Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2173836.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Free!
  Relationship:
      Nitori_Aiichirou/Yamazaki_Sousuke
  Character:
      Nitori_Aiichirou, Yamazaki_Sousuke
  Additional Tags:
      Oral_Sex
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-08-21 Words: 2378
****** Things That Belong to Rin ******
by lecanis
Summary
     To include: a left-behind jacket, two hearts, and a confused moment
     of desperation.
     Aka Ai sucks Sousuke's dick while they both think about Rin. That's
     it. Really. And minor ES! 8 spoiler I guess, since it takes place
     after a scene from it.
Notes
     Un-betaed and written while rather ill and on medication, read at
     your own risk.
     It’s not necessary to understand a thing to be grateful for it, Aiichiro
has learned. He can’t quite fathom the reasons behind someone who intimidates
him quite a bit suddenly taking time out of his night to coach him during his
not-so-secret late swimming practice, but that doesn’t stop him from being
determined to make the most of it. Yamazaki-senpai isn’t the first scary senpai
that he’s dealt with, and while he’s not as certain of what lies behind his
rough demeanor as he is of Rin-senpai’s, he’s starting to grasp why they’re
friends.
     After the practice session should be far simpler. Shower, change, go to
bed. He won’t think about whether the next time he goes to practice Yamazaki
will come to help him again, nor will he think about whether Rin will come and
quietly set a snack for him down next to his favorite duck towel. Those are
things that can be appreciated, but never taken for granted. The first part of
his post-practice plan goes into action easily enough, but sore muscles - worth
it! - make the shower take a little longer than it should, lead him to be
stepping out late enough that he’s expected to be already gone and in bed.
     Or at least, that’s the only reason that he can think of that he’d wander
in on a certain well-built senpai sitting in the main pool area holding a
jacket up and burying his face in it. That’s just not the kind of thing that
anyone - let alone any teenage boy! - would be doing where they expected
someone to walk by any minute. Or maybe it was just that the older boy had been
distracted enough he’d forgotten Aiichiro was there? The slender second-year
was probably pretty forgettable, he told himself, as he stopped just a few
steps into the pool area, his eyes wide and his teeth burrowing into his lips,
as if he were biting down on a greeting.
     Perhaps during the day he’d feel a little more uncertain about it. He’s
thoroughly worn out, and there’s a certain amount of not-thinking that happens
with that, an intensifying of the leaping-to-conclusions habit that he is
desperately trying to outgrow. Perhaps during the day even if he did leap to
the conclusion, he’d keep his mouth shut about it, turn around and walk out,
pretend he didn’t see anything. But it’s not daytime now, it’s the middle of
the night and he’s bone-weary, despite the renewed enthusiasm Yamazaki-senpai’s
help has lent him.
     “That’s Rin-senpai’s,” he says, and maybe it’s an accusation, just a
little.
     “Yeah,” comes the reply. The eyes that look at Aiichiro over the jacket
are the same eyes that have chilled him before, more than once. Even though
Yamazaki has helped him, has given him both the pep talk and the critique that
he so desperately needed in the moment, it doesn’t change the utter cool in
those depths. There’s no shame there either; because it is late, perhaps? The
same thing that leads his own guard to be down affecting the older boy?
     “You… for him… you?” But for all that he has a few dirty magazines hidden
away - properly stored now - he can’t quite think of the way to accuse someone
of that. There are too many layers of taboo there, so many reasons why it’s not
something you can just say, even if you might be inclined toward such things
yourself, or considering it.
     There’s no verbal answer, but that glare doesn’t intensify either, or turn
away. Instead, the older boy simply pushes himself up from where he’s sitting
and slings the jacket over his shoulder, just like he might his own. He starts
to walk, but Aiichiro finds himself moving quite suddenly toward him, too fast
for where they’re at, entirely inappropriate near the pool. He registers that
fact just as detachedly as he registers the fact that there’s a tent in
Yamazaki’s pants, and the fact that the shoulder the jacket is hanging over is
hunched, pushing hand and jacket against his senpai’s face slightly.
     “Wait!” he cries, and he doesn’t know why, isn’t thinking about it beyond
that there’s something more they have in common than he thought, and that the
moment Yamazaki walks out that door back to the rest of the dorms they won’t
ever talk about it again, that he won’t be able to make himself bring it up and
it’s this one chance to admit something that maybe everyone suspects and maybe
no one does.
     All he gets in respone to the plea is a grunt, but that might be related
to the fact that Aiichiro has just managed to flailingly smack right into the
bigger body before him, has managed to bury his face against a stray sleeve of
the pilfered jacket hanging against Yamazaki’s chest. He blinks stupidly,
uncertain what to even do in this situation, except that then he registers just
how close he is, and how what his eyes suspected has been confirmed by his body
as he comes up short against the older boy, who is as usual strangely kinder
than expected, reaching out to brace him so he doesn’t actually fall.
     No, he doesn’t fall. Instead, when he slides downward, it’s with that
steadying hand on his shoulder trying to tug upward, obviously not expecting
Aiichiro’s own movement. There’s another grunt of surprise, but nothing more,
as he closes his eyes and nuzzles, his entire body tense with the sheer
audacity of it. He wants to say something, to give some instruction to think
about Rin while he does it, or some request to perhaps lower that jacket a
little so he can do just what Yamazaki was doing before and bury his nose in
it, before or after or during the other things he’s about to bury his face in.
     In the end, nothing is said. He expects some kind of protest, perhaps even
being slapped away, but there’s nothing at all from above him. He tilts his
head back, looks, and still nothing. Just a sort of quiet tension, as if the
older boy is waiting to see what he will do, if he’s really going to do this.
There’s an understanding that happens too, and it’s also quiet, nothing more
than a rustling of cloth as the request Aiichiro hasn’t dared to make is
catered to anyway, the jacket being moved so that Yamazaki is holding it up in
front of himself again.
     A stray sleeve dangles just far enough, and Aiichiro shifts his focus for
just a moment to breathe in the scent. It’s the same chlorine scent that clings
to them all, perhaps, but there’s something individual in there too, even if he
can’t quite define the note. Or maybe it’s just his mind saying that, but
either way it’s enough to spur him on. 
     He doesn’t look up to see if the other boy has closed his own eyes. The
movement is enough to remind him that they’re both thinking of someone else,
and he has no doubt that Yamazaki has his face buried in that jacket again
himself. The shuffling of clothing - only the older boy’s, not his own - is
strangely loud in the silence, and the nervous swallow he makes is equally
loud. He almost fears that Yamazaki will hear it, but it’s not like he’s the
kind of person to tease even if he did, Aiichiro supposes. What type of person
he is… that’s still something being figured out, but apparently he’s the type
who carries a torch hot enough that he’ll let someone else go down on him by
the pool in the middle of the night while thinking of that person.
     Then again, he’s only just now discovering he’s the type of person to have
his very first sexual experience on his knees before someone he barely knows
while thinking of a mutual crush, so maybe he shouldn’t talk. He doesn’t talk,
merely starts with a series of slow licks that finish what apparently sniffing
the jacket started, getting Yamazaki’s dick nice and stiff and damp at the end.
Aiichiro doesn’t have a lot of thought on the size, though it’s bigger than his
own, because it’s not like he intends to have it shoved anywhere that such a
thing should matter. Not even down his throat, he hopes, but the strange quiet
encounter is almost awkwardly pleasant so far, so there doesn’t seem much risk
of that.
     Dick doesn’t really taste that nice. There’s that faint lingering
chlorine, to be expected, and sweat which is also to be expected. Bitterness of
precum when he slides his tongue along the slit, but he’s tasted his own before
out of curiosity, so that’s not particularly new either. A slightly different
tang to it, maybe, but he’s not a connoisseur to think about that. It’s not too
disgusting to continue, so he continues, sliding his mouth over the tip and
sucking down and hoping that he’s doing it right.
     He doesn’t have the teeth for this, he realizes belatedly. Well, teeth
aren’t something that most people want there anyway, but if he’s really
supposed to be mimicking Rin, then his teeth are all wrong. Would Rin’s get in
the way of this? But that thought kills his own buzz a little, because while
he’s supposed to be standing in, so is the boy before him. He pushes it out of
his head, and focuses on his own fantasy, on the way the thigh beneath one hand
trembles, the shaft in the other pulses. His entire focus is on his partner’s
body now, feeling each tiny shift of stance as the older boy tries to stay
comfortable standing while being touched, each slight loss of control that
causes a small twitch of hips forward.
     That’s what’s missing, he decides. If this were Rin, he’d try to have that
control, of course. He’d never be rough with Aiichiro on purpose, or so the boy
believes. But Rin - even now, even this year when he’s doing better - is too
passionate for that self-control to be this close to complete.
     One hand strays from the strong thigh it’s clutching, and just as Aiichiro
pushes his mouth down a little further, running his tongue along a vein, he
captures and pulls toward the back of his head a large strong hand, settling it
where he wants it just as he’s settled himself on his knees here. The hint is
taken, perhaps, or maybe Yamazaki - no, Rin, he’s thinking about Rin! - simply
goes along without really understanding, but however it is, the fingers grasp
his hair just so, and Aiichiro gives a pleased little sigh around his mouthful.
     Dick isn’t really that easy to shove in your mouth, he finds. Oh, sure, it
looks easy enough in porn, but the problem is that it swells and shifts and
twitches, and that now that he’s encouraged a little playing along he’s got to
try to do his own thing and not choke or close up when the hips move, or the
hand pulls a bit at his hair, or… oh, it’s so much harder like this, but so
much nicer too.
     He might just cry if he doesn’t touch himself soon. He can feel the need
to growing quickly, and he’s squirming down on the floor, pushing his legs
together and then spreading them and leaning forward and back as if somehow
he’ll find just the right pose and his own crotch won’t ache. Should he do it
now? Should he wait? He’s not going to ask anything in return - not of senpai!
- so it doesn’t matter, does it? But can he really keep up with touching
himself and touching senpai - it’s so much simpler not to think the name at
all, isn’t it now? - at the same time.
     He finds himself trying it, but shyly, his hand down his shorts without
any attempt to take them down. He’s already changed into his pajamas, and it
reminds him he’s supposed to be in bed now, and he’s not sure if later he’ll
wish he’d done that or not. His shorts are loose enough that his hand moves all
right in them, though nowhere near as smoothly as if he were brave enough to
get his dick out of them, and within a couple of strokes he’s pretty sure it’s
not going to matter.
     There’s a strangled groan from above him. It’s followed by a tug at his
hair, a couple of quick thrusts that do take his air away entirely, and a near-
sob that he can’t really recognize as being from this person at all. Wait,
that’s wrong, senpai cries a lot, of course it’s normal for him to cry! That’s
right. It’s all very clear now, isn’t it? He lets himself indulge in that line
of thinking, focuses on nothing but keeping panic out of the whole thing… and
then there’s enough backing off for proper breath and it’s all fine.
     For a second. And then there’s the hot splash of bitter seed, and wow
that’s a lot more difficult to swallow than he’d expected, and he finds himself
plopping back on his ass, his hand still down his shorts, blinking stupidly up
at the wrong face and hearing the wrong voice mutter a sort of half-audible
apology.
     The jacket falls over his face, and he doesn’t lift it. He doesn’t look to
see the figure walking away - doesn’t want to see it - and doesn’t think about
the fact that what had seemed a precious treasure is now being left to him.
Well, it has to be given back anyway, he supposes, as he slips one arm through
a sleeve, leaves off touching himself long enough to do the same with the
other, and then flops back against the cold hard floor.
     Funnily enough, there’s nothing left in his mind. Only an eventual
stickiness in his shorts, and a reminder to himself that he can’t sleep here,
and no question at all about what’s happened or what will happen. If nothing
else, there’s one thing he’s sure of:
     He never has to worry about whether he’s the only one in the world who has
ever felt this desperate again.



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