facing the concern
he knows will be printed clear across Tsutsui’s face.
“Oh Kaga,” Tsutsui breathes, and his voice is nearly as bad as his expression
would be, soft and gentle in a way Kaga knows he doesn’t deserve, knows he has
done nothing at all to earn or maintain. His stomach twists, his throat
tightens. He doesn’t open his eyes. “Have you been out here all night?”
“Couldn’t sleep,” Kaga says shortly, in the harsh tone that Tsutsui doesn’t
deserve any more than Kaga deserves the other’s sympathy. “It’s fine.”
“Kaga,” Tsutsui sighs, and then there’s a touch at Kaga’s forehead, fingers
skimming his skin to press against his hairline. Kaga’s eyes come open in a
rush and he jerks sideways and away from Tsutsui’s hand; but Tsutsui is already
snatching his hand back, his forehead creasing hard on exactly the concern Kaga
didn’t want to see. “You’re clammy.”
“Fuck off,” Kaga tells him. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not.” There’s a strange force under Tsutsui’s voice, an insistent edge
Kaga’s never heard before; he sounds certain of himself, steady like he never
used to, and Kaga doesn’t dare look up to meet his eyes. “You need to see a
doctor.”
“I can’t,” Kaga says immediately. “I have a game today.”
“Tomorrow then,” Tsutsui fires back. “This evening. I’ll make you an
appointment.”
“I can get myself to the doctor if I want to,” Kaga snaps. “Don’t you have work
tonight anyway? You’re not going to be back until midnight.”
“I’ll tell them my roommate is ill,” Tsutsui says without a trace of
hesitation. Kaga has no defense at all for the way that impersonal noun makes
his shoulders hunch any more than he can support the ache in him that wants to
hear something else from Tsutsui’s lips instead, that wants a title to match
the shattered heat he won from Tsutsui’s throat last night. It’s not as if
Tsutsui is doing anything Kaga hasn’t pushed him into, not as if Kaga would let
him frame their relationship as anything else if he tried; but Kaga’s head is
spinning, and his stomach is twisting, and for just a moment he feels the
distance of roommate as if it’s a pointed rejection, as if it’s not the same
word he would use to describe Tsutsui to someone else. “This is more
important.”
“Fuck,” Kaga growls. “Stop fretting, I’m not going to keel over from some
stupid cold.”
“It’s not just a cold,” Tsutsui says, and he still sounds like himself, still
sounds soft and fragile and breakable, but there’s no shift in his tone now
from when he first spoke. It’s as if Kaga’s resistance isn’t happening at all,
or isn’t landing home, as if Tsutsui has set himself onto a path and is
steadfastly ignoring all distractions. “You’ve been getting sicker for months,
Kaga. You collapsed last night, you passed out as soon as you stood up. I’m
worried about you.”
Kaga hesitates for a moment. It would be easy to tell Tsutsui to fuck off, to
tell him to not call anyone; in the worst case Kaga could just stay out late
tonight, could linger at the tournament location or at a bar until closing time
and the possibility of Tsutsui dragging him to the doctor is a moot point
entirely. It’s not like Tsutsui could make him do anything anyway; if it came
down to it Kaga has the advantage of height and weight, any kind of physical
force is entirely out of the question. He should refuse, should hold to his
stubborn rejection of the idea and just force Tsutsui to see his way of
thinking; but he looks sideways instead, shifting his gaze from the fixed stare
he has at the ceiling to meet Tsutsui’s eyes. Tsutsui’s gaze is dark with
concern, his forehead creased on worry; Kaga can all but imagine the clench of
his hands at his sides, can all but see the tremor of tension across his
shoulders. But his mouth is set, his lips pressed tight together with more
strength under them than Kaga knew the other had, and they don’t give at all as
Kaga stares at them. Kaga’s focus catches at the dip at the top of Tsutsui’s
upper lip, clings to the soft curve of the lower, and for just a moment,
lifting itself from the hangover haze and painful blur around his vision,
there’s a single clear thought of I want to kiss him without even the faintest
hope of intoxication to cover it up. Kaga’s throat tightens, his chest aches;
and he has to turn sideways and away, twisting on the couch to lie on his side
so all Tsutsui can see of him is the wall of his shoulders.
“Fine,” he says, his voice harsh and strained over emotion that he hopes at
least passes for irritation. “Do whatever you want.”
He hears Tsutsui’s exhale of relief, hears “Thank you, Kaga” going resonant
with sincerity on Tsutsui’s tongue. He doesn’t turn. He doesn’t deserve the
gratitude on Tsutsui’s face any more than he deserves the thanks the other is
offering him.
***** Right *****
Tsutsui doesn’t go back with Kaga when they get to the doctor’s office.
He wants to. There’s a part of him that is demanding possessiveness, that
insists that he has as good a right as anyone to go back and find out what is
causing those bouts of weakness that drop Kaga to the floor or glaze over his
vision into unseeing blankness for spans of seconds that feel like hours for
how entirely they undo Tsutsui’s composure. He thinks he’s noticing the
symptoms as much as Kaga, maybe more so; and after all he’s the one who brought
them here, who called a taxi to drop them off rather than letting Kaga drive
them on his scooter as he suggested. Tsutsui would rather not run the risk of
one of those blank episodes hitting while they’re at a stopsign, or worse in
the middle of traffic; he doesn’t even know what he would do if Kaga went as
bonelessly limp as he did last night, when he dropped to the floor as
gracelessly as if all his personal control over his body had abruptly ceased.
The memory makes Tsutsui shiver in retroactive concern where he’s sitting alone
in the waiting room, and that’s all he has to occupy his mind while he waits
for Kaga to emerge with whatever verdict the doctor will offer him.
It takes a while. In actual fact it’s less than an hour, a far shorter period
of time than Tsutsui was afraid of; but it’s more than enough for him to talk
himself into and out of panic multiple times, to fear the worst and hope for
the best and convince himself that both his hope and fear are unfounded.
Finally he leans in over his knees, and folds his hands into steadiness around
each other, and stares at his fingers while he reaches back into memory for the
last game of Go he played with Kaga, for the pattern of the stones falling
across the board to outline the reckless strategy at which Kaga always so
excelled and that ever eluded Tsutsui himself. It’s been years since he thought
of it in any detail beyond the bright of Kaga’s smile and the shift of his
fingers on the Go stones; it’s more pleasant than Tsutsui expected to call up
the pattern of the game itself and see the outline of their own selves in the
alignment of the pieces on the board. He hadn’t realized his tutoring was
improving his eye for such things, or perhaps it was his time playing in high
school that did it; but now he can see the traces of Kaga’s aggression in the
way he laid the stones on the board, can see the imprint of his own childhood
uncertainty in the array of his own pieces. It’s like looking at a photograph,
like recalling the past with picture-perfect clarity rather than through the
usual haze of memory, and it has him smiling down at his hands when there’s a
voice, “Glad you’re having a good time,” so harsh and rough from alongside him
that Tsutsui jumps with surprise before he recognizes the speaker.
“Kaga!” His hands unfold, he pushes to his feet in a rush; Kaga is staring at
him, his mouth drawn down into a frown and his eyes dark with something Tsutsui
can’t make out into clarity. “Are you--what did the doctor say? Are you
alright? What’s going on?”
Kaga looks away from Tsutsui’s gaze, breaking their eye contact as he jerks his
head towards the front of the office. “I have to pick up a prescription,” he
says, and that’s not an answer but it is a wall, the words falling like bricks
to close off this line of questioning. Tsutsui shuts his mouth and blinks, and
Kaga is turning away without waiting for him to follow, striding away towards
the front counter and leaving Tsutsui to trail silently in his wake.
They don’t talk while they’re waiting for the prescription. Kaga speaks to the
cashier, and comes out to sit in the seat next to Tsutsui, but he doesn’t offer
eye contact again, and when Tsutsui glances at him the set of the other’s jaw
is more than enough to dissuade any attempt at even casual conversation he
might make. He wants to ask, wants to know: what is it that’s wrong, will the
medication make it better, will Kaga be alright? But he can’t find voice for
the words, he lacks the strength to break the weight of the silence that has
fallen over then, and then the cashier calls Kaga back up to the front and Kaga
goes without speaking. He lingers for several minutes, paying for the
medication and then speaking in low tones with the pharmacist; and then he
turns back, barely glancing at Tsutsui before heading for the door without
waiting for the other to catch him up. Tsutsui has to rush after him, nearly
stumbling in his haste, and Kaga is waiting by the front door for him, holding
the weight of it open and looking back with pointed patience in his expression.
Usually Tsutsui would offer an apology, or hurry to take the weight of the door
from Kaga himself; but there’s almost relief in him at seeing the judgment in
Kaga’s gaze, as if the other’s dismissive frustration is more a comfort under
the present circumstances than anything else. Tsutsui is smiling when he
catches at the door, when he says “Thanks. Sorry” in quick succession, and even
when Kaga rolls his eyes and takes the lead out onto the sidewalk Tsutsui
follows with some measure of lightness in his chest at this proof that things
can’t be all that bad after all. He has to jog a handful of steps to bring his
stride into alignment with Kaga’s, and Kaga makes no attempt to slow for him;
but as Tsutsui draws alongside him the other extends the paper bag in his hand
without speaking or even looking sideways to make eye contact.
Tsutsui takes it uncertainly, pressing his fingers to the weight of the paper
around the bottle inside. The crinkle of the paper collapsing feels startlingly
loud. “What…?”
“Look at it,” Kaga says, drawing his hand away again to stuff into his pocket
instead. “That’s what you want to know, right?”
“I just--”
“I don’t care,” Kaga says, his gaze still fixed straight ahead. “You can know.
It’s fine.”
He doesn’t sound like it’s fine. He doesn’t look like it’s fine. He’s staring
in front of him with such absolute focus that Tsutsui is sure he’s not really
seeing anything at all, that the intention of his gaze is more to avoid meeting
Tsutsui’s than from anything of real interest to look at. But his jaw is set
into an unbreakable line, and his mouth is pressed shut as if he never intends
to speak again, and Tsutsui isn’t sure he’ll be able to get any kind of direct
answer out of Kaga and he’s cold with panic, he can feel all his skin prickling
into concern at what could possibly be wrong to cause such a reaction, and the
bag in his hands promises an answer of some kind, even if it’s not the one he
wants.
There’s just one bottle inside when he opens it, the plastic of the container
papered over with a whole array of stickers with various warnings to not take
with certain kinds of food or with alcohol. Tsutsui ignores those, pushing them
aside so he can see the main name of the medication; but it’s unintelligible, a
long array of medical terminology he doesn’t understand. It’s only underneath
it, in print so small he has to squint to read, that he makes out the relevant
information: “anticonvulsant,” and “take daily” with the weight of command
behind the simple text.
Tsutsui looks back up at Kaga. “Anticonvulsant?” he says, understanding
starting to unfold in his mind. “Are you--”
“Turns out I’ve been having seizures,” Kaga says, still without turning his
head or meeting Tsutsui’s gaze. His hands are in his pockets, but Tsutsui can
see the tension of tight-curled fingers running all up the line of his bare arm
to the hunch of shoulders under his t-shirt. “It’s epilepsy. They’re going to
try me on that and see if they go away.” His shoulders come up higher, the
corners of his mouth pull down lower. “I’ll have to take that every damn day.”
Tsutsui blinks hard. “Oh, Kaga.”
“It’s like you said,” Kaga says, his voice harsh enough to override the soft
ache of sympathy under Tsutsui’s voice. “Something is wrong with me.” He turns
his head then, finally, looking to Tsutsui alongside him with so much hardness
behind his eyes that Tsutsui’s fingers clench tighter around the bottle in his
hand as if in some ill-defined need for self-defense. “You can be proud of
yourself, you were right all along.”
Tsutsui thinks this might be the first time Kaga has ever admitted he was right
in anything. With the unassuming weight of the medication in his hand and
Kaga’s eyes dark with unhappiness, Tsutsui thinks he would really prefer to
have been wrong again.
***** Drown *****
“Really, Kaga,” Tsutsui says from where his hesitant footsteps have stalled him
at the far end of the couch. “You’re not supposed to be drinking, are you?”
“Don’t be such a stickler for the rules,” Kaga snaps, extending a hand in
unspoken demand for the bottle in Tsutsui’s uncertain hold. “All medications
say that, it’s not like it really makes a difference. It’s not like side
effects affect everyone anyway.”
“Sometimes they do make a difference,” Tsutsui protests, but he’s extending the
bottle anyway, capitulating to the force of Kaga’s gesture even if the soft of
his mouth is drawn down into a hesitant frown. Kaga’s attention catches to the
part of shadow just between Tsutsui’s lips, to the damp of moisture clinging to
the corner of his mouth where he must have touched his tongue, and his blood
goes hotter in his veins, his body stirring itself to interest while his hand
is still closing on the condensation-cool of the bottle in Tsutsui’s fingers.
“Are you sure it’s just because of side effects?”
Kaga drags the bottle free of Tsutsui’s hold and waves his free hand to push
aside the weight of the other’s concern. “So I’ll get a little dizzy from a
couple beers. Whatever.” He lifts the open bottle to his mouth and tips it back
to spill a rush of carbonation over his tongue. The cool of the drink is
soothing in a way nothing else about today has been, like it’s already taking
the edge off the sudden stress added to his life by his new diagnosis; he downs
half the bottle on his first pull, emerges breathless and sighing relief at the
satisfaction of the taste on his tongue. “It’s not like I’m going to be driving
tonight.” He huffs a sharp, humorless laugh and punctuates with another swallow
of beer. “Or any night, really.”
“It’s not the end of the world,” Tsutsui tells him, softly, as if the volume of
his voice is likely to carry anything harder to hear than what Kaga has already
faced down today. He comes around the end of the couch to settle himself
carefully against the cushions on the other end, a span of feet away from Kaga,
folds his hands on his lap and tips his head down to frown at them. “It’s not a
death sentence.”
“Whatever,” Kaga says, picking at the edge of the label on the beer bottle and
trying to not look sideways at the hunch of Tsutsui’s shoulders, at the curve
of his spine, at the set weight of his fingers tangling around each other. The
effect of the beer is still minutes distant, still just a hum of premonition
and anticipation in the back of Kaga’s head, but he can feel arousal rising in
his veins as if it’s been called by the taste, like it’s just waiting
permission to be set free to shudder through his body. He wonders if Tsutsui is
thinking of that too, wonders if Tsutsui is waiting for Kaga to reach some
token level of intoxication with the same breathless anticipation Kaga feels.
He wonders if Tsutsui is hard inside his pants, if he could feel the heat of
the other if he reached out to press his hand against the fabric. He upends the
bottle and gulps another desperate swallow of the liquid inside and the excuse
it offers. “It’s bad enough. I’m entitled to drown my troubles for the night,
at least.”
Tsutsui’s frown deepens, settling in at the corners of his mouth as he stares
down at his hands. “I don’t think that’s the best approach.”
Kaga rolls his eyes. “I didn’t ask for your opinion on my life decisions, did
I?” He downs the last of the beer and pushes to his feet while he’s still
swallowing the bitter liquid back off his tongue. “I’m getting another.”
There are another handful of beers in the fridge, when Kaga goes to look; the
smooth shine of the bottles under the familiar texture of the label is enough
to promise him an evening hazy with the relief of intoxication, the alcohol
offering an escape that Kaga feels the need for deep in his bones, even if it’s
only for the night, even if it’s only for an hour. He’ll get himself drunk,
drunk enough that he doesn’t have to think about the level tone of the doctor’s
voice announcing his diagnosis and won’t have to think about the bottle of
pills one less, now, than it was when the pharmacist passed it over the
counter; he’ll drink past the sour weight of guilt in his stomach for the
things he’s done to Tsutsui, for the lies he’s told himself, for the want so
painfully bright in him that all the years of effort he has spent to repress it
have done nothing but make it shine the brighter. He’ll drink until he doesn’t
care, and then he’ll lose himself in the warm tremor of Tsutsui’s body
submitting under his own, and in the morning he’ll deal with the ramifications
of his actions and the hangover that will go with them all.
He drinks the second beer standing in the kitchen, staring unseeing at the
fridge door and swallowing faster as he feels the shiver of intoxication begin
to work in his veins and tremble flushed electricity down his spine. By the
time he’s reaching for the third to take out to the living room with him he can
feel the hum of lightheadedness creeping over his thoughts to push everything
about the present far-off and distant. The walk back to the other room
stretches long, like time itself is going slower, and when he comes around the
corner Tsutsui is looking back at him, his forehead creasing on worry and his
lips parted on concern.
“Kaga,” he breathes, relief as audible in his tone as it is washing across his
expression. “You were gone a while, I was about to come and check on you.”
“To what, make sure I hadn’t collapsed on the kitchen floor?” Kaga snaps. “Stop
making such a fuss over a couple minutes.” He swallows a mouthful of the beer
in his hand and drops to sit heavily on the couch alongside Tsutsui; he’s close
enough that their knees touch when he leans forward to set the beer on the
table. “You’ve got to learn to lighten up, you know.”
Tsutsui is still frowning, still gazing at Kaga with that focus in his eyes
that Kaga can’t stand to have turned on him. “You really might have,” he says,
his voice trembling but loud enough to leave no question of his attention to
this subject. “That’s not something to joke about, you did pass out yesterday.”
“Fuck,” Kaga groans, “You talk too much,” and he’s leaning in and reaching out
to press his hand to the back of Tsutsui’s head and hold the other still for
the press of his mouth. Tsutsui goes stiff at the contact, his shoulders
tensing and his mouth coming open on shock, and it’s not intended as an
invitation but Kaga takes it anyway, licking in against the heat of Tsutsui’s
parted lips so he can taste the heat off the other’s tongue. Tsutsui whimpers
something, like he’s trying to give voice to words stalled out at Kaga’s mouth,
and Kaga pulls back for a minute as his vision spins, as his head begins to
pound with the start of pressure weighting painfully at his temples.
“Kaga,” Tsutsui gasps as Kaga pulls back, his breathing coming fast and his
hand coming out to grab at Kaga’s shoulder, to press his fingers against the
line of the other’s shirt. “I. We should--”
“Stop talking,” Kaga growls, and he means it as a command but it breaks in his
throat, unravels itself somehow until it spills from his lips with a strange,
aching force on it. He wants to say he doesn’t mean it as a plea, wants to come
back from the edge of desperation he can hear in his throat; but he doesn’t
know how to reel his voice back to stability, and Tsutsui’s eyes are going wide
behind his glasses, his lips are parting onto the beginnings of some unvoiced
sympathy. Kaga doesn’t want his sympathy, doesn’t want his pity; but Tsutsui is
nodding, his gaze dropping in overt surrender, and when Kaga leans back in
Tsutsui lifts his chin to meet the press of the other’s mouth against his lips.
His hand at Kaga’s shoulder slides sideways, comes up to tangle fingers into
the other’s hair, and Kaga’s head is pounding but he ignores it the same way he
ignores the odd lightheaded rush of the beer he’s drunk that is making him feel
distant and detached from the world. Better to shove Tsutsui back against the
couch, to pin him to the support at his back with one hand while Kaga pushes
another up under the loose of his shirt, better to turn and press his knees to
the cushion under him so he can slide in closer, so he can get his hips pressed
flush against Tsutsui’s under him. Kaga’s head is ringing, now, the sound
humming loud enough to drown out the faint sounds of heat in Tsutsui’s throat
he can feel vibrating against his lips, but that’s fine, it doesn’t matter, he
doesn’t have to hear the other to feel the way Tsutsui trembles under him in
time with the push of Kaga’s hand over the bare skin of his chest. Kaga’s going
to strip his jeans off, he thinks dizzily, going to get his fingers in against
Tsutsui’s cock and jerk him off fast so he’s still breathless with heat when
Kaga comes closer to straddle Tsutsui’s chest and press the heat of his cock
against the damp part of Tsutsui’s mouth, to slide in over the warm wet of his
lips the same way he’s licking into the other’s mouth right now. He’ll do it,
he thinks, forcing the thoughts past the thud of pain at his temples, his
headache will fade and--
-- the world tipping, gravity skidding --
-- his hands flexing, his shoulders tensing, his whole body jerking so taut he
can’t breathe, he can’t think, he can’t --
And everything, even Tsutsui, flickers to black.
 
It’s the weight Kaga feels first.
His whole body feels drained, achy, as if he had run a marathon and entirely
forgotten about the strain of it settling into his bones and blood. It’s an
effort to open his eyes, a struggle to take a breath; he feels the ache in his
chest, in his chest, spanning out until he can feel every individual finger
pressing against the floor like some impossible weight he’s too shaky-weak to
lift. His lashes shift, his eyes open slowly; and over him, a desperate skid of
sound, “Kaga” in a tone Kaga’s never heard from Tsutsui’s lips before.
“Jesus,” he manages. He’d never realized, before, how much physical exertion is
needed for speech. “Calm down.”
“Kaga,” Tsutsui says again, and Kaga tips his head incrementally to the side,
his vision hazing with the action before coming to some measure of clarity on
Tsutsui’s face. He’s leaning over Kaga, the glow of the light behind him aching
pain into Kaga’s thoughts; Kaga realizes he’s on some flat surface, that he’s
lying on his back on something too uncomfortable to be the couch. That seems
wrong, seems like he should be somewhere else, like he was somewhere else; but
his head spikes pain when he tries to reach for the memory, stabbing hurt out
into his thoughts until he flinches from the attempt and closes his eyes, and
there’s a touch at his hair, fingers feathering into the strands to smooth them
back and away from his face as Tsutsui takes a hiccuping inhale over him. “It’s
okay, just stay still, it’s going to be alright.”
“Of course it is,” Kaga grates. His chest is still aching. Speech is a
struggle. “What happened?”
“You--” Tsutsui starts, and then his voice breaks off so sharply that Kaga
opens his eyes again just for what insight the other’s expression will offer
him. Tsutsui’s eyes are wet, they overflow with tears even as Kaga blinks up at
him; his whole face is wet, Kaga realizes, his cheeks damp with the tracks of
emotion he hasn’t bothered to wipe off. It’s proof of a gap of time larger than
Kaga had expected, longer than he realized; he grimaces at the thought,
attempting the weight of a frown and not sure his expression manages anything
other than slack exhaustion.
Tsutsui closes his mouth, swallows back a wave of emotion; when he takes
another inhale it catches in his throat and stutters audibly, but his voice is
clear enough when he speaks. “You had another seizure.”
There’s more to it than that. Collapsing alone wouldn’t be enough to make
Tsutsui dissolve so completely into tears, a few lost seconds wouldn’t account
for the tremor in the fingers he’s still sliding through Kaga’s hair. But Kaga
doesn’t want to know, doesn’t want to know why Tsutsui is so sure of this
diagnosis, so he stays quiet while Tsutsui struggles himself through another
deliberate inhale. “I called an ambulance, they should be here soon. Just stay
still and breathe, okay?”
“Yeah,” Kaga says. I’m fine, is what he’d like to insist. I don’t need to go to
the hospital. But he can’t get the words out -- the shape of the lie is too
much, even for him -- so he clears his throat instead and says “Stop crying,”
with as much rough command as he can manage on the back of his tongue.
Tsutsui nods. “Yes,” he says, and lifts a hand to swipe at tears that are
replaced with new ones as fast as he sweeps them aside. “It’s fine.”
It’s not fine. Kaga’s not sure anything will ever be fine again. But his head
is spinning too much for him to think, and his body is aching too much for him
to move, and so he shuts his eyes and lets Tsutsui’s fingers stroke through his
hair in counterpoint to the catch of the other’s continued hiccuping sobs.
He thinks he’d like to stay down a little longer before he has to rise to the
surface.
***** Fragile *****
The apartment is quiet when Tsutsui gets home from classes.
He thinks, at first, that Kaga might be asleep. The other looked exhausted when
they got him home this morning and was shaky enough on his feet that he had to
hold Tsutsui’s shoulder for the walk from the taxi to the front door. By the
time they were inside Kaga beelined for his bedroom without pausing to take off
his shoes, and Tsutsui had left him collapsed atop the tangle of his bedsheets
face-down and with his shoulders hunched on enough tension to repel even the
idea of any further comfort. Tsutsui had to go to class -- he can’t afford to
miss a day of lecture at this point in the year -- but he’s not sure how
valuable his attendance was in any case, not when he spent the whole of his
lectures worrying about Kaga anyway. There was no contact from the other,
either direct text messages or responses to the few queries Tsutsui sent
throughout the day, and by the time he makes it back with the sunlight dimming
to orange across the sky he wonders if Kaga has managed to slip into the rest
his expression so clearly indicated he needed. He’s thinking about it as he
slips his shoes off in the doorway, careful as he pads down the hallway in
consideration of the possibility; Kaga’s door is still cracked open, and
Tsutsui is delicate about pushing it wider, just in case the other is still
lost to dreams. But Kaga is awake after all, lying on his back over the
mattress with an arm angled over his forehead and staring blankly at the
ceiling, and that makes Tsutsui hesitate in the doorway, suddenly uncertain of
his welcome.
Kaga doesn’t look at him, doesn’t shift at all to acknowledge his presence,
but: “Could you get me a glass of water?” he asks, his voice flat and strange
stripped of its usual burden of aggressive force. He doesn’t move the arm he
has shadowing his eyes, doesn’t shift the fingers splayed idly across his
stomach; but there’s no question of his request, even if he looks entirely
unaware of Tsutsui’s presence otherwise.
“Oh,” Tsutsui says, in a strangely soft voice he doesn’t completely intend. It
seems suited to the stillness of the room, as if it’s a sickbed or far later at
night than it is in truth. “Yes. I’ll be right back.”
He runs the water cold, hesitating over the possibility of adding ice; but the
apartment is comfortably cool already, and Kaga rarely bothers with ice except
on the very hottest of summer days, so Tsutsui leaves it and comes back to the
half-open bedroom door with glass in hand. Kaga’s still right where Tsutsui
left him; he hasn’t shifted at all in the few minutes the other has been gone.
Tsutsui wonders if he’s moved at all since this morning.
“Here,” he offers from the doorway, extending the glass slightly as if to
indicate what he’s brought with him. “Where do you--”
“Bring it here,” Kaga tells him without giving Tsutsui time to finish his
thought. Tsutsui pauses, feeling like he’s crossing some kind of critical
barrier; but then Kaga shifts on the bed, sliding his elbow down under himself
as he starts to turn sideways to sit up, and Tsutsui moves forward reflexively,
his free hand reaching out as if to offer support. Kaga doesn’t really need the
help by the time Tsutsui reaches him -- he’s all but upright over the sheets
already -- but Tsutsui still touches his fingertips to the other’s shoulder,
still braces his hand against Kaga’s arm as he drops to his knees in front of
the other’s bed.
“Here,” he says again, offering the glass of water for Kaga. “Can you hold it?”
“Jesus fuck,” Kaga sighs. “Yes, I can hold a glass of water, I’m not an
invalid.” His voice is weaker than it usually is, even the edge of the curses
on his tongue falling shaky without their familiar force; when he reaches out
for the glass Tsutsui can see his fingers trembling, can feel the uncertainty
of the other’s grip on the cup. There’s a moment when they’re both bracing the
glass; then Kaga’s forehead creases, his mouth draws into a frown, and he pulls
the cup free of Tsutsui’s hold with enough force to slosh the water against the
inside edge.
“I’m fine,” he says again without meeting Tsutsui’s gaze as he lifts the cup to
his mouth. His first swallow is tentative, like he’s not quite sure of the
motion; the second is steadier, gaining certainty as his hold on the cup
steadies, and Tsutsui can feel some of the stress in his shoulders ease as
Kaga’s hesitant motion stabilizes.
“How are you feeling?” Tsutsui ventures as Kaga finishes half the water and
lowers it to take a breath that sounds as difficult as the motion to lift the
cup was.
“Awful,” Kaga says, his voice dragging as if to underline the claim. “I feel
like I fell down a whole flight of stairs and have a godawful hangover.” He
tips his head forward and draws his arm free of Tsutsui’s hold to press a hand
to his forehead. “Everything is like it’s happening really far away.”
Tsutsui grimaces. “Maybe I should call the doctor again.”
Kaga jerks his head into negation. “Don’t bother.” He swallows another mouthful
of water. “They said I’d feel like shit for a few days. Nothing they can do
about it other than give me pain meds.”
“Do you want some?”
“Took some while you were gone.” Kaga swallows the last of the water and shoves
the empty glass towards Tsutsui. The weight of it smacks against Tsutsui’s
chest, his hand comes up involuntarily to catch at it, and Kaga’s gaze skips up
to his face for the first time since Tsutsui came into the room. His eyes are
dark, his lashes dipping heavy over the color like he’s struggling to hold them
up; his lips are chapped, his whole expression dragging on exhaustion. Tsutsui
wonders if he really did take any pain meds, wonders if he moved out of bed at
all; Kaga looks like he’s struggling to sit upright, as if it’s only absolute
force of will that has brought him this far from horizontal in the first place.
There’s a moment of quiet, the both of them staring at each other from a too-
close range; Tsutsui wonders what Kaga is reading off his own expression, if
the other can see the affection aching inside Tsutsui’s chest as clearly as the
worry he’s sure is painted clear behind his eyes.
Tsutsui clears his throat. His fingers tighten against the glass. “Do you want
more water?”
Kaga’s gaze flickers down, his eyes landing at Tsutsui’s lips as if he’s
reading the words off the other’s mouth. His lashes flutter, his mouth shifts;
for a brief, shocking heartbeat Tsutsui thinks Kaga’s about to kiss him, that
he’s about to lean in over the gap between them and press his mouth to
Tsutsui’s even absent the bitter tang of alcohol catching to his tongue. But
then Kaga looks away, his gaze sliding off Tsutsui’s face to drag idly over the
tangle of the sheets next to him, and when he says “No,” he sounds as tired as
if he’s about to collapse back to the bed the moment Tsutsui turns his back.
“Okay.” Tsutsui gets to his feet slowly; he wants to stall, wants to urge Kaga
back down to the bed and stroke the dark of the other’s hair back from his
face, wants to settle the warm comfort of a kiss against Kaga’s set mouth or
the crease of pain in his forehead. But it might not be a comfort, he thinks,
it might just be yet another source of stress, so he stands up instead, and
when he moves his hands it’s to clasp the glass of water between both palms
instead of giving in to the urge to reach out for Kaga’s hair. “Do you want me
to shut the door?”
Kaga shrugs. “It’s fine like it is,” he says. He’s leaning sideways towards the
bed, tipping himself down like he can’t quite stay upright; Tsutsui lets him
go, turning away to move towards the half-open door so he can leave Kaga to the
peace of solitude again. It’s just as he’s reaching to touch the edge of the
frame and slip through that Kaga speaks again, “Tsutsui” slow and so quiet it’s
almost a whisper.
Tsutsui stops immediately and looks back to where Kaga is lying on his side
across his bed staring at the wall. “Yes?”
“Thanks.” Kaga’s not looking at Tsutsui; he’s looking straight ahead, his eyes
fixed with complete attention on the other side of the room. It’s as if Tsutsui
isn’t there, like Kaga’s speaking to the open air instead of to the other
person in the room with him; but Tsutsui’s throat still goes tight, his chest
still tenses on sudden emotion he can’t find an outlet for.
“Of course,” he says, matching that soft almost-whisper of Kaga’s tone. “I’m
glad to help.”
Kaga doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t even shift to acknowledge Tsutsui’s
voice. He just stays still, lying over his bed like he’s too bone-deep tired to
even lift his head, and after another moment of watching him Tsutsui turns back
to the door and slips out into the hallway.
The curve of the glass is warm against his palms.
***** Voice *****
Kaga hates his medication.
There aren’t any major side effects. The only real change it seems to have on
his body is to smooth off the rough edge of the headaches that have apparently
been forewarnings for the brief seizures that have been stealing his
consciousness for the span of minutes at a time for the last several weeks, and
Kaga has no problem at all with seeing those gone. But every day when he opens
the bottle of pills he has to look at the label stuck to the side warning
against alcohol consumption, and every day taking his daily dose feels like
taking a vow of celibacy. By the end of the first week his headaches are gone,
his dizziness has evaporated, and he hasn’t touched Tsutsui at all except
accidentally, when they pass too close by each other in the hallway or when
Kaga hands over a stack of plates after dinner and Tsutsui’s fingers brush his.
He thinks, sometimes, about drawing those moments long, about constructing some
excuse just for a few extra seconds of physical contact; and then the nausea
hits, carried on guilt this time instead of alcohol, and he retreats to his
bedroom to lean back against the locked door and try to fight back the reaction
he can feel like flame running all through his veins. He can’t escape the heat
in him any more than he can deny it, though he tries both; without the buffer
of intoxication in him he can’t even take action to gain temporary satisfaction
in the gentle surrender of Tsutsui’s body under his. Any attempt he takes at
solo relief is so unsatisfying it just leaves him more frustrated than before,
and all his fantasies of vaguely feminine forms with unclear faces have
dissolved past the point of return. He thinks he might gain some satisfaction
if he could let himself slip into memory, if he could pull up the recollection
of Tsutsui’s face going slack with heat and the sound of Tsutsui’s voice
breaking over the shape of Kaga’s name; but then the guilt sweeps through him,
too sour and miserable to allow him even this indulgence, and in the end he
goes to stand in yet another of the cold showers that are becoming a more-than-
daily routine for him.
He thinks about drinking, too. Tsutsui is gone for much of the day, between
classes and tutoring, and Kaga’s commute to matches is long enough now with the
removal of his motorcycle license that he has more than enough excuse to
explain away an extra hour or two of lost time. He could stop by a bar, or even
a convenience store, could down a beer or two and ease the unbearable pressure
that weights over the back of his thoughts; but then he thinks of Tsutsui, of
the catch of the other’s breathing on sobs of relief and the damp of tears
shining on his cheeks as he leaned in over Kaga after the other’s last seizure,
and however impossible bearing the burden alone may seem making Tsutsui cry
like that is a true barrier that Kaga can’t face even in his imagination. So he
goes home to the dark of the empty apartment and the cold of his empty bed, and
he stares out into the gathering dusk of evening and wonders how long his
restraint will last.
The answer, as it turns out, is about two weeks.
Tsutsui is out later than usual. Kaga hasn’t made an effort to memorize the
other’s schedule -- it’s not like it ought to make a difference to him when his
roommate comes home -- but without the distraction of a beer to while away the
hours he knows, now, when Tsutsui usually arrives, and knows that it’s almost
two hours past that by the time he hears the click of a key in the front door.
Tsutsui’s careful coming in, stepping with the delicate tread that comes with
the late hours of the evening, as if he really thinks Kaga’s not still awake;
it makes Kaga scowl unseen, makes him speak up at once.
“You’re home late,” he calls from the kitchen, pitching his voice deliberately
louder to override the care Tsutsui is showing at the door. “What happened?”
There’s a pause, the silence speaking to Tsutsui hesitating at the entryway.
“Kaga,” he says, and Kaga can hear the brief rustle of resumed movement. “I
didn’t think you were still up.”
“Sorry to spoil your attempt at sneaking in late,” Kaga snaps. Tsutsui emerges
from the hallway, his cheeks flushed from the chill of the night air and his
hair tousled by the wind or by anxious fingers; Kaga only glances at him for a
moment before he turns to stare fixedly out the window again. “Hoping to have a
good time on your own for once?”
“What?” Tsutsui asks, sounding more than a little confused. “No. Tutoring went
long and I missed the last direct train and had to wait for the connection.” He
comes closer to the table, unwinding the dark of his scarf from around his neck
to drape carefully over the back of the other chair before he sits down and
starts unbuttoning his coat. “If I had known you were waiting up I would have
called.”
“I wasn’t waiting up,” Kaga growls. “I don’t care what you were doing.”
Tsutsui glances up at Kaga, meeting the other’s gaze for just a moment before
he looks away and shrugs his jacket down and off his shoulders. “It was just
work.”
Kaga can feel his shoulders tense, can feel the weight of strain building to
impossible levels over the last few weeks cresting along the length of his
spine and pressing to sharp-edged adrenaline at the back of his thoughts.
Tsutsui’s not meeting his gaze; he had his chin ducked down so Kaga can’t see
his expression as he folds the jacket over his lap with deliberate attention.
He twists in his chair, turning to drape the coat over the back of the frame;
and Kaga’s gaze catches at the side of his neck, at a faint mark of red like a
rash or the print of lingering heat on the other’s skin. Suspicion whips
through him, latches hard around the curl of his fingers into fists, and when
he growls “What’s that” he doesn’t recognize his own voice for the low hiss on
the sound.
Tsutsui lifts his head, his eyes wide and unsuspicious. “What?”
“That,” Kaga snaps, and he’s pushing forward out of his chair, reaching out
over the distance of the table to grab at the collar of Tsutsui’s shirt.
Tsutsui hisses an inhale, his whole body canting forward in response to the
drag of Kaga’s touch, but Kaga doesn’t hesitate; the strain in him has broken
free, it’s tensing his fingers into a fist on Tsutsui’s shirt while he slides
his thumb in up the curve of the other’s bare neck and to the faint red mark.
“The fuck, Tsutsui, can’t your employer be a little more restrained about the
marks she leaves?”
“What?” Tsutsui gasps. He has a hand thrown out to brace against the tabletop,
has his whole weight tipped forward in immediate surrender to Kaga’s touch, and
Kaga can feel his blood burn like fire in his veins, can feel the satisfaction
of Tsutsui’s submission flare electricity up the whole length of his spine.
“What are you talking about?”
“Or no,” Kaga spits. “You wouldn’t go back to a woman now, would you? Did you
stop off at some bar on the way home? Got tired of spending your evenings
without any fun and thought you’d see who you could seduce with a drink?” The
red is fading under Kaga’s touch -- it’s not the bruised-in bite mark he
thought it was in the first flare of unwarranted jealousy -- but his
imagination is reeling, now, spiraling itself down into possibility without
needing the least help from the alcohol he hasn’t had in days. “Did you let him
fuck you in the bathroom, Tsutsui, with his hand over your mouth so no one
would hear you moan like a whore? Did you even bother to ask his name?”
“Stop,” Tsutsui snaps, and his hand comes sideways, his arm swinging with
surprising force to shove Kaga’s touch away from his neck. Kaga’s thumb slips
away, his grip on Tsutsui’s shirt pulling the fabric off-center before he lets
it go, but Tsutsui doesn’t reach to straighten it to cover the line of his
collarbone under the neckline. He’s staring up at Kaga, his eyes dark and his
mouth set, and his eyes are shining with tears but his lips are steady, his
frown doesn’t show the least sign of trembling. “I didn’t go to a bar. I didn’t
sleep with anyone, my employer or otherwise. The last person who touched me was
you.” Kaga is breathless, his heart is pounding itself to frantic panic inside
his chest, but there’s no slur of alcohol to soften the blow of memory, this
time, and Tsutsui is still talking, still setting out words like the last moves
of some game Kaga didn’t realize he was playing until the conclusion settled
around him. “You never talk about it and you don’t have to talk about it but I
didn’t sleep with you on accident, and I didn’t keep sleeping with you on
accident. Don’t act like it’s something I did just because I got drunk, Kaga,
I’ve been in love with you since middle school and everything I did I did
knowing perfectly well what I was getting into.”
Tsutsui hasn’t moved from his lean over the table, hasn’t lifted a hand to so
much as gesture towards Kaga; but Kaga feels like he’s been punched, as if the
weight of Tsutsui’s words curled into a fist and slammed low against his
ribcage to blow all the air out of his lungs at once. Tsutsui’s voice seems to
carry a weight on it, an echo of force to reverberate in the air around them:
what I was getting into, and just because I got drunk, and bright over the top,
too direct and too clear for Kaga to turn away from: in love with you,
clenching tight around his heart like Tsutsui is speaking for him, as if
Tsutsui has taken the words Kaga has always tried to turn away from and given
them voice on the other’s behalf. There’s no way to turn aside, no way to dodge
this, and the thought comes clear too, crystalline and as painfully bright as a
headache behind Kaga’s temples: I love you too, the words he hasn’t let himself
so much as think over all the years they’ve had together.
“Tsutsui,” he says, his voice cracking in the back of his throat, on anger or
tears or relief he can’t tell, or maybe it’s all three together, maybe it’s
that the emotion in his chest is spiking too high for him to cut meaningless
separations via the edges of words. Tsutsui is still staring up at him, and his
mouth is still set like he never intends to relax it; but his eyes are bright
with unshed tears, his lashes working overtime to catch the damp back from
surrendering to full droplets, and Kaga can’t speak but the pressure in his
chest won’t let him breathe either, and the adrenaline crackling all against
the length of his spine demands action of some sort. So he moves, blindly,
without thinking and without hesitating, his hand coming up to catch and curl
around the back of Tsutsui’s head; and Tsutsui’s lashes flutter, and a tear
breaks free to trickle across his cheek, but his mouth is easing like all his
resistance is melting, like Kaga’s touch is flame enough to undo whatever cold
anger was so fixed along his jaw, and when Kaga’s mouth crushes against his
Tsutsui makes a helpless whimper of relief that echoes the shudder of
satisfaction that runs through all Kaga’s body.
Until he finds voice of his own, Kaga will let Tsutsui speak for the both of
them.
***** Spoken *****
Kaga is not any gentler sober.
Tsutsui didn’t really expect it of him. He didn’t really expect any of this,
honestly; whatever mental contortions Kaga was doing to leave whatever is
between them unacknowledged, they clearly required some level of intoxication
on his part. After the catastrophic first attempt at drinking post-diagnosis
Tsutsui had resigned himself to...whatever Kaga wanted to give him, whatever
Kaga was willing to give him, and if he felt the ache of loss against the
inside of his chest when he went to his own bedroom alone each night, at least
he didn’t have an audience to see. He could settle for this, Tsutsui told
himself, could cope with going back to just roommates and just friends and
leave the romance between them as some brief foray into the life with Kaga he
couldn’t have. But Kaga couldn’t cope, apparently, could no more leave what
they had untouched than Tsutsui can leave it unremembered, and whatever he is
doing to come to terms with that apparently leaves enough space for the press
of his mouth against Tsutsui’s, and the drag of his hands over Tsutsui’s skin,
and the weight of his body bearing Tsutsui down against the almost-familiar
sheets of the other’s bed. Kaga is rough with his hands, rougher than usual, as
if the alcohol smoothed and levelled off some of his natural aggression into a
measure of grace; but there’s no grace now, no elegance to the force of his
touch as he thrusts lube-slick fingers hard into Tsutsui with no more warning
than the weight of his touch against the other’s skin. Tsutsui jerks with the
friction, his spine curving into an arc of almost-protest; but he’s gasping for
breath, his whole body glowing like he’s coming alive, and he doesn’t tell Kaga
to stop, and Kaga doesn’t, just works him open with desperate haste before he
draws his hand back and replaces the stretch of his fingers with the heat of
his cock. His first thrust is as rough as his touch was, hard enough to skid
Tsutsui back over the sheets and to flex his whole body involuntarily tight
around the intrusion; but the sound of his whimper comes out as a moan, and his
hands reach for Kaga’s hair to pull him closer instead of for his shoulders to
push him away, and when Kaga ducks his head in against Tsutsui’s neck Tsutsui
can feel his heart speeding in time with the vicious rhythm of the other’s
movement into him.
“Fuck,” Kaga is gasping into his shoulder, panting the word like it’s a part of
his breathing, like his exhales come easier around the sound than they would
unburdened. “Tsutsui, fuck, I missed you.”
“Kaga,” Tsutsui manages, his voice breaking even over the few syllables, and
then Kaga drives into him so hard he can feel himself slip over the bed with
the impact. The force of it sparks up his spine to white out his vision for a
brief moment; when his legs flex hard around Kaga’s hips it’s a reflexive
motion more than an attempt to hold himself still. “Oh.”
“Shit,” Kaga groans. His hand slides down Tsutsui’s waist, his fingers dig in
hard against the other’s hip. “That felt good, do that again.”
“What?” Tsutsui gasps. “I don’t--” and Kaga thrusts into him again, and his
vision flickers incoherent for another span of time, his voice spilling out of
him in the form of an unintended moan of heat.
“Tsutsui,” Kaga growls again, and moves once more, his fingers tensing at
Tsutsui’s hip to hold the other still against the rocking force of his
movement. Tsutsui’s hands tighten in the other’s hair, his fingers curling to
fists as if that will be enough to hold Kaga still where he is, or maybe to
ground out Tsutsui’s own awareness against the dizzying force of Kaga moving
into him; but Kaga’s not pulling away anyway, he’s pushing in closer, gasping
air against the heat of Tsutsui’s shirt and the side of his neck. “You--you
feel so good, why are you--” He breaks off into a gasp, his fingers tensing and
then easing at Tsutsui’s hip; his knee slides wider against the mattress, his
movements gain force. “Just me?”
Tsutsui isn’t sure what exactly Kaga is referring to; kissing, or sex, or
desire, or the love spreading to fill all the inside of his chest until he can
barely breathe with it, until he feels like the rush of his heartbeat is going
wild with desperation to match the pressure against his ribs. He still doesn’t
need to hesitate; the answer is the same in any case, when it comes to Kaga.
“Yes,” he pants, and louder, breaking open against the jolt of Kaga thrusting
into him, “Ah, god, yes, Kaga, just you.”
“Say my name,” Kaga orders, command filling his voice and running through
Tsutsui like an electrical current. “Tell me.”
“Just you,” Tsutsui repeats, obedient to Kaga’s demand in this as in
everything. His head is spinning, his breathing catching; he feels like he’s
being crushed, like every inhale might be his last for the heat and the
pressure of Kaga over him, and he doesn’t want to ever be anywhere else.
“Tetsuo.”
“God,” Kaga groans, his rhythm stuttering out-of-pattern for a moment before he
can collect himself. “Fuck, Tsutsui, I love you so much.” Tsutsui’s breath
stalls, his eyes go wide, but Kaga isn’t lifting his head; he’s turning in
closer instead, tipping his head against Tsutsui’s throat and pressing his
mouth hard against the other’s skin. There’s a catch of teeth, the threat of
pain for a heartbeat; but the ache unravels to sensation in Tsutsui’s veins,
his gasp goes to a groan, and when his hands tighten it’s to pull Kaga in
closer against him rather than to push him away.
“Yeah,” Kaga growls, and bites at Tsutsui’s throat again, his teeth catching
and scoring an ache that burns to shuddering sensation down Tsutsui’s spine and
twitches against his cock caught between Kaga’s hips and his own. His back
curves, his body trying to rock up involuntarily towards Kaga, but Kaga’s hand
just tightens at his hip, pushing down harder like he thinks Tsutsui is trying
to struggle free. “You’re mine. Just mine.” Another drag of teeth, another
flare of heat. Tsutsui can feel his breathing catching and shivering in the
back of his throat. “You love me.”
“I do,” Tsutsui says. “I love you, Tetsuo.”
“You do” and Kaga’s biting him again, his teeth catching just under the line of
Tsutsui’s jaw and his lips pressing hot against the other’s skin like he’s
trying to tattoo the print of his mouth against Tsutsui’s throat. It must be
leaving a mark, Tsutsui can feel the ache of a bruise forming even without
needing to see, but he doesn’t care; he tips his head to the side, surrenders
the line of his neck to Kaga’s teeth, and Kaga’s leaving a whole chain of marks
down his neck, biting and sucking like he wants the feel of Tsutsui’s skin
giving way to his teeth just as much as the give of the other’s body opening
for the heavy force of his thrusts. He’s breathing harder, Tsutsui can feel it
against him, Kaga’s inhales catching hard until they sound almost like sobs,
like emotion breaking free of the other’s control to spill hot across Tsutsui’s
skin; but Kaga doesn’t lift his head, and Tsutsui is too dazed with heat to try
to angle for a glimpse anyway. His eyes are open but he’s not seeing the room
around him, not focusing on any of the details of Kaga’s personal life arrayed
around the space of the bed; he’s just gazing at the ceiling, the clean white
of it as blank as his thoughts, his whole body shaking with rising tension he
has no interest in holding back. Kaga’s mouth is at his skin, Kaga’s cock is
moving into him, and Tsutsui can feel his awareness of the present moment
coming undone, melting into the shape of Kaga’s name framed on his lips, Tetsuo
and love repeated over and over in shape if not in sound. He thinks he could
stay here forever, hovering just on the cusp of satisfaction without quite
breaking over it; and then Kaga says “Shit,” like he’s just thought of
something, and his hold at Tsutsui’s hip goes slack, his fingers drag sideways
to push between the overheated press of their bodies. “You should--” and his
hand closes around Tsutsui’s length, his fingers pressing sudden friction
against the heat of flushed skin. Tsutsui’s hips jerk, his whole body trying to
buck up towards the weight of Kaga’s hold, and Kaga huffs something incoherent
against his shoulder and strokes up over him with more force than care. It’s
too much, Tsutsui can feel the burn and the ache of the sudden friction
dragging up over him; but he was close already, he was hovering at the edge
before Kaga touched him, and the tension straining along his spine inverts what
would be pain into heat, into radiance, into a shove to topple him over the
breathless almost and into enough all at once. His back arches, his cock jerks,
and when he comes it’s with Kaga’s name on his lips breaking into audibility as
all the air in his lungs spills from him in a rush of helpless sensation. Over
him Kaga is panting, growling “Tsutsui, fuck, yeah, come for me, let me feel
you, you feel so good” but Tsutsui can’t answer him even if he had the words
for it; all he can do it to cling to Kaga’s hair and gasp for air and quake
through the jolts of sensation rushing through him with each of the other’s
movements.
By the time Kaga lets him go to brace a hand hard against the bed and resume a
frantic-fast pace of his thrusts Tsutsui’s breathless, hazy, his thoughts
scattered and his heart pounding and his whole body still quivering with
aftershocks. Kaga’s moving faster, harder, his rhythm fracturing apart as he
gasps incoherent pleas into Tsutsui’s shoulder; and then he tenses, and groans,
and goes still as he spills into the other’s body. Kaga’s skin is hot against
Tsutsui’s, his whole body trembling with effort and relief and heat at once,
and Tsutsui lets his hold in Kaga’s hair go gentle and lets his fingers stroke
down against the sweat-damp of hair against the other’s neck in the idle
affection that is the most his hazy coordination can provide. Kaga lets the
brace of his hand go, lets himself fall heavy against Tsutsui under him like he
can’t stand to support the weight of his own body anymore; it’s hard to breathe
under the pressure but Tsutsui doesn’t try to push Kaga off any more than he
attempts to untangle his legs from the open angle he’s made around Kaga’s hips.
He lets the ache radiate through his body, lets it settle into him the same way
the prints of Kaga’s mouth are settling into his skin, and when he shifts it’s
only to turn his head to the side so he can brush his lips against Kaga’s hair.
If Kaga notices the weight of the kiss, he doesn’t say anything, and Tsutsui
doesn’t try to find the breath to speak. They’ve both said far more already
than he ever expected to hear.
***** Apology *****
Kaga doesn’t sleep much that night.
He has a lot on his mind. Tsutsui slips away an hour after Kaga pulls him into
the bedroom to shove him down against the sheets and print all the proof of his
own internal surrender clear across the other’s skin; Kaga doesn’t turn to
watch him go, doesn’t acknowledge that he is still awake at all. But he is
awake, awake for the whole span of the shower running as Tsutsui cleans himself
up and through the vague, unformed sounds of the other getting ready for bed,
and finally into the silence that falls with the advent of true night, with the
whole world either asleep or quiet enough that they can pass for such. Kaga
thinks about taking a shower, thinks about getting up to watch television, or
review games, or do anything except lie still and trapped by the contortions of
his own thoughts; but thinking is all he can do, and that is all he does for
the whole long hours of the night. There’s a lot to process, half-repressed
memories and held-back admissions and the sound of his name at Tsutsui’s mouth,
the taste of Tsutsui’s skin under his lips, the relief of capitulation to the
awareness he’s been trying to avoid for years, for maybe the whole of his life.
But there’s no one to see him now, no one to judge him for the few hours he has
to himself tonight, and so Kaga lies still in bed and lets himself align love
and Tsutsui in his mind, lets himself close his eyes and feel the knowledge of
that -- the implications of that -- sink into his identity like rocks thrown
into a clear pond.
He doesn’t know if he feels better by the morning. The guilt has eased, at
least; it’s strange to stir from the idle doze he slipped into and not have his
usual self-loathing waiting for him when he finally sits up in bed. There’s not
happiness either, not really contentment; his mind is quiet, still, utterly
blank as if this new admission even just to himself has cleared away everything
he has built to defend himself over the past few years and left his thoughts a
clear surface to be covered with something Kaga doesn’t yet know about. He
takes a shower like that, with his eyes open and his thoughts ringing to quiet,
dries his hair and brushes his teeth and returns to his bedroom for clean
clothes and still there’s nothing, just stillness, like the quiet of the world
after a violent storm has passed. Kaga gets dressed, wondering vaguely if he’ll
feel like this all the time, now, if he’ll be able to live his life from the
calm of this moment; it seems like it might be a relief, even if it strips away
the pleasure of satisfaction or the sharp-edged adrenaline that comes with
competition. It’s better than he’s been feeling, at least, and the relief of
losing that weight is such that he feels almost dizzy with it, like he’s gone
weightless and might just drift away from the support of the ground under his
feet. He makes his way down the hallway slowly, setting each foot deliberately,
and he makes a pot of coffee just as slowly, working through each step as
carefully as if he’s never done them before. He stands at the counter while the
coffee brews, watching the dark of the liquid slowly fill the pot for lack of
anything more engaging to watch before pouring himself a cup and going to sit
at the table with the curve of the ceramic cradled between both palms. He
stares into the cup for minutes, until the coffee is cool enough to drink
without a burn, and when he does swallow a mouthful it’s slowly, working
through the motion methodically and feeling a little like the whole world might
suddenly come undone if he acts too quickly. The coffee tastes good; it’s rich
at the back of his tongue, bitter against his mouth but saturated with all the
tells his body has learned to recognize as promising impending caffeine and the
more satisfying for them. Kaga can feel that one mouthful purr heat out into
the whole of his chest, as if the warmth of the liquid is spreading through his
veins and under his skin to warm him from the inside out in a way he’s never
noticed before. He wonders if it’s always been like this, if there’s something
different in him to feel it so strongly, if maybe he just never noticed the
change before; and then there’s a sound from the hallway, and Kaga looks up,
and Tsutsui is standing there.
He looks normal. There’s nothing unusual about his appearance; his clothes are
ordinary, his hair is tidy, his glasses are straight against the bridge of his
nose. He must have just gotten out of the shower -- the dark of his hair is
still shining with damp -- but that’s normal too, even if Kaga is usually the
one to take the second shower of the morning. There’s nothing about the way he
looks to account for the way Kaga’s chest suddenly tightens, or the way all the
careful calm of his awareness tenses on a rush of adrenaline; he can’t explain
why he suddenly feels like he can’t breathe any more than he can loosen the
press of his fingers against the side of his coffee cup.
“Morning,” Tsutsui says, offering a careful smile along with the word before he
looks aside and into the kitchen. “How’s the coffee?”
“It’s good,” Kaga says automatically, still staring at Tsutsui as the other
moves into the kitchen without looking back at him. There’s a shadow against
Tsutsui’s collar, a dark span of color over his skin, but Kaga barely spares it
a glance; he’s too caught by the calm across Tsutsui’s expression and the easy
familiarity in his movements as he goes to the cupboard to retrieve a cup and a
box of tea. “Want some?”
Tsutsui glances back at him, his mouth curving on a smile. “No, I’ll stick with
tea,” he says, gesturing vaguely with the box in his hand. “I appreciate the
offer.”
Kaga shrugs in response and falls silent again. Tsutsui doesn’t look back at
him; he doesn’t look self-conscious, looks as if nothing of note happened last
night at all. It makes Kaga frown, frustration and discomfort forming
themselves from the sudden tension that hit him at Tsutsui’s arrival, but
Tsutsui is looking down at the cup in his hands and doesn’t see that either. He
doesn’t turn back around until he has tea steeping in his cup and the ceramic
caught between both hands, and then his expression goes soft and startled all
at once as he sees the way Kaga is watching him.
“Are you alright?” he asks immediately, coming forward with greater speed than
the situation requires and nearly spilling water over his hands braced around
his cup. He makes a face at the shift and slows as he sets his mug down at the
table, but as soon as the tea is safely landed he’s turning back to frown
concern down at Kaga sitting across from him. “You look--” He breaks off, his
frown deepening; when he reaches out his fingers almost touch Kaga’s hair
before he visibly catches himself to pull his touch back from the verge of
contact. “Did you get enough sleep?”
Kaga shakes his head, both in answer to Tsutsui’s question and to negate the
importance of his answer to the subject at hand. “It’s not that,” he says, his
voice growling over on itself to something like the irritation he’s been caught
in for weeks, something that doesn’t fit quite right against the strange sharp
tension that has gripped him now. “Last night--” and then his attention drops
to Tsutsui’s neck, and his words die to silence entirely as he realizes what
the odd shadow is.
It’s bruises. There’s a whole line of them, crescent imprints of teeth and
darker red from tight-pressed lips trailing against Tsutsui’s collarbone and up
the curve of his throat to just below his ear, as if they’re trying to span and
mark all of the other’s skin with the purple and red of possession. They’re
collected all on one side, lopsided proof of where Kaga’s mouth was last night,
evidence of the desperate frustration that so gripped him as his self-denial
crumbled and gave way to complete abandon. Kaga barely remembers leaving them
at all; everything was too fast, hot and rushed and frantic until he remembers
emotion more than action, remembers the aching need to mark, to claim, to own
more than he does the actual feel of Tsutsui’s skin against his mouth. The
bruises run deep, he can see, the shape of his mouth printed so far into
Tsutsui’s body that it will linger for days; and Kaga’s lifting a hand without
thinking, his fingers stretching out to brush against the tracery of marks
before he has thought through the weight of physical contact his fingertips
carry. Tsutsui freezes under his touch, his whole body going as still as if
Kaga’s touch has shocked him, and Kaga flinches with the first shiver of guilt.
“Sorry,” he says. “Does it hurt?”
“What…?” Tsutsui starts. When Kaga looks up Tsutsui is staring at him as if
he’s never seen him before, as if he has entirely forgotten how language works.
He blinks once, hard, like he’s trying to center himself, swallows deliberately
before he continues. “No, it doesn’t hurt.”
“Jesus,” Kaga says, his attention dropping back to the pattern of bruising he
left spreading out under his fingers. “I didn’t mean to leave such a mark.” He
frowns, guilt feeding in on the strain in his chest and bleeding out to tense
his fingers against Tsutsui’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
Tsutsui doesn’t answer. When Kaga looks back to his face the other is staring
at him, his eyes wide and lips parted; he looks like he’s forgotten how to
breathe, or like he’s not entirely sure this is reality.
“What?” Kaga asks, the question coming out closer to a demand than he entirely
intended it to. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Tsutsui blinks. “You--” His forehead creases, his mouth works onto a flicker of
a frown; he looks perplexed, lost in the structure of their conversation as he
almost never appears to be. “You never talk about--”
He cuts himself off before he gets to the end of the sentence but Kaga doesn’t
need to hear the conclusion. He knows as well as Tsutsui does, after all, knows
that it’s his own silence that has kept them from mentioning anything about
what they are to each other for the months this has been going on. But it was
different, before, he wants to say, he was drunk and...and Tsutsui wasn’t,
Tsutsui has been letting Kaga do whatever he likes for days and weeks and
months without hiding behind the frail excuse of intoxication far too minimal
to account for the passive disregard Kaga has been giving to their evenings.
Kaga can feel guilt spill into him from the shock in Tsutsui’s eyes, can feel
the retroactive burden of all those weeks he’s been leaving Tsutsui in silence
in the confusion in the other’s face now that he’s acknowledging what he did
the night before.
But it’s different, Kaga’s mind insists. It was different. You told me you
loved me. But it’s not different, Tsutsui’s confusion says, it has never been
anything different than what it was last night; and Kaga can feel the weight of
that pressing against his chest, and aching in his throat, and burning to
sudden, bright awareness behind his eyes until when he blinks his vision goes
hazy with damp.
“Oh,” he says, and his voice comes out strange and strained on that unfamiliar
emotion in his throat. “Tsutsui.” His hand falls from Tsutsui’s bruised neck,
drops down like it’s being called by the earth; but his fingers catch at the
soft of fabric, his hold closes around the fall of Tsutsui’s shirt, and he’s
reaching out with his other hand too, fumbling for contact at Tsutsui’s waist
so he can loop his arm around the other and pull him in while Kaga ducks his
head and shuts his eyes hard against the threat of tears pressing at his
lashes. His breathing is catching, his throat too tight to allow for speech;
but Tsutsui is stepping closer in surrender to his pull, and there are fingers
landing gentle in Kaga’s hair, and when Tsutsui’s hands tug Kaga tips forward
to press his face hard against the other’s shirtfront and shudder through an
inhale that only barely manages to avoid turning into a sob over the strain in
his chest. Even restraining that does nothing for the damp spilling over Kaga’s
tight-shut eyes to soak into the front of Tsutsui’s shirt, and Kaga’s fairly
sure any deniability he might have once had is entirely gone; but then again,
he’s done more than enough denying for the both of them over the last several
weeks.
He might not be able to find the voice for a spoken apology, but the damp of
tears is more honesty than he’s offered by daylight in years.
***** Care *****
They don’t talk about it again for days.
Tsutsui isn’t surprised. It’s enough to leave him shocked already whenever he
thinks about it, that Kaga found the words for a confession, for an apology,
that he offered both without any of the inebriation that has so characterized
all his honesty in the past. By the time they rejoin over dinner Tsutsui is
half-expecting a return to vicious irritation, just as a way for Kaga to
recenter himself; but Kaga is quiet then too, abstracted and lost in his own
thoughts as they share the table but no conversation. He returns to his room
afterwards without initiating anything with Tsutsui, and Tsutsui doesn’t push
the subject; there’s enough shadows behind Kaga’s eyes already without him
adding to them, he thinks. Kaga’s out at a tournament most of the next day, and
Tsutsui’s gone at work the whole of the one after that; Kaga’s asleep by the
time he gets home, or at least behind the closed door of his bedroom with the
light switched off, so Tsutsui goes to bed and drifts into dreams as much
memory as fantasy, now.
Kaga’s home for dinner the next day. He arrives while Tsutsui is cooking in the
kitchen, calling an offhand “I’m home” before going to his room; Tsutsui stays
with the food, losing himself in the idle work of preparing a familiar meal
while he thinks about Kaga and tries to fit himself into the spaces of what
must be running through the other’s mind. He’s almost done cooking by the time
Kaga reemerges and is in the process of serving the food out of the pan and
onto plates when Kaga comes into the kitchen to take his and save Tsutsui a
trip to carry it over.
“Thanks,” Tsutsui says, and follows Kaga back to the table with his own meal.
Kaga still looks distracted as they sit down, his gaze unfocused like he’s
seeing something completely different than what’s in front of him; it leaves
Tsutsui free to watch him uninterrupted, to let his attention linger long
against the line of the other’s jaw and the soft of his mouth. There’s some
tension absent, some loss of strain that has always been there before; Tsutsui
can only recognize it was there in its absence now, it’s been such an
everpresent part of Kaga’s whole expression. There are the suggestion of
shadows under the other’s eyes, some hint at insufficient or restless sleep
caught into bruised-in exhaustion under his lashes; but he still looks calmer
than he did before, even if he’s handed off stress for sleeplessness. Tsutsui
keeps watching him, doesn’t realize he’s staring; it’s not until Kaga lifts his
head to say “What’re you looking at?” with some trace of his usual irritable
curiosity that Tsutsui blinks and recollects himself.
“Nothing.” He shakes his head free of his focus and looks back down at his
plate. “How did your match today go?”
“It was alright.” Kaga’s voice carries all the vocal range of a shrug; when
Tsutsui glances back up at him the other is looking down at his plate instead
of across the table. “I won, at least.”
Tsutsui blinks. “Oh. Oh. Congratulations.”
Kaga shrugs properly this time. “It’s just the semifinals.”
“That’s worth congratulations,” Tsutsui tells him. “Do you think you can win
the tournament?”
Kaga huffs not-quite-a-laugh down at his plate. “I’m not likely to win at all
if I don’t think I can,” he says, and lifts his head to meet Tsutsui’s gaze.
His mouth is catching the edge of a smile, his eyes brighter than Tsutsui’s
seen them in days; he looks warm, amused the way he used to when they were in
elementary school together, before shadows settled into the dark of his eyes
and tension settled into the line of his shoulders. It makes Tsutsui’s heart
ache, makes his breath catch, and Kaga’s lashes flicker, his smile going slack
as his expression goes soft, as his gaze goes considering. Tsutsui doesn’t look
away, doesn’t so much as shift his hand; he feels like he might startle Kaga
out of something if he moves, might chase away whatever careful thought is
behind the weight of the other’s eyes on him. Kaga’s gaze drifts away from
Tsutsui’s, trailing out over the frames of the other’s glasses, the dark of his
hair, the part of his lips; and Tsutsui can feel his heart beating harder, can
feel the prickle of anticipation unfolding into his veins like he has some
premonition about what is to come. He’s ready for Kaga to move, to take action
in some direction and leave Tsutsui to catch up after; but when Kaga acts it’s
to swallow deliberately, and to take a slow inhale, and to speak.
“Tsutsui.” His gaze comes back up to fix at Tsutsui’s eyes, dark with focus and
absolute attention; Tsutsui can feel the weight of that gaze shudder down the
whole length of his spine, as if Kaga’s focus is a lightning bolt grounding out
against the top of his head to meld him to the earth. He can’t speak, can’t
find breath or words to give even a token answer; but Kaga’s not waiting for
one, he’s continuing on without pause. “I want to kiss you.” Tsutsui can feel
his eyes go wider, can feel his lips part on silent shock; but Kaga is still
talking, still finding words to fill the space between them instead of action.
“Can I?”
Tsutsui can’t find breath for a response for a long moment. Kaga is watching
him, his eyes dark and his mouth set on absolute sincerity; there’s no question
of the honesty of his words, no doubt in Tsutsui’s mind that he means exactly
what he says. It’s hearing the statement aloud that is shocking, having the
sentiment put so completely into clarity for Tsutsui’s consideration; and the
question, the inquiry when Kaga’s never asked permission before, never so much
as hesitated over the question of whether Tsutsui was as willing as he was. It
doesn’t change Tsutsui’s answer any more than leaving the confirmation unasked
made a difference before; but it does knock him breathless for a moment, leaves
him staring speechless shock across the table at Kaga for a span of seconds.
Kaga doesn’t move, doesn’t reach out to pull Tsutsui in towards him or lean
back against his chair in a huff of frustration; the only sign that he’s
waiting at all is in the set of his jaw and the tension slowly building behind
his gaze as he waits for Tsutsui’s response. The awareness of the moment rushes
through Tsutsui like a surge of heat, as if his very blood itself is coming
alive in his veins with the power Kaga’s question has granted him; and then he
takes a breath, and lets it go, and gives the only answer he can give, the only
answer he was ever going to give.
“Yes,” he says. “Yes, of course.”
Kaga’s expression gives way, his mouth coming open on a huff of relief that
shocks Tsutsui all over again -- Kaga really wasn’t sure, he really thought
Tsutsui might say no -- but he’s moving too, before Tsutsui can find voice for
any but that most obvious of statements, leaning in over the table and reaching
out for Tsutsui with one hand. His fingers catch Tsutsui’s hair, slide down
over the strands to curl against the back of the other’s neck, and the motion
is familiar but the gentleness is wholly new, Tsutsui doesn’t think Kaga has
ever touched him as carefully as he is right now. Kaga’s thumb shifts against
his skin, slipping in over the fading bruises that have long since given up any
ache of hurt they first had but still cling to Tsutsui’s skin like a reminder
of that night days before; and then he sighs an exhale, and pulls Tsutsui in
towards the press of his mouth. Tsutsui lets himself be pulled, surrenders
without protest to the urging of Kaga’s touch; and Kaga’s lips press against
his, and Kaga’s fingers tense against the back of his neck, and when Tsutsui
parts his lips to sigh it’s relief on his tongue and not resistance.
It feel good to be handled with care.
***** Gentle *****
Kaga doesn’t know how to be gentle.
He wants to be. Wanting to is easy, after he’s spent the last few days letting
years of guilt settle and dissipate into something a little bit resignation and
mostly relief; the awful, vicious edge of frustrated need has eased, now, he
can look at Tsutsui and feel the pressure of desire in his chest without
feeling that he wants to slam his fist into a wall, without feeling the need to
seize and break and shatter everything around him as if that will somehow undo
the inescapable want in his own chest. There’s still a weight to it, still a
measure of strain that he isn’t sure he’ll ever be able to shed in full; but
it’s easier to go slow when he doesn’t feel so much like he’ll tear himself
apart for wanting and wanting to not want in equal parts. But he doesn’t know
how to do this, doesn’t know how to be careful with the bruises from last time
still fading to yellow and green against Tsutsui’s throat, and even laid out
panting for air across the familiar span of his bed Tsutsui seems fragile,
seems breakable in a way that makes Kaga’s hands shake to see. It’s hard to
press his hands against the smooth span of unbruised skin, harder still to
trust himself with the slick of the lube poured over fingers that won’t stop
trembling for the thought of what he’s going to do, and even when Tsutsui is
gasping to heat over the bed as Kaga works a pair of fingers into him Kaga
can’t quite trust the flush high over the other’s cheeks that speaks to his
appreciation, can’t trust even the line of Tsutsui’s cock curving hard towards
his stomach as proof of his pleasure in the moment.
“Are you okay?” he asks, keeps asking, repeating himself over and over until it
feels helpless, uncontrolled and desperate on his tongue, but he can’t close
his mouth on the sound, can’t stop asking for reassurance beyond the obvious
heat straining against Tsutsui’s spine and running under the other’s skin.
“Oh,” Tsutsui says, and “yes,” without any trace of frustration at this
repetition of his answer for the uncounted time. Kaga’s fingers slide deeper,
thrusting through another inch of friction, and Tsutsui arches on the sheets,
his head tipping back and throat opening up on a groan that Kaga can feel
shudder through him like heat made liquid and electric in his veins. “Yes.”
“Shit,” Kaga says, and keeps moving, even as his shoulders tense and his throat
tightens with heat he can’t undo enough to catch his breath. “Tsutsui, you.”
His fingers slide deeper, Tsutsui curves under him, and Kaga’s thoughts white
out into a moment of breathless appreciation, his whole body prickling with
flickering adrenaline. “God, I want you so much.”
“Tetsuo,” Tsutsui says, his voice melting to heat, his hands coming up to reach
for Kaga’s hair. His eyes are hazy behind his glasses, his focus blurred with
heat, but his lips are parted and his fingers in Kaga’s hair are careful, his
touch unthinkingly gentle in the way Kaga is fighting to be. “I love you.”
“Fuck,” Kaga grates, and he’s drawing his fingers back, only remembering
halfway through the too-fast motion to go slow, to be careful, to ease out as
gently as he pressed in. Tsutsui’s thighs flex, his body tensing at the
friction, but there’s only heat in his expression, only the low ache of
pleasure in his voice as he moans an exhale. Kaga ducks his head to watch his
hands as he fumbles with the front of his jeans; he struggles with the zipper,
fingers going as clumsy over the necessary motion as if this is his first time
all over again, but Tsutsui’s hands are stroking through his hair and sliding
against the back of his neck, and Kaga can feel the weight of the other’s touch
like Tsutsui’s skin is sunlight pressing warm and close against his own. He
drags his zipper down, struggles out of his jeans and boxers with more haste
than elegance, and as he pushes his pants over the edge of the bed to be
forgotten Tsutsui’s fingers slide over his shoulders and down his chest to
catch at the bottom edge of his shirt and urge it up and off his skin. Kaga
lifts his hands to let Tsutsui strip his shirt up over his head, and then
that’s falling over the edge of the bed too, leaving more bare skin for
Tsutsui’s touch and gaze than Kaga has ever offered to him before. He feels a
prickle of self-consciousness, a moment of strange embarrassment he’s never
felt before as Tsutsui’s gaze slides down his chest like he’s tracing the lines
of Kaga’s body with his eyes. Tsutsui looks breathless, like he’s shocked out
of himself just by this display, and Kaga has to speak, has to offer voice to
something just to distract himself from the starstruck appreciation clear in
the grey-green of Tsutsui’s eyes.
“You too,” he says, and reaches out to catch slippery fingers under the hem of
the shirt Tsutsui didn’t pause to take off before Kaga was reaching for his hip
to brace him for the thrust of the other’s fingers.
Tsutsui blinks, his attention skipping back up to Kaga’s face as his eyes go
wide. “What?” he says, looking as confused as he sounds.
“Let me see you,” Kaga says, fitting his other hand under the other side of the
shirt. “It’s only fair.”
It’s not quite a question. There’s no upswing at the end of the sentence,
nothing to indicate how hesitant Kaga feels as he slides his hands up; but he’s
watching Tsutsui’s face, reaching for permission even if it goes unstated, his
motion coming far slower than it normally would on his uncertainty. Tsutsui’s
mouth comes open, his cheeks darken with a moment of self-consciousness; but
then “Okay,” he says, surrender as clear in his throat as it is in the dip of
his lashes as he lowers his gaze, and Kaga pushes harder, baring half Tsutsui’s
chest before the other has a chance to lift his hands to let Kaga strip his
shirt off. The collar catches at Tsutsui’s glasses and knocks them loose as the
shirt comes free; but Tsutsui is reaching to recenter them, and Kaga is
dropping the clothing over the edge of the bed, and then it’s just them,
together, Kaga’s skin prickling with hyperawareness and Tsutsui’s eyes wide and
bright behind his glasses.
“Oh,” Tsutsui says, “Tetsuo” and he’s reaching out, his fingers curling around
the back of Kaga’s neck like he’s bracing himself as Kaga rocks up onto his
knees, as he reaches to press his hand to steadying support alongside Tsutsui’s
shoulder. Everything seems to carry more weight without the barrier of clothing
to disguise his movements; it’s like he’s announcing all his actions before he
takes them, like he’s asking Tsutsui for permission to continue with every
motion. But Tsutsui is still gazing at him with that soft affection in his
eyes, his focus still wandering over Kaga’s body as if he’s never seen him
before, and when Kaga leans in closer Tsutsui lets his knees open wider, past
the point of necessity and into active encouragement. Kaga looks down, past the
tremor of breathing in Tsutsui’s chest and the flushed heat of his cock to the
angle of his thighs, to the tension along Kaga’s own body as he presses nearer,
and he can see them fitting together, can watch Tsutsui curve up to meet him as
he tips himself down and in against the other’s body. He can hear Tsutsui’s
breathing coming faster, can feel his heart beating hard in his chest in a way
he never noticed, before, under the haze of intoxication he usually is moving
under, and then he rocks his weight forward, and Tsutsui angles his hips up,
and they’re sliding together in a long, slow motion that Kaga can feel drawing
tighter and tighter around his chest with each inch of forward motion he gains.
His heart is pounding, his breathing turning to gasps, and Tsutsui is sighing
under him, shuddering through what sounds like relief as their bodies come
together.
“Oh,” Kaga says, “Tsutsui” and Tsutsui’s beating him to it, his voice breaking
on “Tetsuo” drawn so long Kaga can hear it shuddering in the other’s throat.
Tsutsui’s eyes are shut when Kaga looks back up to him, his lashes laid in a
dark curve across his cheek, his head tipped back against the soft of the
sheets; he looks calm, peaceful, relaxed in a way Kaga can’t remember seeing
him before. But maybe he’s always looked like this, maybe it’s just that Kaga
was never looking before, never letting himself look before; he can’t remember,
can’t be sure even in himself what it was like before when this feels so
overwhelmingly new. He doesn’t look away from Tsutsui’s face, keeps watching as
he draws back to take another slow thrust forward, and he can see the whole
rhythm of his motion painted across Tsutsui’s features, can see the tension in
the other’s forehead as Kaga draws back and the breathless give of relief as he
rocks back forward. He had been afraid of hurting Tsutsui, of moving too fast
or too hard without asking for confirmation; but he doesn’t have to ask, not if
he can see the responsive heat in the other’s expression just by watching. It
seems impossible, that it could be as easy as this; but Kaga moves again, and
this time Tsutsui’s head tips back, and his lips part on a groan of heat, and
Kaga can feel the urge for more unwind up the whole length of his spine, can
feel the need to see more of that expression sweep over him to dominate even
the ache of desire tensing through his legs and low in his stomach. He moves
again, rocking through a slow thrust to see the way Tsutsui’s expression
shifts, and he’s breathing faster without noticing, his reactions caught in an
echo of those playing so clearly over Tsutsui’s features.
“God,” Kaga chokes off, “You’re so beautiful.” It’s a strange phrasing, words
he never expected to be saying and never with such sincerity; but they are
sincere, so honest he doesn’t have a chance to hold them back for how
immediately true they are. Tsutsui’s lashes flutter, his eyes coming open to
fix on Kaga’s face, and Kaga can feel affection surging higher in his veins,
can feel the ache of adoration humming through him without the distracting
tension of guilt and frustration to drown it out. He can’t speak, can’t find
words for the pressure in his chest and the attention he wants to pay to
Tsutsui’s eyes, hair, shoulders, throat; he just stares, silent and breathless
as instinct finds a rhythm for their bodies to move together.
Tsutsui is pliant beneath him. He submits so readily, gives himself over for
Kaga before Kaga has even put voice to the request, and it’s no different now
that Kaga is paying attention to it, just more intense, more overwhelming to
notice every breathless shudder that runs through Tsutsui’s body in answer to
the forward stroke of Kaga’s hips. Kaga feels vaguely like he should free a
hand to close around Tsutsui’s length, to stroke up over him with some
additional friction to urge him towards pleasure; but Tsutsui is arcing under
him just as they are, his legs winding around Kaga’s hips to pull the other in
closer like this is all he needs, like this is all he’s ever wanted. Kaga can
feel the tremors of reaction run through Tsutsui with each thrust he takes, can
feel the other tightening around him as surely as he can feel the tension of
Tsutsui’s fingers pressing harder at the back of his neck to hold him steady.
Kaga’s breathing harder, panting for air gone hot and humid between them, but
Tsutsui is too, his lips are parted on the gasp of his breathing and Kaga wants
to kiss him, wouldkiss him if it wouldn’t require him to give up watching the
flickers of heat tense and ease in Tsutsui’s face like ripples splashing across
the surface of a lake. Every motion Kaga takes widens Tsutsui’s eyes, every
forward drive catches in his breathing, and Kaga’s head is spinning and his
arms are shaking but he’s not ready to come yet, he’s fighting back the edge of
satisfaction to watch the strain build to a height behind the green-flecked
grey of Tsutsui’s eyes.
“Tsutsui,” he says, but that’s wrong, it’s: “Kimihiro,” and Tsutsui whimpers
with the sound of his name, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as his mouth
comes open on the sound in his throat. “Do you want to come?”
“Oh,” Tsutsui says. “Oh. Tetsuo.”
“Do you want to come?” Kaga repeats, feeling pressure building low in his
stomach, feeling the weight of impending orgasm climbing his spine like a
countdown to press him harder, faster, to urge him towards an inevitable
conclusion. “Kimihiro, tell me, do you want to come like this?” Tsutsui is
shivering under him, his gaze flickering in and out of focus as his attention
fractures and he pulls it back in to meet Kaga’s words, but Kaga keeps talking
anyway, his words falling faster as the rhythm of his motion speeds towards
heat. “I want you to, I want to see you come, Kimihiro, can you come for me?”
“Tetsuo,” Tsutsui gasps. One hand slides higher into Kaga’s hair, his fingers
clutching desperately against the strands; Tsutsui has his chin dipped down, is
looking up over the top edge of his glasses at Kaga over him with a desperate,
focused intensity. “I. I’m going.”
“Are you going to?” Kaga offers, tensing his shoulders to push back the edge of
heat spiking up his spine, to fight back the strain in his chest for another
moment, another breath, another desperate demand for Tsutsui’s hearing. “You
are, aren’t you, let me watch you.” Tsutsui’s panting for air now, he’s arching
off the bed and clinging to Kaga’s shoulders and Kaga’s whole body is straining
with want, with the desperate attempt to hold back for himself what he’s trying
to win from Tsutsui. “Kimihiro, come on, come on, please, let me--” and
Tsutsui’s eyes go wide, his mouth falls open, and Kaga can see pleasure break
across his face in a shudder of slack relief a moment before his body draws
tight around Kaga’s. His legs tense, his fingers spasm, and Kaga’s making a
sharp sound of surrender as the heat he has been fighting back gives way to the
washing relief of inevitability. Tsutsui is moaning under him, trembling in
tiny convulsive waves with each pulse of heat that spills across his stomach,
and then Kaga’s orgasm breaks over him and sweeps away all the focus he has
been devoting to his sight. It’s overwhelming, all-encompassing, like it’s only
become the more intense for him holding it back, and for the first few moments
Kaga doesn’t know what he’s doing or saying for the shudders of pleasure that
are sweeping him into blind, helpless appreciation.
He comes back into himself slowly, like he’s regaining awareness in pieces
rather than the whole at once. His eyes are still open, he realizes when he
blinks; his vision is blurry from close-up focus, his eyes tracking dark it
takes him a moment to identify as Tsutsui’s hair. He still has his hand caught
under him, the bracing support of his arm has given way the awkward press of an
elbow against his chest, and Tsutsui’s fingers are still in his hair; he can
feel them trembling in irregular frissons of movement with each breath the
other takes. His skin is hot, flushed to warm damp everywhere he and Tsutsui
touch, and between them there’s the sticky spill of Tsutsui’s orgasm catching
against Kaga’s stomach where he’s lying against the other.
“Sorry,” Kaga manages, the words muffled by the press of his face to the
sheets, and pushes against the mattress to tip himself sideways so he can roll
onto the bed instead of crushing Tsutsui down against the sheets. “You okay?”
“Oh,” Tsutsui breathes. When Kaga turns his head to look at him the other is
gazing at the ceiling, his lips parted on the rush of his breathing and his
eyes hazy with the distraction of lingering heat. “Yes.”
Kaga can feel his mouth tug at the corner, can feel his expression giving way
to a smile before he realizes it’s going to. He lifts his hand from the sheets
and reaches out for Tsutsui instead; Tsutsui blinks as Kaga’s fingers land in
his hair, his head turning towards the other as Kaga pushes the weight of the
strands back from the other’s face. His cheeks are still flushed to pink, his
mouth soft and damp with warmth; he looks hazy, warm and languid with
satisfaction, and Kaga can feel that pressure against his chest again, like a
weight bearing down against him from the soft color of Tsutsui’s eyes on him.
“God,” he says, and leans in fast, lifting his head and bridging the gap to
press his mouth to Tsutsui’s for a quick, impulsive breath of friction. His
throat is tight again, like his body is considering the possibility of tears,
and he’s not sure he trusts himself to manage more than a few words in calm.
“You’re--”
Amazing, his mind offers. Beautiful. Incredible.
“Perfect,” he says.
It turns out he can’t even make it through that one word before his voice
cracks and breaks on emotion, but it doesn’t make much of a difference;
Tsutsui’s face lights up into a smile just the same.
***** Shadows *****
The apartment is quiet when Tsutsui gets home.
It’s early, still, or at least early compared to most of the other days of the
week; his Go student is down with a fever, and so Tsutsui himself gets the
night off to do with what he will. He’s been thinking about it on the way home,
wondering if Kaga will be around or if he has another match this evening, and
when he comes in the front door everything is so still he’s sure he has the
house to himself. The last glow of sunlight is fading against the horizon,
leaving the apartment darkening with the shadows of night; Tsutsui takes his
shoes off in the entryway without bothering with a light, only reaching to turn
on the illumination after he’s shed his shoes and set his bag down. He’s
thinking about dinner, turning over the possibilities for the evening meal in
his head and wondering if he shouldn’t go shopping before Kaga gets home; and
then he lifts his head, and sees into the kitchen, and sees that Kaga is home
after all.
“Tetsuo,” Tsutsui gasps, startled into a breathless response as his whole body
tenses with the reflexive shock of seeing someone when he thought he was alone.
Kaga’s sitting at the kitchen table, his hands flat on the surface in front of
him and his head tipped down so his hair falls in front of his face; it’s
getting long, Tsutsui notes distantly, he’s going to need another haircut soon.
He didn’t look up at the light, and doesn’t look up at Tsutsui’s exclamation;
Tsutsui leaves his bag in the entryway, all thoughts of dinner entirely
forgotten as he comes down the hall towards the other. “I didn’t realize you
were home.”
“Yeah,” Kaga says to the tabletop. He still hasn’t lifted his head but he
shifts his hands as Tsutsui comes closer, turning his palms in towards each
other and clasping his fingers into a careful hold. There’s something a little
strange about his voice, a tension in the back of his throat that prickles
concern across Tsutsui’s shoulders to join the flicker of worry that started as
soon as he realized Kaga was sitting silent at the table. “I got back an hour
ago.”
“Oh,” Tsutsui says, not sure what to offer to whatever is keeping Kaga’s head
ducked down and pressing his fingers so painfully tight against each other.
“I’m sorry I didn’t text. If I had known you were waiting I would have let you
know I was heading back early.”
Kaga shakes his head in a jerky negation. “It’s fine.”
“Are you okay?” Tsutsui asks, hesitating in the doorway of the kitchen. “It’s
dark, does your head hurt?”
“What?” Kaga lifts his head for a moment to glance at the room, at the glow
from the hallway and the dark surrounding him. Tsutsui still can’t get a good
look at his face. “Oh. I didn’t notice.”
Tsutsui frowns and steps forward into the room towards Kaga hunched over the
table. “What’s wrong?” he asks, as gently as he can manage. He reaches out to
touch Kaga’s shoulder, as much to test the motion as for the comfort; Kaga
tenses under the weight, his shoulders drawing in hard towards each other, but
he doesn’t jerk away, so Tsutsui lets his hand linger where it is. “Did you
lose a match?”
Kaga jerks his head again. “No,” he says,  and there issomething rough under
his voice, some strange tension Tsutsui almost never hears, now. “It’s not a--”
He cuts himself off, closing his mouth to silence, but it’s not fast enough to
cover the way his voice cracks in the back of his throat over some unnamed
emotion. Tsutsui’s fingers tighten at Kaga’s shoulder, the impulse to offer
comfort too strong for him to resist, and in front of him Kaga tips farther
forward, curling in over the press of his fingers against themselves as if he’s
trying to protect something fragile with the armor of his own body. There’s a
pause, a moment of quiet unbroken by anything except the effort of Kaga’s
breathing; and then, like a bell tolling, “I came out to my dad today,” all at
once, fast enough that it doesn’t have time to break to pieces in his throat.
Tsutsui’s breath catches. He would ask how it went, would ask how Kaga’s father
reacted; but the answer is in the hunch of Kaga’s shoulders, and under the rasp
of emotion on his breathing, and in the darkness the other let fall around him
rather than bothering to get up to turn on the light. Tsutsui’s hand tightens
involuntary, his fingers pressing Kaga’s shirt in against his skin like he can
push away the words his father must have offered, like he can undo the
rejection written so clearly into the white knuckles of Kaga’s fingers clinging
to themselves as if he can still the trembling in his body through sheer force
of will.
“Oh, Tetsuo,” he says, and his voice is caving in too, giving way to the
pressure of sympathy in his chest so sharp it’s hard to find the gap between it
and more immediate personal misery. “I’m so sorry.”
Kaga takes a ragged breath. His shoulders tense further, climbing under his
shirt as if to form mountains to protect the pale line of his neck against the
collar of his shirt; and then they sag again, the strength draining out of them
all at once as his grip on his hands falls slack. His shoulders shift, his body
pivots, and Kaga is turning in towards Tsutsui fast, before the other has a
chance to react, his freed hands coming out to catch and clutch around
Tsutsui’s waist. His hold is too tight, his fingers dig in painfully against
Tsutsui’s spine; but he’s choking on his inhale, his breathing catching in the
back of his throat as he presses his face against the other’s shirt to muffle
the sound in his throat. Tsutsui’s eyes burn, his chest aches; but he doesn’t
say anything, just settles his fingers into Kaga’s hair and ducks his head in
over the other while the sound of Kaga’s inhales turns into the outline of sobs
against the quiet of the room.
Tsutsui’s shoulders are no better protection from this than Kaga’s were, but at
least Kaga doesn’t need to face this alone.
***** Strong *****
Tsutsui’s room is cleaner than Kaga’s is.
Kaga knew it had to be. He’s seen it once or twice before while pushing his way
in to make some demand of Tsutsui bent over homework at the desk in the corner
of the room. His own is a mess of tangled bedsheets and clothes clean and
unwashed alike in disordered heaps on most of the flat surfaces; Kaga knows
Tsutsui keeps the rest of the apartment tidier than Kaga’s room, and it’s no
surprise to find the other’s bedroom as much cleaner again with the limited
effect of Kaga’s presence on it. Usually Kaga finds the cleanliness of the rest
of the house mildly oppressive, as if every neat surface is judging him for his
inability to keep them that way for more than a handful of minutes; but just at
the moment, the organized structure of Tsutsui’s room is a comfort precisely
because of how far from his own life it feels.
Tsutsui brought him here almost an hour ago, when Kaga had stopped crying long
enough to trust himself to lift his face from the other’s shirt without
bursting into a new round of misery. Tsutsui’s shirt was soaked through, it
must have been clinging to his skin with every motion he made, but he didn’t
say anything about it, just pressed his fingers in against Kaga’s elbow to urge
him to his feet and down the hallway towards the bedroom door. Kaga had thought
for a vague, brief moment that Tsutsui was planning to offer a distraction in
the form of the soft of his mouth or the heat of his body; but they went past
Kaga’s bedroom, where most of their interludes have taken place, and straight
on to the door that Kaga has taken to viewing as something of a refuge for
whatever parts of Tsutsui’s life the other doesn’t want to share. Kaga
hesitates at the door, uncertain he dares to ask for permission to enter; but
Tsutsui doesn’t even wait for a request, just pushes the door open and leads
Kaga through as easily as if this is regular, as if he brings Kaga in to rumple
the clean lines of his neatly-made bed on a nightly basis. Kaga feels out-of-
place, like a hurricane sweeping into the clean lines of a well-run city; but
Tsutsui just keeps his hold on Kaga’s elbow, and pulls him in towards the soft
of the bed, and when Tsutsui drops to sit at the edge of the mattress and
reaches out to pull Kaga down with him Kaga lacks both the reason and willpower
to offer any kind of resistance. So he goes instead, capitulating to Tsutsui’s
urging with more awkwardness than grace, and Tsutsui catches his arms around
Kaga and pulls the other in against his shirt as he tips them both to lie over
the give of the bed.
It’s quiet in the room. Kaga’s chest still feels pressurized, as if he’s
captured a lead weight between the gaps in his ribs to pull him down towards
the earth, and his breathing is still catching around the echo of tears on
alternate inhales; but he feels drained, tired all the way down to the core of
his bones, until even the memory of the words his father spit in his face -
- the things his father called Tsutsui -- don’t tighten his throat with anger
or burn misery behind his eyes. There’s just a dull acceptance, resignation
heavy through all his limbs for this conclusion that he has known was
inevitable since he was in middle school and realized how much harder his heart
beat for Tsutsui’s smile than for any of the girls he’s ever known. He tried to
fight it, pushed the realization away as long as he could; but he can’t avoid
it anymore, and he doesn’t want to try any more, and if that leaves his father
absent a son he is willing to acknowledge there’s nothing Kaga can do to change
that, except to go back to the lonely life he can’t face now that he knows what
he could have instead. It’s a selfish thought, he thinks; but it tenses across
his shoulders, and tightens his arms around Tsutsui’s waist, and he thinks he
doesn’t mind being selfish for this.
Neither of them move for a long stretch of time. Kaga can feel his breathing
easing, can feel his inhales backing down from the edge of emotion he has been
hovering on, and Tsutsui gives him uninterrupted silence to fit himself back
into the appearance of composure if not the actuality of it. Long after Kaga’s
caught his breath and smoothed away the knot of tension from his throat Tsutsui
maintains his hold on him, his arms pressing warm around Kaga’s body to hold
him steady with a grip that somehow manages to feel as unbreakable as it is
gentle; it makes Kaga’s thoughts wander down routes of affection so long-
avoided they still feel new even after years of existence, even after months of
recent use. He stares himself into up-close focus at Tsutsui’s shirt, his gaze
catching and following the pattern of the threads layering themselves into
fabric as if he’s trying to trace each one individually; he’s been lost to that
distraction for some minutes when Tsutsui takes a breath and gives voice to
fill the silence without any more warning than the sound of his inhale.
“I have next weekend free from work,” he says, speaking softly enough that even
the addition of words doesn’t seem to ruffle the peace of the moment, doesn’t
jolt Kaga back to the unpleasant realities of his life that have been so
weighing on him since he left his father’s house with furious speed. Tsutsui’s
fingers shift and slide down Kaga’s spine to press the soft of the other’s
shirt close against his skin. “Do you have a shogi match that day?”
Kaga shakes his head against Tsutsui’s shirt. “No,” he says, his voice far
rougher and louder than Tsutsui’s is. “I’m not doing anything.”
“Good,” Tsutsui says, and takes another breath, deliberately enough that Kaga
can feel some kind of revelation impending in the quiet. “I want to take you to
meet my parents.”
Kaga frowns into confusion. “What? I’ve met your parents before, they know who
I am.”
“I know,” Tsutsui says. “I want to introduce you as my boyfriend.”
The room goes very still. Kaga can feel his breath stalled in his chest, can
feel his heart pounding hard against his ribcage like it’s trying to find a
new, faster rhythm; he’s staring at Tsutsui’s shirt, his focus still trapped by
the tiny fibers of cloth in front of his eyes, but he’s not really thinking
about them anymore, isn’t thinking about anything except the echo of Tsutsui’s
voice in his ears. Tsutsui shifts, very slightly, and tightens his arm around
Kaga’s waist; but he doesn’t say anything else, to apologize or expand, just
leaves his words uncommented in the quiet between them.
Kaga could say a lot of things. Are you sure, is the obvious one, weighted with
the too-close knowledge of his own father’s violent reaction; your boyfriend?
is a close second, trembling into warmth in the back of his thoughts until he
can feel that one word sliding into his veins and unfolding like sunshine
against the miserable chill that has so suffused him since he turned his back
on his father’s rejection to make his way back to the only home he has left,
now. But Tsutsui stays quiet, and keeps holding onto Kaga even as the
expectation of a response hanging in the air dissipates and smooths into calm
once again, and finally Kaga takes a breath and opens his mouth to say “Okay,”
the concession delayed so long that the pause has loaded it with all the
infinite things he might say and isn’t giving voice to.
Tsutsui doesn’t speak aloud for answer. He just tightens his arms around Kaga,
his hold tensing with a strength Kaga didn’t know he had to press the other
close against his chest for a span of long heartbeats. Kaga takes a breath, and
shuts his eyes, and lets the warmth of Tsutsui’s hold on him spread out to
grant his body some fraction of the comfort that he has been so without today.
It’s a strange kind of relief, to realize that Tsutsui has always been the
strong one.
***** Victory *****
“Oh god,” Tsutsui says, hearing his voice break to pieces in the back of his
throat as he considers the tanned glow of Kaga’s skin laid out in front of him,
the open angle of the other’s legs and the shift of breathing against the span
of his chest. “Tetsuo, I’m not sure I can do this.”
“You can,” Kaga growls, his voice echoing oddly off the inside of his arm where
he has it pressed over his face as if to block the overhead light from too-
sensitive eyes. The barrier is almost enough to disguise the tension on his
voice; Tsutsui isn’t sure he’d notice it at all if he couldn’t see how tightly
Kaga’s fingers are curled into the shape of a fist or how tense the inside line
of the other’s thighs are in front of him. “I used to do it drunk, it’s not
that hard.”
“I know,” Tsutsui says, but he’s still not reaching out with the fingers he’s
coated in a slick shine of liquid; he’s bracing against Kaga’s knee instead,
breathing deep in a desperate attempt to ease the frantic pounding of his heart
in his chest. “What if I hurt you?”
“Jesus,” Kaga says, and he’s dropping his arm, letting it slide up to fall to
the sheets over his head as he lifts his chin to level a scowl at Tsutsui.
“I’ll tell you. Don’t you think I can take it?”
“It’s not that,” Tsutsui insists. “I just. Are you sure you want this?”
“Yes,” Kaga growls, sounding so rough Tsutsui would doubt his sincerity if not
for the color saturating the other’s cheeks with proof of the heat in his
veins. “I want you to fuck me, Kimihiro. How many times do you want me to say
it?”
“Oh my god,” Tsutsui whimpers. “Tetsuo.”
“You would think you would have learned something from all your first-hand
experience,” Kaga snaps. “Do you need me to walk you through this?”
Tsutsui shakes his head, the reaction more reflexive than certain. “No,” he
says, and that sounds uncertain too, but it’s not like he doesn’t know the
first step, at least, even if the weight of what follows is enough to skip his
heart over a beat in his chest. He looks away from the flush on Kaga’s cheeks
and the dark edge of panic and excitement tangled inextricably close in the
other’s gaze, and down instead, past the flush of the other’s half-hard cock
and to the inside line of his thighs, where the tension that is lacing all
through his body is thrumming tight just under the skin. Tsutsui tightens his
fingers at Kaga’s knee, and takes a breath; and reaches out, finally, to touch
slick fingers against hot skin.
Kaga jerks at the contact. “Fuck,” he blurts, even though Tsutsui has barely
touched him, even though he’s not pushing at all. Tsutsui lifts his head at
once, opening his mouth for the offering of an apology; but Kaga’s letting his
head fall back to the bed, and replacing his arm over his eyes, and all Tsutsui
can see of him is the part of his lips on the rush of his breathing. “Finally.”
Tsutsui’s heart is pounding, he can feel it rushing as fast as if he’s been
sprinting, as if he’s already done far more than touch slick fingers against
Kaga’s skin. “I’m going to--” he starts, and “Do it,” Kaga snaps back, before
Tsutsui has yet mustered a grasp on the words on his tongue. Tsutsui stares at
the set of Kaga’s jaw and the tremor of adrenaline running against his mouth;
and he obeys, pushing in against Kaga with one finger regardless of the way his
whole arm is shaking with nerves. There’s a moment of resistance, a heartbeat
for Tsutsui’s stomach to drop and his breathing to catch on sudden panic; and
then Kaga gives way to him, and Tsutsui’s sliding inside the other, and Kaga’s
hissing and tensing at the same time Tsutsui gasps “Oh” in the first rush of
startled heat that shudders up his arm.
“Fuck,” Kaga grates out past gritted teeth. “That’s.”
Tsutsui struggles through a breath. “Am I hurting you?” he manages, frozen
still by panic and too afraid to move either forward or away. “Do you want me
to--”
“No,” Kaga snaps. “It doesn’t hurt, it just.” He shifts one knee, his whole leg
flexing as he tips his foot wider on the bed by an inch. “Feels weird.”
Tsutsui doesn’t mean to laugh. It’s the adrenaline, mostly, that seizes control
of his throat and spills the sudden burst of sound from his lips. Kaga lifts
his head by an inch, shadow retreating from his face so Tsutsui can see the
crease of confusion at his forehead, and Tsutsui gasps an inhale and lets it
out and feels his whole self settling more comfortably into his body.
“It does,” he says, and shifts his wrist to a better angle. “It keeps feeling
weird for a while. It’ll be better if you relax.”
“Sure,” Kaga says. “Just relax while you have your finger in my ass, it’ll be
fine.”
Tsutsui clears his throat. “I managed it,” he says, and continues while Kaga’s
expression is still falling open into shocked surprise: “Just take a deep
breath. I’ll go slow.”
“You had better,” Kaga says, but the words lack any force, and when he lets
himself fall back to the bed the movement comes with a shift of his knees to
give Tsutsui a few inches of additional space. He’s still tense, his body still
thrumming with strain Tsutsui can feel working against him; but then Kaga huffs
an exhale, hard, like he’s trying to force himself into calm, and some measure
of the tension does ease after all.
“Like that,” Tsutsui says, as gently as he can, and eases in farther by a
careful half-inch. He’s going as slow as he can, pausing every time Kaga starts
to tense against him; but there’s still shudders of tension running through the
other, apparently regardless of what Tsutsui does or doesn’t do.
“God,” Kaga says against the cover of his arm. “This feels so weird. I thought
it was supposed to feel good.”
“It does,” Tsutsui says. “Eventually. I’ll show you.” He doesn’t realize how
confident his words sound until Kaga snorts amusement against his arm, his
mouth dragging up into a lopsided grin.
“You will, huh?” Kaga’s legs shift again and he lets one foot slide off the bed
completely so his knee can hang over the edge. He’s easing to Tsutsui’s touch;
the motion of the other’s hand is smoother with every stroke, the depth he’s
aiming for easier to gain with every action of his wrist. “You sound like a
real pro. You want to admit to having a boyfriend before me too or something?”
Tsutsui can feel his cheeks heat into a flush. “No,” he says. “I only dated the
one girl in high school.”
“Whatever,” Kaga says, letting his arm slide off his face again and draping it
across his stomach instead as he tips his head to grin at Tsutsui kneeling
between his legs. “You still have more experience than I did that first time. I
had no idea what I was doing.”
Tsutsui coughs a laugh. “Neither did I. Neither do I. I’m not hurting you?”
“Jesus,” Kaga groans. “No. Stop worrying. It doesn’t feel great or anything but
it’s fine, if you can take it I can take it.”
“That’s not what I asked,” Tsutsui tells him, but Kaga really is relaxing, now,
Tsutsui can feel the other’s growing calm just in the easing of the tension
pressing around his finger. He looks down, considering the potential of moving
on to a second, unsure how much time he should take when his own memories are
so clouded with heat and anticipation; and he sees his hand pressing close
against Kaga’s body, sees the shine of light off slippery skin as he pushes in
through a rhythmic thrust, and his breathing scatters, all his attention
fracturing away as he watches his touch slide into Kaga on a smooth forward
stroke. He draws his hand back, slides in again, and he can feel Kaga tense,
this time, can watch the shiver of friction run itself down the flex of Kaga’s
thighs before it presses hard against his touch.
“Are you just going to stare?” Kaga’s voice cuts in, overloud and harsh with
what Tsutsui has come to learn is self-consciousness. When he looks back up
Kaga’s watching him, his mouth drawing down into a frown and his cheeks scarlet
with self-consciousness; Tsutsui can see the motion in his throat as he works
himself through a swallow before he speaks again. “Aren’t you supposed to be
using another finger or something?”
“Oh,” Tsutsui says. “Yes. Sorry.” He looks down again, from necessity this time
instead of distraction, drawing his hand back before he can get lost in
watching the rhythm of his touch working into Kaga’s body. He presses finger
another alongside the first, feeling the way the slick of the lubrication
catches his skin against itself, and then he’s reaching out again, fast, before
the adrenaline whipping through his veins can gain enough traction to freeze
him to uncertainty again. Kaga is hot to the touch, his skin slick from
Tsutsui’s previous touch and softer than Tsutsui had noticed at first; but he
gives far more easily, this time, barely offering a breath of resistance before
he huffs an exhale and Tsutsui’s fingers slide into him. Tsutsui’s heart is
pounding, his body flushing hotter with the rising thought of what is to come;
and then Kaga hisses, his body tensing for a moment, and Tsutsui’s attention
startles up and back to the other’s face.
“Sorry,” he says immediately, stilling his motion where it is. “Too fast?”
“Ah,” Kaga manages, his forehead creasing and mouth shifting like he’s not
quite sure what he’s trying to say. “A little. Maybe. That felt weird.”
Tsutsui hesitates. “Bad weird, or…”
“I don’t know.” Kaga makes a face. “Not bad.” His mouth twists; he lifts his
hand to push roughly through his hair. His wrist cuts in front of his face to
block Tsutsui’s view. “Try moving again. Slowly.”
Tsutsui doesn’t put voice to the protest that he can’t go much more slowly
without ceasing movement at all; he just obeys, drawing his fingers back by a
careful span and easing them forward again. Kaga keeps his arm angled in front
of his face, the shadow of his wrist blocking his eyes and most of his mouth,
but Tsutsui doesn’t need to see his face to feel the way Kaga jerks as
Tsutsui’s fingers press inside him or to hear the rough edge of a groan that
breaks free of the other’s throat.
“Jesus,” Kaga gasps, and Tsutsui is moving without waiting to be told, sliding
his fingers through another careful thrust into the other. His angle is off,
the pressure enough to draw a hiss but not a moan from Kaga’s throat, but his
second attempt is better, precise enough that Kaga’s back arches off the bed
and his foot slips wide across the sheets. “Fuck.”
“Tell me if I’m hurting you,” Tsutsui says, his breathing turning to heat even
as he manages the words, and he starts to move into a rhythm, working his
fingers farther into Kaga with as steady a stroke as he can manage. His heart
is pounding with adrenaline, his shoulders tense on fear of pushing too hard or
moving too fast, but Kaga is hot to the touch, Tsutsui can feel the soft give
of the other’s body radiating up his arm, and he’s going harder with just the
press of Tsutsui’s fingers, his cock stirring to flush darker against his
stomach as his fingers work over the sheets and his mouth comes open on heat.
“Fuck,” Kaga says again, sharp and cut-off, and then he loosens his hold on the
sheets to reach for himself instead, to wrap his fingers hard around his length
and pull against the resistance of his cock. Tsutsui’s blood surges hotter in
his veins at the action, his chest tightens to drag over a moan of helpless
response to the other’s movement, and Kaga’s hand is still angled over his face
but Tsutsui can see the part of the other’s lips, now, can see the tension
starting to collect against the line of his throat as he settles his fingers in
closer around himself and starts to move with easy, practiced strokes. “Shit,
Kimihiro, that feels--”
“I know,” Tsutsui says, and offers back: “You feel amazing” because it’s true,
even if the spill of words on his tongue flushes embarrassment all across his
cheeks. Kaga’s hot around him, giving way to the push of Tsutsui’s fingers with
no resistance beyond the natural tension of his body, and Tsutsui is still
thinking about the shift of his hand but there’s heat low in his stomach, the
prickle of desire sliding up his spine, and along with it the wholly new
possibility of Kaga underneath him, of Kaga’s thighs pressed open around his
hips and Kaga’s body slick and hot around him and Tsutsui can feel the heat
rushing through him as if it’s a second heartbeat to take over the whole of his
body with the force of trembling want.
“Enough,” Kaga says, but it’s not an order; it’s nearly a question, the last of
the word is wobbling in his throat like he doesn’t trust the weight of it to
his tongue. “That’s enough, right, I never take this long with you and you’re
fine.”
“I’m fine,” Tsutsui repeats, not sure if he’s talking about the past or the
present and not really sure it makes much of a difference to either of them.
His hands still feel shaky, like they’re thrumming with sound at some low
resonance he can’t make out, but when he draws his touch back the motion is
smooth and he can’t see his fingers trembling at all. He looks down to his
hand, to the slick of liquid on his skin, to the tremor of tension along Kaga’s
thighs, to the flush of his own cock, and for a moment everything feels hyper-
real all over again, like for the span of a heartbeat reality has become
clearer and sharper than it ever is. Tsutsui takes a breath, feels the whole
motion of it over his tongue and down his throat to press and swell against his
ribcage; and then he reaches down, and closes slick fingers around himself, and
draws up in a careful slip of motion.
“Shit,” Kaga says again, his voice softer than it usually is but still dragging
rough in the back of his throat. “We’re actually going to do this, aren’t we.”
Tsutsui lifts his head. Kaga’s let his arm fall from his face again; he’s
staring at the motion of Tsutsui’s hand over himself, his mouth caught into the
edge of a frown at the corners, his forehead creasing on tension. He looks
uncertain, looks like he’s hesitating, and Tsutsui wants him, wants to lean in
to catch Kaga under the brace of his arms and wants to know what it feels like
to press forward and into the heat of Kaga’s body under him; but his hand goes
still, and his shoulders ease, and for a moment all the strain of his personal
desire fades to insignificance against the hesitation so clear in Kaga’s face.
“We don’t have to,” Tsutsui tells him. Kaga’s head comes up, his focus jumping
to Tsutsui’s face instead of his hand as his expression falls into slack
surprise, and Tsutsui keeps talking and doesn’t start moving again. “We can
stop here, and try again later, or--”
“What,” Kaga says, and it’s not a question, it’s a wall to cut off Tsutsui’s
words. His forehead is creasing again, his shoulders tensing visibly; but it’s
not uncertainty behind his eyes anymore, it’s the heat of flickering
frustration settling in at his mouth. “You get this far and now you want to
bail?”
“I don’t want to--”
“No,” Kaga says, and jerks his head in a rough shake. “No, I don’t want to
stop. I told you what I wanted and I’ll tell you if that changes, got it?” He
blinks, his focus flickering for a moment, and when he speaks again his voice
is a little softer, a little less sure. “Unless you don’t want to.”
“No,” Tsutsui says immediately, his voice a softer echo of Kaga’s own denial.
“No, I. I want to.”
The strain clears from Kaga’s face, his frown eases out of the taut line it was
making. “Good,” he says, and reaches out with a gesture that is as much a
demand as a request. “Hurry up and prove it.”
Tsutsui huffs an exhale, the sound half laughter and half the beginnings of
panic, but he moves, too, obedience to Kaga’s demand coming easily even now,
even with the stress of this novel step weighing down against his shoulders.
It’s just sex, he tells himself as he lets his hold go, as he reaches out to
brace himself against the bed over Kaga’s shoulder and rocks his weight
forward, it’s not like this is anything close to their first time; but Kaga is
frowning himself into stress underneath Tsutsui, and his knees are angling wide
around Tsutsui’s hips, and this is different, this is new, this is something
wholly unlike what they’ve done before if only for the weight it carries
printed so clear across Kaga’s face. Kaga is hooking his leg around Tsutsui’s
knee, the weight of the force pulling Tsutsui in closer against him, and then
they’re together, their bodies lining up in a way they’ve never tried before,
and Tsutsui can feel the pressure of anticipation bearing down against the
whole length of his spine.
“Okay,” he says needlessly, and shifts his arm to brace himself steady against
the sheets, to hesitate for another moment on the precipice of almost, when
everything in him is trembling with anticipation. Kaga is silent under him, his
mouth pressed shut and his eyes dark and his hands clinging to Tsutsui’s
shoulders like he needs the support, and Tsutsui can’t look away from the
other’s face, can’t offer any fragment of his attention for anything but the
focus of tangled emotion behind Kaga’s gaze on him. “I’m going to move.” And he
does, carefully, tipping his hips forward to press in against the warm flush of
Kaga’s body. He can feel Kaga tense against him, his body clenching in
involuntary resistance to the first urge of pressure; and then Kaga’s mouth
shifts, and he huffs an exhale, and Tsutsui is sliding forward and into him.
It’s overwhelming. Tsutsui was braced for that, was expecting it; but it’s
still more than he anticipated, to feel someone -- to feel Kaga -- giving way
to the force of his body rocking forward. Kaga’s hot, and slick, and tight, and
Tsutsui was expecting all of that, he knew it would be like this; but it’s not
like he anticipated, it’s different, because Kaga’s hold is dragging at his
neck and Kaga’s voice is groaning “Fuck” against his ear and this is so much
more than what Tsutsui was braced for that he can barely keep track of it. He’s
still moving, still rocking forward to finish out the rhythm of that first
stroke, but his head is coming down to Kaga’s shoulder, his mouth is coming
open on Kaga’s name, and when his hips press in flush against Kaga’s he has to
pause for a moment just for the sake of catching his breath before he trusts
himself with moving again.
“Shit,” Kaga says again. His foot slips against Tsutsui’s leg, catches and digs
into the beginning of a bruise before it slides down by an inch; Tsutsui can
hear the edge of strain on Kaga’s breathing, can feel the rush of the motion in
the shift of the other’s chest under him. “Kimihiro, move.”
“Yes,” Tsutsui says, “yes, okay” and he does, rocking back while his head is
still spinning with heat and Kaga is still panting for air underneath him. It
might be too much, maybe he should be going slower or more gently or insist
that Kaga take more time to adjust; but Kaga told him to move, and Tsutsui’s
whole body is trembling with sensation, and his thoughts are too scattered to
allow him the presence of mind to resist his reflexive surrender to Kaga’s
order. So he moves, drawing himself through a slow slide of friction that
sparks heat all up the entire length of his spine, and under him Kaga takes a
breath and resumes the stroke of his hand that went still for those first few
heartbeats of time.
Tsutsui doesn’t know which of them sets the rhythm. It feels like it forms
between them both, like Kaga’s hand slows to match him as the rocking motion of
his hips speeds to meet Kaga’s; but then maybe it’s Kaga’s doing after all,
because his leg is pressing hard against Tsutsui’s hip and his fingers are
twisting to fist in Tsutsui’s hair to hold him steady and he’s panting, hissing
commands past the edges of tight-clenched teeth to say “More,” and “Harder,”
and “Kimihiro,” that last coming out so raw and rough it sounds as much like a
curse as affection. His whole body is tensing under Tsutsui’s, his back arching
and his hold on himself speeding, and some distant part of Tsutsui is afraid of
hurting him but the greater part is listening to the catch of Kaga’s breathing,
and feeling the way he jolts with every forward thrust, and urging Tsutsui to
greater speed with every motion he takes. Tsutsui’s head is spinning, his
fingers twisting involuntarily on the sheets, and at his lips is Kaga’s name,
“Tetsuo” repeated over and over in broken-off slurs of heat that he can’t hold
back any more than he intends to give them voice. They’re reflexive,
appreciation and affection and encouragement all together, and he’s gasping for
air and going dizzy with the rapid pace of his movement and under him Kaga is
groaning, is panting “Kimihiro, don’t stop, fuck, don’t stop” as Tsutsui’s
breathing goes desperate and straining for oxygen he can’t seem to get. His
legs are shaking, his whole body is going tense, and Kaga must be able to feel
the strain of anticipation building in him because he’s demanding, now,
commanding Tsutsui to “Not yet, keep going, damn it Kimihiro” as if the
desperate strain on his voice is likely to do anything but push Tsutsui closer
to the edge.
“Tetsuo,” Tsutsui gasps, pressing his face hard into Kaga’s shoulder like he
can push off the edge of orgasm rising in him by force, as if there’s really
anything he can do now to delay what he can feel surging higher in him with
each passing second. “I can’t, I’m going to--” and he’s gone, he’s slipping
over the edge, his whole body is shuddering into heat and he can’t hold back
the unformed, stuttering thrusts he’s taking into Kaga as he comes. “Fuck,”
Kaga says again, his fingers tightening against Tsutsui’s neck like he’s trying
to brace him still, but Tsutsui only hears the other’s voice distantly around
the haze of heat slurring all his attention into distracting white. Tension is
giving way to pleasure, relief is spilling to weight heavy in his limbs, and
then Kaga growls “Keep going” with a strange, desperate tone that steals
Tsutsui’s breath just for the hearing. He moves again in immediate obedience,
rocking his weight forward to slide through another thrust, and it’s too much,
the heat against over-sensitive skin is enough to draw a whimper in his throat,
but Kaga is arching under him and groaning low in his throat and Tsutsui keeps
moving for another thrust, two, a desperate sequence of action while Kaga’s
hand speeds over himself, while Tsutsui feels the other drawing tighter around
him with every stroke he takes. Tsutsui’s heart is pounding, his whole body
starting to tremble with protest at this too-much sensation; and then Kaga
chokes on his inhale, his fingernails digging in against Tsutsui’s shoulder
with a flare of sudden heat, and Tsutsui can feel the ripple of orgasm run
through the other as Kaga clenches tight around him and spills between their
bodies. Kaga’s groaning under him, his voice resonant and thrumming over the
depth of the sound in his chest, and Tsutsui shuts his eyes and breathes in
against Kaga’s skin and lets the whole of his attention melt away for a long,
uninterrupted span of hazy heat. His arms ache, his legs are shaking, his whole
body feels drained and heavy; and Kaga’s hand is sliding across his shoulder,
Kaga’s arm is catching around his neck, and at his ear, with the edges of the
words going rough on the heat in the other’s voice: “God,” trembling with
relief and pleasure and the languid weight of fading adrenaline. “I love you so
much, Kimihiro.”
Tsutsui turns his head at Kaga’s shoulder, shifting his weight so his glasses
aren’t digging in against the bridge of his nose. His fingers unwind from the
sheets, his hand comes up to catch into sweat-damp hair and smooth away the few
tangles that have formed against the red of Kaga’s hair. Kaga’s breathing hard
against Tsutsui’s ear, his body trembling with relief under the other’s, and he
shifts to meet Tsutsui’s touch, turning his head to press against the weight of
the other’s hand. It makes Tsutsui smile, fills the inside of his chest like
he’s trying to contain all the sunlight in the world inside him at once, and
when he open his mouth “I love you, Tetsuo” falls from his lips like it was
just waiting to be set free.
If there was ever a competition between them, Tsutsui thinks they’ve both come
out victors in the end.
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