Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/13525815.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Free!
  Relationship:
      Tachibana_Makoto/Yamazaki_Sousuke
  Character:
      Tachibana_Makoto, Yamazaki_Sousuke
  Additional Tags:
      One-Sided_Yamazaki_Sousuke/Matsuoka_Rin, One-Sided_Tachibana_Makoto/
      Haruka_Nanase, No_Plot/Plotless, Plot_What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot, Angst,
      Pining, Unrequited_Love, Hand_Jobs, Blow_Jobs, Shower_Sex
  Stats:
      Published: 2018-02-22 Words: 2128
****** Lukewarm ******
by tastewithouttalent
Summary
     "It’s a beautiful dream, a firm resolution; and all it has done is
     brought him here, finally, somewhere he never expected to be, with
     someone he never expected to meet, laying claim to what cold comfort
     he can find against the tremor of some near-stranger’s form."
     Resignation isn't the same thing as contentment, and relief doesn't
     equal satisfaction.
This isn’t what Sousuke wants.
He’s thought about it before. His imagination flourishes, spreads out from the
fixed points of his past to expand into the unmeasured years of his future;
Sousuke could chart out the whole trajectory of his life, if it were to be
based solely on his own desires, on the dreams he has held to for so long he
can’t even remember now when they first formed. He doesn’t lack clarity,
doesn’t lack conviction; Sousuke has been reaching for what he wants for the
last long years, pushing himself farther, harder, straining for more with every
breath he takes in some belief that it’ll pay off eventually, that all his
practice and struggle and effort will be worth something in the end, will earn
him some final resolution. It’s a beautiful dream, a firm goal; and all it has
done is brought him here, finally, somewhere he never expected to be, with
someone he never expected to meet, laying claim to what cold comfort he can
find against the tremor of some near-stranger’s form.
“Ah.” The voice is bright, high, skipping to near-shrillness as Sousuke’s hand
tightens, as his grip jerks up and out-of-time with his rhythm. “Fuck.”
“Be quiet,” Sousuke says, his words low and soft enough to meet his own
demands. “Someone will hear us.”
“Ah,” the other says. Sousuke can feel the shudder of tension run through the
broad shoulders before him; too solid, too wide, but the closest thing he can
find to what it is he really wants. “Sorry.”
Sousuke shakes his head; a rejection of the apology as much as of the need for
it. It’s not their brief privacy he’s concerned with and he knows it; it’s that
it’s impossible to pretend that voice is the one he wants when he hears it echo
back to him, when it’s jumping too high for even the splash of the shower
running around them to soften down to the grate of the tone that has so stirred
Sousuke’s dreams up till now. The thought makes Sousuke’s stomach twist, knots
guilt down in his belly right alongside the miserable arousal that has brought
him to this point in the first place; he grits his teeth on whatever voice he
might give to it, and ducks his head down, and presses his forehead hard
against the flex of that shower-wet shoulder before him as he resumes the
desperate stroke of his hand. It’s easier, if his eyes are shut, easier if he’s
not seeing the shift of unfamiliar muscle before him, easier if he’s not
watching water drip off hair too pale to ever come close to the red he wants,
even soaked through with the water splashing over them both. If Sousuke presses
close enough, if he squeezes his eyes shut and pants rapidly enough, he can
drown reality in the things that are the same: the smell of chlorine, the damp
of water, the pull of elastic in the swimsuit he’s so hastily pushed aside to
close his fingers to a grip on the heat of the other boy’s cock. Those details
are the same, they slot into place against the frayed-thin edges of Sousuke’s
most beloved fantasies; if he lets himself drift he can lose himself to them,
to the reality of the moment and the heat in his veins while ignoring the
others, the gasp of that voice and the ache of his shoulder where he’s bracing
himself at the wall and the twist of unhappiness in his abdomen, sour and sick
even as his cock throbs heat against the straining front of his own swimsuit.
It’s a relief, of some kind, for tension so overwhelming Sousuke can’t help but
give in to this; and so he tightens his grip, and he strokes faster, and he
tries to hold to the edges of his fantasy even as they disintegrate under the
splash of water over his body pressing close to the warmth before him.
It doesn’t take long. Sousuke’s not surprised; whatever other differences they
may have, the one thing he’s absolutely certain he and Tachibana share is that
desperate, frantic edge of need. He can feel it running through the broad back
before him as if he’s feeling himself, can hear it in the gasp of Tachibana’s
breathing catching and tangling into the pant of his own; it’s the same thing
that brought them together in the first place, in the bruising crush of teeth
and lips and tongues as violent and desperate as if they each intended to tear
someone familiar free from a stranger’s mouth. That attempt was doomed from the
start; but they’ve found something like satisfaction, for at least a moment,
enough to strip the edge of agony from the constant ache of unrequited desire
and bring them both to resignation once more. Sousuke can’t offer Tachibana
anything more than that, any more than Tachibana can give him who he really
wants; so Sousuke grits his teeth, and fists his hand, and gives the only thing
he has to surrender in the form of rough friction in a clenched grip. He can
feel the ache in his injured shoulder building as he braces himself, as his
movements drag faster in answer to the rasp of Tachibana’s breathing under the
spray of the water around them; but Tachibana is starting to shake, and
Sousuke’s never been one to give up with the end in sight. He pulls harder,
moves faster, urging Tachibana up and up and up the edge of arousal until:
“Ah,” Tachibana groans. “Haru” and he’s coming in a long, helpless shudder
against Sousuke pressing to him, his cock jerking as his come splashes over the
other’s hand and to the tiled floor below them to be rinsed away. Sousuke’s
eyes come open, his jaw sets as his hold stutters; and then he steadies
himself, and he keeps going, pulling Tachibana through the last of his orgasm
with a stoic, fixed attention to the action. Tachibana shudders against the
friction, his hips bucking forward to ride out the last of his release; and
then he goes still, his breath catching as the first rush of relief fades into
awareness. There’s a pause, a moment of quiet so complete it prickles Sousuke’s
spine with self-consciousness, and then:
“Sorry,” Tachibana says, so softly the words are almost lost to the splash of
the water over them. Sousuke opens his eyes and stares down at the wet of the
other’s skin for a moment; and then draws back, lifting his hand to rinse the
last proof of Tachibana’s pleasure from his fingers as he collects himself.
“Don’t worry about it,” he says, his voice louder than it needs to be but the
more comforting for that, like he’s grounding himself via the sound of the
words resonating against the inside of his chest. “We’re not doing this to be
with each other.” He draws his hand back and takes a half-step away, enough to
give Tachibana the space to pull his swimsuit back up over his hips. Sousuke’s
gaze fixes on the flex of that back, on the tremor of lingering heat in the
other’s thighs as he moves, and when he opens his mouth to speak it’s to the
shape of Tachibana’s body, to the form so close and yet so unlike the one he
really wants. “It just makes you seem more like him anyway.”
Tachibana’s shoulders still, his motion hesitating for a moment as his body
curves forward as if to protect itself against the blow of Sousuke’s words.
Sousuke stares at the other, feeling his tongue burn with the taste of his own
cruel honesty, feeling his shoulder throb as if in echo of the hurt he’s just
stabbed into them both; but he doesn’t apologize, and after a moment Tachibana
resumes his movement of pulling his swimsuit back on. He lifts a hand to push
through his hair, the motion that of pressing water from it even though they’re
still under the spray of the shower running to cold over them; and then he
turns, and ducks his head, and moves to drop to his knees against the slick of
the tile. Sousuke waits until Tachibana is settled, until the other is lifting
his chin to look up at Sousuke standing before him; and then he steps forward,
and reaches down to thumb the strain of his swimsuit off the heat of his cock.
Tachibana is reaching out as quickly as Sousuke moves, his hands rising to land
at the other’s hips, and Sousuke rocks forward in answer to the touch without
waiting for a request. His feet brace against the tile, just an inch ahead of
Tachibana’s knees pressing close against the smooth surface, and Tachibana
rocks up to meet him, opening his mouth as he leans in. Sousuke lifts his head,
and shuts his eyes; and for the first moment of contact, he can almost imagine
it’s Rin’s mouth sliding down over him to press the heat of friction in and
against his cock.
Sousuke reaches out to press his hand flat against the wall in front of him and
lifts his other to brace against the back of Tachibana’s head. He keeps his
eyes shut, and he lets the heat of the other’s movement over him rush out to
fill up all the shadowy corners of his body. His imagination is flickering,
inventing half-formed images and discarding them as quickly, offering up
illusions that give way like water parting to an outstretched hand; but it
doesn’t matter, anyway, because pure instinct is rising up to take control of
Sousuke’s thoughts and wipe his awareness blessedly free of anything else.
There’s friction sliding over him, heat and wet and dragging pressure against
the length of his cock pushing in to drag against the head; and when Sousuke’s
breath catches it’s on heat instead of pain, on arousal instead of guilt. His
fingers curl into too-short hair, his chest tightens on voiceless heat; and
when he comes it’s silently, with his lips open on no one’s name at all, on
nothing but the full-body jolt of pleasure pulling from him to spill over
Tachibana’s tongue.
Sousuke’s hips flex forward, his rhythm stuttering as he gasps through the
tension of his orgasm; and then the heat eases, the pleasure gives way, and he
comes back to himself, to the tile under his feet and the ache in his shoulder
and the cool of the water splashing over his back and against the line of his
spine. Sousuke opens his eyes, staring straight ahead at the pattern in the
shower wall before him while he collects himself; and then he straightens and
lets his hand at the other’s hair fall as he balances over his own feet again.
Tachibana pulls off him with deliberate intention, pressing his lips close to
suck Sousuke clean as he goes, and Sousuke reaches to tug his swimsuit back
into place as Tachibana presses a hand to his mouth and swallows hard. Sousuke
looks down at Tachibana in front of him, his knees pressing to the tile and his
head bowed to hide his face; and then he reaches out to offer a hand to the
other. Tachibana glances up at him, green eyes meeting Sousuke’s blue for just
a moment; and then he ducks his head, and reaches to close his hand around the
other’s.
“Thanks,” he murmurs, his voice soft under the sound of the shower. Sousuke
doesn’t answer, just pulls to urge the other to his feet in one smooth motion.
Tachibana keeps his head ducked down even once he’s on his feet; for his part
Sousuke only spares the other a glance before looking back over Tachibana’s
shoulder towards the water falling behind him. There’s a pause, then:
“I’ll see you later, then,” Tachibana says, sounding so hesitant the words are
almost a question more than a statement.
“Yeah,” Sousuke says; and then, with the drag of a humorless smile at his lips:
“Same time next race.” Tachibana coughs something that might be a laugh and
sounds a little like a whimper; and then he ducks his head in a nod, and turns
to move away and out of the shower. Sousuke waits until the other is well clear
of him and on his way towards the door to the bathroom; it’s only then that he
steps forward to claim the spray of the shower again, to lean in and brace
himself against the wall while he turns the tap as hot as it will go.
The temperature barely makes it to warm against his skin, but Sousuke ducks his
head and shuts his eyes to the spray all the same.
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