Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1571747.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      弱虫ペダル_|_Yowamushi_Pedal
  Relationship:
      Aoyagi_Hajime/Teshima_Junta
  Character:
      Aoyagi_Hajime, Teshima_Junta
  Additional Tags:
      No_Plot/Plotless, Plot_What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot, Established
      Relationship, Fluff_and_Smut, Friends_With_Benefits
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-05-08 Words: 1461
****** Synchronized ******
by tastewithouttalent
Summary
     "Even this was part of the strategy, originally." Teshima is very
     good at strategy but some things have become more than just a plan.
It’s become as easy as breathing. Easy as pedaling, easy as racing, easier,
even, because racing has never been Teshima’s strong suit. He has had to think
and strategize and plan, plan for days and weeks and months to offer any
competition at all on the road, develop a strategy and predict his opponents’
moves so they will be ready, ready to foresee them and counteract them and keep
going in spite of the natural handicap he has in lack of talent.
Even this was part of the strategy, originally. The more time Teshima speaks
with Aoyagi, the better they will perform on their bikes. The better he can
predict Aoyagi’s movements, the more smoothly they can sync together. And he
tries to deny it, sometimes wishes it wasn’t true, that the first time Aoyagi
leaned in to press his mouth to Teshima’s, that the first clear thought that
hit him was this will be so good for our teamwork.
It was his first thought, deny it as much as he tries, but Teshima’s certain
that Aoyagi knew that, that Aoyagi didn’t care or at least eventually forgave
him, and he doesn’t think of it now. He doesn’t think much at all with Aoyagi,
not since repetition and practice have made interacting with the other boy
easier than existing silently in the space of his own head. It’s nice, oddly
peaceful separate from the usual vivid churn of calculation and data and
planning rushing through his head, when there’s just Aoyagi’s fingers dragging
into the dark curls of his hair and tugging open the front of his school
uniform pants. Teshima’s kicking off Aoyagi’s shoes for him, wrapping his foot
around the other boy’s hip from where they’re lying across Teshima’s bed so he
can catch his heel at the back of Aoyagi’s sneaker and push it free. Aoyagi
pulls back to drag his foot free and Teshima follows, presses his mouth against
Aoyagi’s lower lip before he starts in on the other boy’s shirt.
It’s all fluid, maybe just from practice, but Teshima likes to think that maybe
this is something he is talented at, this easy back-and-forth as Aoyagi sits up
to get his own pants open while Teshima slides his feet free of his own shoes,
tugs first his tie and then his open pants off while Aoyagi finishes the work
he started on the other boy’s buttons. When their fingers collide it’s with
deliberation, just to savour the friction of calluses and palms against each
other, to interlock their fingers for a moment and come back in for another
kiss before shedding another few articles of clothing. Then Teshima gets his
arm in place around Aoyagi’s shoulder, and Aoyagi settles his grip on Teshima’s
hip, and they both tip sideways to lie facing each other, mouths close enough
that Teshima can feel Aoyagi’s inhales in time with his own, leaving a
momentary vacuum in the space between them.
Aoyagi’s hand comes sideways, and Teshima reaches down between the heated air
between them, and although Aoyagi moved first it’s Teshima who settles his
fingers in a grip on the other boy’s length before Aoyagi has more than skimmed
his fingers over Teshima himself. Teshima leans in against Aoyagi’s mouth,
presses his lips in against the other boys so he catch the shiver of reaction
that runs through Aoyagi’s body in response to the touch of his fingers.
“Aoyagi,” he says without pulling away, just so he can win the pull of Aoyagi’s
mouth turning up into a smile against his lips, and then the fingers dragging
over his length slide sideways and Aoyagi’s palm curls in against him. Teshima
is the one who has the reputation for intuition, but Aoyagi knows what Teshima
wants even before Teshima himself could say, pressure and pull or gentle
contact, teasing almost-friction of fingertips or slow and steady, building
tauntingly slow until it’s very suddenly too much. Today it’s the latter,
Aoyagi’s hand so familiar Teshima knows it almost better than his own. Teshima
can’t tell without any information at all, not the way Aoyagi can do for him,
but they’re so close he can read the shake in Aoyagi’s skin like a book,
catches his breath in inverse time with Aoyagi’s stuttered inhales, and in the
end Aoyagi is as easy to read as he always is and Teshima doesn’t need words to
know what he wants. This time it’s fast, so hard Teshima would cringe if it
weren’t for the way Aoyagi goes hot in response to his touch, rushing forward
and then holding just shy of the edge until Aoyagi’s gasping for air like
Teshima’s got a hand over his mouth.
The arm under Aoyagi’s neck is pinned somewhat in place by the weight of the
other boy’s head, but Teshima can still angle his elbow in and shove his
fingers up through Aoyagi’s light hair, ruffle it up into messy points while
his own starts to catch on the sweat coming up against his forehead. Aoyagi’s
free hand is pressed under Teshima’s waist, curling alternately between a grip
and a caress against bare skin until Teshima gasps on a laugh, rocks in so
close their wrists catch on each other between their separately paced
movements. They both go still for a breath, or what would be a breath if either
of them were breathing; instead it’s just a second of heat, skin against
overheated skin and sensation so overwhelming that Teshima can’t tell if he’s
feeling Aoyagi’s fingers, or his own, or Aoyagi’s own length bumping up against
him. Then they both start moving again, stroking sensation over the other boy’s
length, and heat flushes up over Teshima’s skin, a wave that makes him shudder
like he’s cold rather than the opposite, and Aoyagi’s fingers go steadying and
solid against his waist again.
“Aoyagi,” Teshima says against the other boy’s mouth, arching in for impossible
closeness, bumping his nose up against the other boy’s cheek. “Aoyagi, are you
--”
Aoyagi nods, but that’s not enough, not if he’s not speaking yet. Teshima shuts
his eyes, forces himself to take a deep breath, and Aoyagi obligingly slows the
movement of his hand while Teshima speeds his own. It’s almost painful, the
decrease in sensation to pull back from the sharp edge of climax, but Teshima
focuses on Aoyagi’s breathing instead, listens for the panting desperation he
knows must be close. When he opens his eyes Aoyagi’s shut his own, forehead
creased and breathing coming fast, starting to veer off its usual pattern.
“Aoyagi?” Teshima asks, although he knows, this time. It comes out more of a
statement than a question, and his hand against Aoyagi’s hair steadies, holds
the other boy still as surely as the fingers digging into his hip.
Aoyagi takes a quick inhale, opens his eyes and turns his head up, and for a
moment all Teshima can see is the glaze over the other boy’s eyes, the damp
heat slicking shine over his lips.
“Junta,” Aoyagi moans, frantic and half-desperate, and another flush of heat
hits Teshima at the sound of his name dragged so raw over the other boy’s
throat. He doesn’t fight it, this time, just comes in to catch Aoyagi’s lips
with his own and jerks harder over the other boy’s length as Aoyagi’s fingers
slide into a different grip and shove him over the edge of inevitability.
Teshima doesn’t know which of them comes first; he likes to think it’s
perfectly synchronized, for all that he knows that’s somewhat unlikely. Of
course, they’ve managed all sorts of things that seem unlikely from the
outside, and at least the difference is too small for either he or Aoyagi to
notice. There’s just a rush of heat, pleasure demanding free reign over his
body for a moment, and Aoyagi gasping wildly into his mouth and shuddering
under his touch until Teshima starts to go lightheaded from lack of oxygen.
Then some of the heat fades off, situational awareness comes back so Teshima
can make out Aoyagi’s fingers curled tight around his length and the press of
the other boy’s hand against his side and the bump of their knees together from
what was briefly a blind wave of pleasure.
Aoyagi’s smiling, wide and unselfconscious so it lingers even when Teshima
blinks his eyes open to get a good look at him. Aoyagi never looks as happy as
he does at moments like these, the two of them inextricably tangled together,
limbs and clothes and even their hair twined around each other. Teshima doesn’t
even think about smiling himself before he is, leaning in to bump his nose
against Aoyagi’s and taking a deep breath. He can always breathe better when
Aoyagi’s there, after all.
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