Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1841605.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Ookiku_Furikabutte_|_Big_Windup!
  Relationship:
      Abe_Takaya/Mihashi_Ren
  Character:
      Abe_Takaya, Mihashi_Ren
  Additional Tags:
      Phone_Calls_&_Telephones, Masturbation, Fever, Sickfic, No_Plot/Plotless,
      Plot_What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-07-07 Words: 1877
****** Recovery ******
by tastewithouttalent
Summary
     "Abe knows who it has to be, and he’s been waiting for this call all
     day, even in the worst of his delirium, so he groans and rolls over
     to grab for the phone as soon as he catches the sound." Abe has a
     fever. Mihashi calls him after school.
If it were anyone else, Abe would let the call ring itself into silence. He’s
exhausted, his whole body aching with the lingering lethargy of the fever that
broke earlier in the afternoon, and all he really wants to do is go back to
sleep, even though he knows he should get up and eat something before he passes
out for the night. But he knows who it has to be, and he’s been waiting for
this call all day, even in the worst of his delirium, so he groans and rolls
over to grab for the phone as soon as he catches the sound.
“Ren,” he sighs into the receiver.
“Abe-kun,” Mihashi says on the other side of the line. “Ah. I -- I mean,
Takaya.”
Abe huffs a laugh, rolls over onto his back on the bed and settles the phone
more comfortably against his ear. “How was practice?”
“Oh!” Mihashi sounds startled, like he wasn’t expecting the question. Of
course, that’s such a regular response that Abe has entirely given up on
determining why, exactly, the other boy is startled by a perfectly ordinary
conversation. “I-It was good.”
“Tell me what you did,” Abe orders. The sound of Mihashi’s voice is soothing
some part of him he didn’t even know was stressed; it’s been weeks since he
went a whole day without seeing the other boy, and since his fever comes with
the danger of in-person contagion the phone is as close as he’s going to get
for today.
Mihashi takes a breath, like he’s bracing himself for an extended speech, and
Abe cuts in to head off the panic he can hear collecting in the other’s inhale.
“Take your time, there’s no rush. I don’t have anything else to do until I’m
better.”
“Are-are you getting better?”
“I will be,” Abe sighs. “I might be back tomorrow, if I get enough rest.”
“Ah.” Mihashi’s breath catches. “Maybe -- you s-should sleep? So you can come
back.”
“It’s still early,” Abe points out. “I’ll sleep right after this, okay?” Then
he pauses to take in what the other boy said, processes the words through his
Mihashi-translator. The smile that pulls at his mouth comes easily, flushes his
skin with warm happiness instead of the feverish burn he’s had all morning.
“I miss you too,” he says. The words come out gruffer than he intended, rougher
and more quiet, but he can hear Mihashi’s breath catch so he knows his meaning
wasn’t lost under the delivery. “It’s.” He pauses, takes a deep breath, shuts
his eyes and forces his voice to go gentle. “It’s weird not seeing you.”
“Takaya,” Mihashi’s voice says, no trace of stutter or hesitation in his voice,
and that makes Abe smile so wide he has to roll sideways to bury his face in
his pillow even though there’s no one to see his expression.
“Yeah,” he says, clearing his throat back into stability while his mind chants
back the resonance under Mihashi’s voice on his name, locks it down into his
memory for future reference. “So. Practice. Tell me what you did today. And
what you ate, did you have enough for lunch? How much do you weigh today? Is
your wrist still sore?”
Mihashi starts to talk, fumbling his way through the questions out-of-order and
tangling up his description of school with practice, but that’s okay. Abe can
pull out the relevant pieces of information from the mess, can let the rest of
the sentences wash over him with the texture of Mihashi’s mouth printed into
them until he can shut his eyes and see the other boy behind his eyelids as if
he were close enough to touch.
Abe has learned that the best way to get Mihashi to talk is to stay perfectly
quiet, let the other boy ramble until he steadies himself enough that the
nervous stammer fades from his voice and he no longer needs to be led to a
topic. He’s remarkably effusive, as it turns out, though it took months before
Abe mustered enough patience to realize that. Usually it’s something of a pain
to wait until he’s sorted through his thoughts, but today it’s easy. Abe’s mind
is still somewhat hazy and a little slow from the last remnants of fever and
the bone-deep exhaustion of illness; it’s easy to lie back on the bed, settle
his phone against his ear, and let his boyfriend’s voice lull him into almost-
sleep.
It’s the lack of attention that trips him up, ultimately. He thinks he’s on his
way to sleep, actually, trying to determine if he’s going to drop into
unconsciousness with Mihashi actually still on the phone and unwilling to speak
up to interrupt the other boy. But somewhere in the half-asleep blur of
thoughts into reality that comes on the verge of sleep the soothing sound of
Mihashi’s voice goes warm, warmer, hot under Abe’s skin, and by the time he
realizes what’s happening and opens his eyes he’s angled himself down against
the mattress and is unconsciously grinding himself into the resistance.
“Shit,” he hisses without thinking, rolls over onto his back and forces himself
into full consciousness just as Mihashi’s words cut off sharply on the other
end.
“A-abe-kun?”
Shit. “It’s fine,” Abe says as calmly as he can manage. “I just...I was falling
asleep, that’s all.”
“Oh.” A pause. “S-should I --”
“No,” Abe says, too fast and too aggressively and before he has thought through
the implications. “No, don’t go, keep talking to me. You were telling me about
--” He has to search for the thread of thought, reel back his memory to collect
information from the hum of Mihashi’s voice. “Tajima caught for you, you said?”
“Yeah.” There’s a pause, and when Mihashi starts speaking again it’s a little
slower than it was, but when Abe stays quiet the other boy’s word falls back in
sync with his thoughts within a few minutes.
Abe tries. He really does. He shuts his eyes and breathes slowly, tells himself
he wants to sleep and should eat and that jerking off while his boyfriend tells
him about his day is absolutely not what he should or wants to do. The first
may be true but his body is insistent about disagreeing with the second, and
from how long it’s taken Mihashi to review the school day Abe probably still
has at least a few minutes until the end of this particular story before he’ll
need to be coherent again.
Then Mihashi pauses to take a breath, audibly licks his lips before he goes on
speaking, and Abe’s self-control evaporates before the other boy has even
started his next sentence. His free hand comes down over his stomach, his
fingers slide in past the top edge of his boxers, and he’s got his fingers
around himself while Mihashi is talking about Coach’s newest tweak to Hanai’s
training regime. He doesn’t moan, doesn’t even have to fight back a moan, just
lets out a relieved breath that is so quiet that Mihashi doesn’t even pause.
Abe goes slowly, in consideration of keeping his breathing as level as possible
for as long as possible. The world fades out, narrows like it does in a game,
until there’s just the patter of Mihashi’s voice and the friction of Abe’s
fingers on himself and the slow build of pleasure low in his stomach, tension
climbing under his skin in spite of his best attempts to relax until
he is breathing hard, has to tip the phone away from his mouth so he won’t
catch Mihashi’s attention.
He’s coming up on the edge, can feel it rising in his blood like a wave, when
Mihashi pauses. There’s a brief moment of dark amusement, as some part of Abe’s
mind says of course it would be right now and some part of him rushes to steady
his voice and level his breathing in advance of Mihashi’s voice asking,
“Takaya?”
“Yeah?” He sounds gruff again but he can’t manage anything better, not without
stopping and nothing can convince him to stop at this point.
“I. I want to see you.” There’s a pause. Abe closes his eyes, lets out his
breath very, very slowly instead of as the groan it wants to be. “Can I -- if
you’re not back tomorrow --” Another pause. A bubble of hysterical laughter
presses in at Abe’s throat until he has to bite his lip to stay quiet, breathe
in hard through his nose instead of his throat. “Can I visit?”
“I’m sick, Mihashi,” Abe says, the command in his words overriding his new
habit and throwing him back on the old name. “The whole point of staying home
is so no one catches it.”
“Oh.” That’s very soft, more of a whimper than a word, and Abe wants to sigh in
exasperation and he wants to moan with the tension still winding in his body.
What he does is gasp air, manage “I want to see you, Ren,” in a tone
that screams of what he’s doing, at least to his own ears.
It must not be as obvious as it feels to him, because Mihashi sighs like Abe’s
grabbed at his hand and stolen all his fright. “I want to see you,” the other
boy repeats back, turning the words soft and tender in his throat, and Abe has
no resistance to that sincerity, hasn’t ever since that very first day.
“Okay,” he blurts, rushed and too-loud before he closes his mouth and shudders
silently through his orgasm as he comes over the flushed skin of his stomach.
He can hear Mihashi breathing, can hear the catch of delight at his agreement
on the other end of the line, can see Mihashi’s wide-eyed surprise without even
having to actually see him. Pleasure washes out into his limbs with more
relaxation that all his overheated sleeping granted him earlier, and when
Mihashi says, “Really?” there’s nothing he can do but laugh.
“Yeah.” He sounds a little better now, a little steadier and a little softer
with the release of the tension that was pulling his throat tight and
desperate. “I’m mostly better now, I’ll be fine tomorrow. And I want to see
you.”
“I want to see you too,” Mihashi says again, repeating the words again like
they’ll gain meaning with excess, as if Abe’s blood didn’t flare with delight
the first time he said it.
“Yeah.” Abe blinks, shifts his arms so he’s settled a little more comfortably
into the bed. “Ren, I’m --” A yawn catches him, interrupts his sentence so he
goes unintelligible for a moment. “Ah. I’m going to sleep.” He pushes at the
edge of his boxers, strips down so the cool air of the room can dry the faint
sheen of sweat on his skin. “You should sleep too. You have to be healthy to
keep from catching this tomorrow.”
“Yes!” Mihashi is as instantly obedient as he always is, nearly chirping in his
willingness to follow Abe’s instructions.
It makes Abe smile, the expression bleeding warmth into his words when he says,
“Goodnight, Ren.”
“Goodnight, T-takaya.”
Abe shuts his phone one-handed, reaches up to set it on the nightstand, and
rolls over and into the heavy pull of sleep.
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