Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/6545854.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Eyeshield_21
  Relationship:
      Mushanokouji_"The_Kid"_Shien/Tetsuma_Jou
  Character:
      Mushanokouji_"The_Kid"_Shien, Tetsuma_Jou
  Additional Tags:
      Established_Relationship, Inline_with_canon, No_Plot/Plotless, Plot_What
      Plot/Porn_Without_Plot, Summer, Anal_Sex, Anal_Fingering, Hand_Jobs,
      Obedience, Power_Dynamics
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-04-14 Words: 4495
****** Independence ******
by tastewithouttalent
Summary
     "Kid must be truly asleep for the moment, or maybe it’s just that
     Tetsuma is carefully quiet about his movement in this; either way,
     it’s not until the ladder to the hayloft squeaks with another’s
     weight that Kid stirs and turns his head to blink attention onto the
     dim-lit lines of Tetsuma’s face coming into view." The afternoon is
     the hottest part of the day at Ben Ranch, and some activities are
     warmer than others.
Ben Ranch gets hot in the afternoons. The mornings are cool enough to be nearly
pleasant even with the humidity turning the air as heavy as a blanket, but as
the sun rises in the sky the surroundings heat too, and by the time lunch has
come and gone it’s impossible to find the strength to do anything active until
the sun has slipped past its zenith and started easing towards the horizon
again. The team practices first thing in the morning -- better to indulge in
the exertion with the players still yawning from sleep than to run the risk of
heatstroke by midday -- so by the time the afternoon has descended there’s
nothing for anyone to do but to occupy themselves as they will and wait for the
weight of heat to ease.
Kid takes to the barn. He likes the way it smells, likes the faintly musty
smell of the horses that are free to roam the ranch during the day and the
clean sweet of the fresh hay stored in the lofts above the empty stalls. It’s
quiet in the barn, peaceful like so little in Kid’s life has ever been
peaceful; when he’s in here he can almost lose the remembered rattle of
gunshots and the shouts of enthusiasm from an audience of strangers. The
haylofts are raised up above the cooler shade of the stalls, warm with the
rising heat of the afternoon, but the roof keeps out the radiance of the sun,
and with the floodlights for nighttime illumination shut off the whole room
adopts a heavy golden glow dim enough that Kid doesn’t even need his hat over
his eyes to suggest the relaxation of a nap. He settles himself in the hayloft,
with the barely-there tickle of the straw under his shirt to keep him from
slipping into too deep a sleep, and when he lies back across the support of the
hay under him it’s to recline into the drowsy state that brings the half-formed
dreams that are the only kind Kid ever lets himself have, the ones that hover
between daytime imagination and nighttime invention as his thoughts wander
unconfined through memory and present alike.
Kid doesn’t hear the barn door open. He must be truly asleep for the moment, or
maybe it’s just that Tetsuma is carefully quiet about his movement in this;
either way, it’s not until the ladder to the loft squeaks with another’s weight
that Kid stirs and turns his head to blink attention onto the dim-lit lines of
Tetsuma’s face coming into view.
“Hey there,” he says, offering a lopsided smile as Tetsuma sees him watching
and nods a greeting, as silent as he ever is about his communication. Kid
shifts against the hay, pushing himself onto an elbow and reaching up to push a
lock of hair back behind his ear. Tetsuma climbs to the top of the ladder and
swings himself off it, his movements more deliberate than graceful, and Kid
slides backwards across the hay to make space for the other alongside him. For
a moment Tetsuma hesitates, glancing at Kid like he’s waiting for permission
like he always does; and Kid smiles, and gestures, and says “Come here,” the
order as much permission as it is command.
Tetsuma obeys. He’s awkward about settling over the slope the hay makes under
them, clearly uncomfortable about relaxing into the easy slouch the support
demands, but Kid reaches for his shoulder and Tetsuma follows the lead of his
touch as immediately as he follows the direction of Kid’s words, tipping
himself forward and down until he’s lying alongside the angle Kid is making
across the hay himself. In the dim lighting of the loft Tetsuma’s eyes look
black, their focus endless; his mouth is set in the line of attention so close
to a frown anyone not Kid would think it one. But Kid knows Tetsuma, knows him
better than he knows anything about himself, and he knows better than to
mistake Tetsuma’s intensity for unhappiness. It’s just focus, just the
determination to see any command from Kid’s lips through to the end, and when
Kid pulls at Tetsuma’s shoulder to urge him in close Tetsuma comes, his lashes
dipping heavy over his eyes as Kid tugs him in towards a kiss. His breathing is
warm, his exhale against Kid’s mouth hotter even than the humid air in the
loft; and then Kid’s lips meet his, and the hard line of Tetsuma’s mouth eases
to gentleness, capitulating to softness like he’s giving up even his focus to
Kid’s guidance in this. Kid likes the feel of it, likes that moment of
surrender as Tetsuma’s mouth goes gentle against his, with the heat in the air
prickling sweat against the back of his neck and his hat sliding backwards off
the weight of his hair.
They stay like that for a while. Tetsuma is never pushy, never urges for
anything more than what Kid voluntarily offers him; it always makes Kid’s chest
ache a little bit, with pleasure or pain he’s not sure which. He thinks,
sometimes, he might like Tetsuma to be more aggressive, to topple him backwards
and loom over him with a focus on his own desire instead of on Kid’s; but this
is good, too, Tetsuma’s hand careful against his hip and Tetsuma’s mouth soft
against his lips. Kid’s the one taking action, settling a hand in against the
short-cut hair at the back of Tetsuma’s neck and sliding the angle of his
fingers just inside the collar of Tetsuma’s shirt, and when they shift it’s Kid
who opens his mouth first, who licks against the part of Tetsuma’s lips to ask
for more. Tetsuma surrenders immediately, compliant in this as he is in
everything else, and when Kid tastes the heat of his mouth Tetsuma’s hand comes
up, abandoning its deliberate weight at the other’s hip to land tentative
against Kid’s hair instead. Kid groans, a faint note far back in his throat,
and Tetsuma presses harder, his fingers sinking into the weight of the other’s
hair as Kid slides closer to the radiant heat of Tetsuma’s body. His hat is
slipping, he can feel the angle of it giving way to gravity, but he doesn’t
move to catch it back, even when Tetsuma’s touch knocks it loose to tumble
against the corner of the loft behind them. It’s Tetsuma who draws back then,
who starts to pull his touch away to reach for the dropped hat; but Kid
tightens his hold at the back of the other’s neck, says “Leave it,” before
Tetsuma can find the words for apology, and when Tetsuma looks back at him he
pulls at his hold and tips backwards over the hay to urge Tetsuma to lean over
instead of alongside him. Tetsuma’s hand catches his weight, the brace of the
other’s arm taking a portion of his balance, but he’s still pressed close
against Kid’s body, the warm weight of him pinning Kid down against the give of
the hay beneath his shoulders. Kid lets himself collapse over the support, lets
the tension along his back and hunching in his shoulders go, and Tetsuma is
easing too, relaxing against him like Kid’s touch at his shoulder is doing what
the heat of the afternoon couldn’t and stripping some of the steel from his
shoulders. Tetsuma’s lips go softer, his breathing rushes faster, and then Kid
arches himself up off the hay and against the solid lines of Tetsuma’s body,
and he can taste the startled groan on the other’s lips as if it’s spilling up
his own throat.
“Yeah,” Kid breathes, more for the feel of the sound in his mouth than for the
meaning of it, and he pulls Tetsuma down closer still, fitting one hand up
along the sharp line at the angle of Tetsuma’s waist to urge him nearer.
Tetsuma’s hips rock down, his legs flexing with effort Kid can feel against the
inside of his own, and when Kid shifts his weight sideways he can press their
bodies into alignment, can feel the heat of Tetsuma’s arousal grind hard
against his own rising interest. Tetsuma is breathing hard at his mouth, the
rate of his inhales nearly breaking apart the pattern of their kisses, but Kid
doesn’t mind; he’s caught in the movement of his fingers anyway, distracted by
trying to work his touch in under the weight of Tetsuma’s shirt and to the bare
skin at his back. When he succeeds he can tell immediately, as much from the
way Tetsuma goes still over him as from the sweat-damp drag of skin under his
fingers; it makes him smile, pulls tentative happiness onto his lips, and then
he’s pressing his whole palm against the dip of Tetsuma’s spine and Tetsuma
groans again, an incoherent note of heat on his tongue as he turns his head to
press his face to Kid’s shoulder.
“Jou,” Kid says, a question instead of a command, a filler instead of a
protest. The air in the loft is hot, clinging to every inch of his skin as
closely as his clothes stick to his sweat, as close as Tetsuma’s chest is
pressed to his. “Do you want to?”
Tetsuma doesn’t hesitate. Tetsuma never hesitates. He just nods, fast and
certain, the action so clear Kid can feel it against his shoulder without even
needing to look to see the motion.
“We won’t have very long,” he says, more for the sake of acknowledging the fact
than because he really expects it to dissuade Tetsuma at all, but also because
he has to, because he always offers all the disadvantages right at the start, a
warning in advance to allow his partner to leave this time, if he wants, even
though Kid’s never seen Tetsuma so much as blink at the possibility. “We might
get caught even if we’re careful. And it’s awfully hot, I wouldn’t blame you
for not wanting to.”
Tetsuma shakes his head, this time, an immediate rejection of the excuses Kid
is inventing for him. When he shifts his hand slides free of Kid’s hair,
skimming down his chest to the top edge of his jeans, to the line of his belt
coming across to the weight of the buckle against the denim. There’s a drag of
fingers, the press of contact as Tetsuma fits his palm against Kid’s jeans, and
then deliberate pressure, the catch and grind of the other’s palm pressing
friction against Kid’s length. Kid shudders, a brief, involuntary quiver of
motion running through him at the sensation, and his blood flares hot, the
heavy heat of the afternoon not enough to overwhelm the fire that sparks into
his blood.
“Okay,” he says, and it’s almost a laugh on his tongue, it’s almost pleasure in
his throat, if he could relax enough to let himself feel it. “Let me get my
pants off.”
Tetsuma pulls back immediately, drawing away and rocking back on his heels to
wait while Kid pushes himself upright and looks down to tug open the weight of
his buckle and unfasten his fly. Tetsuma’s face doesn’t show the least sign of
impatience; Kid thinks he could take an hour, longer, and there wouldn’t be so
much as a flicker of a question behind Tetsuma’s stoic calm. It’s charming, in
a kind of odd, familiar way; but Kid doesn’t like to take advantage of
Tetsuma’s patience, and he doesn’t want to keep himself waiting either, and
they really do run some risk of getting caught, even with the heat of the
afternoon and the shadows of the loft to protect them. So he doesn’t bother
with his boots, and he doesn’t push his jeans off all the way either; he just
loosens the button and pulls down the zipper, just enough to urge the heavy
texture of the fabric off his hips and down his thighs, and then he turns over,
bracing his knees against the slope of the hay and angling an arm in front of
him so he can balance against the support of his forearm. There’s sweat
collecting at the small of his back, slick heat trickling along the back of his
neck under the weight of his hair, but he doesn’t reach up to make the futile
attempt to wipe the moisture off. He just braces himself, spreading his knees a
careful inch wider against the hay, and says, “Alright,” without any additional
instruction.
Tetsuma doesn’t need it. No sooner has Kid spoken than there’s movement behind
him and the rustle of Tetsuma shifting over the hay in the loft. A knee fits
between Kid’s calves, Tetsuma rocks closer over his knees; there’s the sound of
plastic clicking against itself, the telltale noise of Tetsuma slicking his
fingers with the lube Kid told him to carry once, months ago, and that he’s
kept with him ever since. It only takes a moment; then there’s a hand at Kid’s
hip, fingers spreading wide to brace against his skin as gently as a kiss, and
slick-warm contact against his entrance, Tetsuma pressing against sensitive
skin with the deliberate, gentle touch that Kid’s only ever known him to have.
He’s careful, always so careful, like Kid is something fragile and precious
instead of just the flawed human he is, and Kid always wants to correct him at
moments like this, when his heart is pounding in his chest and his eyes are
prickling with almost-tears at the tenderness of Tetsuma’s touch. He wants to
say you can’t hurt me, wants to say I’m not that important, wants to say any
number of things that would make Tetsuma see him as he actually is instead of
as whatever Tetsuma has always seen in him, whatever is in him that Tetsuma has
found worth so much of his obedience for so long. But he doesn’t know what he
could say to disabuse Tetsuma of his perception, isn’t sure Tetsuma would
listen anyway, and besides that he’s selfish enough in this moment to not want
to, to duck his head and shut his eyes and let the gentle drag of Tetsuma’s
touch against his skin replace the midday heat with a flush warmer still.
Tetsuma’s fingers spread at his hip, fingertips catching callused at Kid’s
skin; and then he presses inside, sliding one slick finger into the other with
the same focused attention that he brings to everything Kid has ever seen him
do. It’s a stretch, warm and tugging familiar along Kid’s spine, and Tetsuma is
pushing deeper into him without waiting, just the way Kid’s told him he likes
it, with enough speed that Kid’s back arches into a dip and the air in his
lungs rushes out in a gasp. It’s not enough to stop Tetsuma -- only a direct
command would do that, Kid knows -- and that’s the way Kid likes it, too, with
his chest still straining for another breath of air when Tetsuma draws back to
push into him again. The friction rocks him forward, his body going pliant to
the force, and he gasps for a breath, feels his cock twitching against the heat
of the air as Tetsuma’s touch presses far into him with the same accuracy he’s
shown ever since the first time, when Kid had gasped “There” and Tetsuma had
nodded like he was taking an order and taken Kid apart with a crease in his
forehead and concentration at his lips.
It’s no different now. Tetsuma undoes Kid methodically, with first one and then
two fingers, and for all the thinking Kid usually does on the field and during
practice there’s no thinking at all here, no command requiring voice on his
tongue. He can duck his head, he can shut his eyes, he can let the heat of
Tetsuma’s touch inside him meld with the radiance of the air around him and
sweep aside his awareness of time and space together. His hands are still
against the hay under him, if he breathes in he can catch dust on his tongue;
but he has to think about that, has to reach for the consciousness of it when
it’s so much easier instead to let his attention fall into the rhythmic motion
of Tetsuma’s fingers dragging slick across his skin and urging his body to warm
relaxation. He’s hard still, his cock hot and aching distantly with want of
friction; but Kid doesn’t reach for himself, and he doesn’t shove himself
backwards to meet Tetsuma’s motions. He just lets himself exist for a while,
for an unmeasured span of time, lets the ache in his stomach pool dark and warm
and desperate, until when he finally says, “Okay,” his voice comes out raw in
his throat, dragged into an unfamiliar low roughness on the edges of the want
straining along his shoulders.
Tetsuma doesn’t ask for confirmation. Tetsuma never asks, never questions,
never does anything but precisely, exactly what Kid asks of him. Right now that
means he slides his touch back and away, doesn’t hesitate even when Kid gusts a
shuddering exhale at the loss of the stretch, and when he rocks back over his
knees Kid doesn’t have to look to know Tetsuma’s unfastening his belt and jeans
with that same unshakeable focus. He glances back anyway, just once, just to
see the dark of Tetsuma’s hair catching to soft spikes against the sweat at his
forehead as he watches what he’s doing; and then Tetsuma is coming back up over
his knees, and sliding forward, and Kid has to turn away again and stare at the
pattern of his shirtsleeves to keep his focus together for the few seconds he
needs.
“Keep your knees wider,” he says as Tetsuma starts to lean over him. Kid rocks
his knees closer, narrowing his balance to something more precarious, but
Tetsuma doesn’t need the physical cue; he’s moving already, bracing himself
with a careful hand at Kid’s hip as he shifts his weight wider to press his
knees to the outside of Kid’s calves. There’s a shift of movement, the sound of
Tetsuma’s jeans catching and dragging against Kid’s loosened clothes; and then
warmth against Kid’s back, the weight of Tetsuma leaning in over him to reach
out and press a hand against the hay over his shoulder. Kid can see the spread
of Tetsuma’s fingers against the dim-lit gold of the straw, can see the flex of
effort in Tetsuma’s wrist as he braces himself in place, but Tetsuma’s
breathing doesn’t so much as stutter out-of-rhythm as he shifts his weight into
alignment. Kid’s spine is prickling anticipation, his skin flushing with the
almost-contact of Tetsuma leaning close over him; and then there’s friction,
the slick heat of Tetsuma’s cock dragging over his skin, and he shuts his eyes,
and dips his head, and lets himself groan into a moment of incoherent heat at
the sensation. There’s just that for a breath, the heat in his lungs and the
slick drag of skin-on-skin made easy with the damp of the lube between them;
then Tetsuma slides into place, and Kid lets his inhale go, and Tetsuma pushes
forward and into him in one unhesitating stroke. Kid’s back arches, his body
tensing involuntarily against the sudden friction, and Tetsuma makes a sound
behind him, a low rush of air in what would be a moan were his throat not so
relaxed. As it is it’s only the outline of a reaction, the shape of the note
without the substance, and then he rocks back and thrusts forward again and
Kid’s the one to fill in that suggested response with the low ache of a groan
over his tongue. Tetsuma’s weight rocks forward, the support of his chest
bumping the line of Kid’s back, and Kid can see his hand shift, his fingers
tensing into support against the straw under them before he begins to move, a
steady, focused rhythm to his hips like he’s following the pattern of some
unheard metronome, or like his reflexive actions are guided by the tempo of his
heart beating heavy in his chest. It’s certainly not following Kid’s; his own
pulse is racing out of control, the surge of heat in his veins enough to knock
his inhales out-of-sync with each other and gasping hard in the back of his
throat like he’s forgotten how to breathe. Tetsuma is warm over him, hot inside
him, and the pace is too fast, it’s more than Kid’s coherency can keep up with.
He’s panting for air, feeling all the weight of the heat hanging around them
filling his chest like pressure crushing down against him, and then Tetsuma
whimpers over him, very faintly, and all Kid’s body shudders in answering
resonance to that tiny crack in Tetsuma’s composure.
“Jou,” Kid breathes, letting the weight of the vowels catch and curl on his
tongue, and Tetsuma huffs a breath over him, his mouth close enough that Kid
can feel the heat of the other’s exhale ruffle his hair. Kid’s body tenses
again, his cock twitching hard towards his stomach, and he lets his patience
give way, tastes the surrender to temptation as saturated-sweet as honey at the
back of his tongue. “Please.”
Tetsuma doesn’t ask, and Tetsuma doesn’t hesitate. He just moves, letting his
gentle touch at Kid’s hip go as he reaches around to frame the other in the
angle of his arms. There’s a huff of air against Kid’s hair, the suggestion of
a kiss at the back of his neck, and Kid dips his head forward to let his hair
swing heavy off the skin just as Tetsuma closes his hand around his length. His
grip is tight, his movement steady, and Kid is already breathless, already
panting for want of air even without the friction of Tetsuma’s hand stroking
over him. With it he’s trembling, gasping, shaking against the support of his
arms like his whole body is trying to melt completely under Tetsuma’s touch.
There’s no stutter in Tetsuma’s movement, in spite of the competing demands on
his attention; his hips are still thrusting forward in a smooth pattern utterly
unaffected by the offset rhythm of his hand. The only shift Kid can feel is in
the breathing against the back of his neck, in the gasp of air Tetsuma is
taking against the sweat-damp weight of his hair. Kid tips his head farther
forward, makes an offer of his skin as his body flushes hot with anticipation,
and then Tetsuma’s mouth lands at the back of his neck and a shudder runs
straight down his spine, as if an electrical circuit has just been completed to
jolt painless fire through him. Tetsuma’s legs are flexing, his hand is
tensing, and Kid is starting to go lightheaded, even his sense of the present
flickering out and away under the force of Tetsuma drawing him out of himself
and into the languid rise of pleasure. Everything is hot, his clothes sticking
to his skin and the pressure of Tetsuma moving inside him and the rush of
breathing at the back of his neck; and then Tetsuma makes a sound, a noise too
faint for Kid to hear clearly but for the last: “--ien,” dragged rough over
vocal chords unused to the fluid rhythm of casual speech. Kid tenses, his spine
arching at the sound of his name, and then Tetsuma sighs, and Kid shudders, and
jerks, and comes under the drag of Tetsuma’s hand over him. His heart is
pounding, his breathing catching, but just for the moment it doesn’t matter,
not with the shuddering waves of sensation breaking over his head to drag him
down to relief. There’s just the heat, the satisfaction pulling a choked-off
moan from the very back of his throat, and over him Tetsuma groaning sharp and
sudden as he follows Kid into orgasm. There’s a stutter in his movement, a
catch in the angle of his hips; and then he falls back into his steady pace,
finishing out the last few strokes with the same deliberate rhythm he sustained
through the rest of it. Kid’s left to tremble through the aftershocks of heat,
his legs shaking worse even than his arms before Tetsuma huffs an exhale
against the back of his neck and goes still against him.
Kid can feel how warm they are as they pull apart. The exertion has cast all
his skin into a sticky-hot glow and has left slick damp all along his spine, to
say nothing of the mess he made of Tetsuma’s fingers. But his head is still
spinning, his thoughts still hazy, and when he falls sideways to sprawl into
the haze of the loft he finds he doesn’t mind even the effort breathing against
the heat costs him. He catches his breath for a few moments, lets his heart
slow from the frantic rush it’s been making against his ribcage; by the time he
has the strength to arch up off the hay and drag his jeans back into place,
Tetsuma has cleaned himself up and is in the process of refastening his belt
buckle with nothing to speak to his effort but the sweat casting all his face
to a sheen of damp. Kid watches him for a minute, watches the set of the frown
at Tetsuma’s mouth as he rebuckles his jeans and the deliberate care in his
fingers as he moves; and then he reaches out, and curls his fingers around
Tetsuma’s wrist, and Tetsuma looks up at him, the rhythm of his action stalling
instantly to the delicate touch of Kid’s hand.
“Come here,” Kid tells him, and tugs to urge Tetsuma down alongside him, to
smooth the stiff lines of the other’s shoulders into relaxation against the
support of the hay. Tetsuma is awkward about his movement still, jerky in the
unfamiliar process of relaxing, but Kid pulls him anyway, and after a moment
Tetsuma is lying alongside the other, his shoulders still clinging to the
outline of his posture from before. Kid turns his head sideways and drags his
hand through the dark of Tetsuma’s hair; when he dips his head forward he can
just fit his lips to the other’s temple, can taste the salt-damp of sweat
against his lips. Tetsuma stirs, shifting very slightly; and then he lifts his
arm, and reaches sideways to fit his arm carefully around Kid’s waist.
It’s too warm. With the weight of Tetsuma’s arm over him Kid can feel the
fabric of his shirt clinging to his skin, can feel the faint itch of the hay
underneath him prickling through his clothes. But when he turns his head it’s
to hide a smile against Tetsuma’s hair, and when he moves it’s to tip his
shoulders so he can reach out for Tetsuma in turn.
He’ll never complain about anything Tetsuma decides to do on his own.
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