Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/8390491.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      食戟のソーマ_|_Food_Wars!_Shokugeki_no_Soma
  Relationship:
      Hayama_Akira/Yukihira_Souma
  Additional Tags:
      Chair_Sex, Light_Bondage, Food_Porn, and_by_that_i_mean_porn_with_food
      there_is_no_cooking_here
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-10-27 Words: 2268
****** sake and spice and all things nice ******
by koonutkalifee
Summary
     Souma loses the autumn elections. He also loses a bet. It goes a lot
     better than he thought it would.
Notes
     ho boy i wrote this at the end of s1 and then i saw the ep with akira
     tied to a chair blindfolded and was like "the fuck?? didn't i already
     write this fanfiction??"
     spoiler: it's not akira tied to the chair
     ps i'm so so sorry about the title i think it's fucking hilarious
See the end of the work for more notes
Obviously, Souma hadn’t believed that he’d end up here.
Obviously, he’d thought he would win.
He’d come in second. And obviously that’s amazing, because everyone else he’d
beaten to get there had been amazing and Souma was better than them. He just
wasn’t the best.
Hayama Akira had grown up with spices, and Souma had let his confidence consume
him. And maybe there was barely a hair’s breadth between their dishes, but a
hair’s breadth was enough for Hayama to win. Outright.
“Open up,” Hayama says. Souma opens his mouth, and Hayama pushes the spoon past
his lips.
Souma drowns.
There’s a flood in his mouth, tastes he’s never thought about, spices he’s
never heard of. It’s sweet, primarily, sweet and soft and there’s too much of
it, Hayama’s put too much in his mouth.
He swallows and gasps. This was not what he’d meant when he’d suggested that
the loser had to eat whatever the winner made. Hayama is probably a bit smarter
than him – he would have made peanut butter octopus, or something along those
lines.
Souma stares Hayama straight in the eyes and opens his mouth again, and Hayama
grins, a little cruel. Whatever it is he’s feeding Souma is in a bowl on the
table beside them, and he’s not sitting down, as though the extra height he has
over Souma is another power trip.
“I already lost,” Souma points out. “You could sit down.”
“Maybe later,” Hayama says.
Souma opens his mouth and takes the spoon Hayama’s offering between his lips.
He’s not really got a choice, and he probably wouldn’t have refused if he had.
Whatever it is he’s being fed tastes really good, even if it knocks the air out
of his lungs and makes his mouth feel like it’s about to burst.
“What is in this?” Souma manages. “Yogurt? I don’t recognise any of the
spices.”
“There is yogurt,” Hayama says, and feeds him another spoon. “Among other
things.” He tilts Souma’s head back, fingers feather-light against his jaw, and
holds up the spoon to his mouth again. Souma keeps his lips pressed firmly
shut, and Hayama pulls back and laughs a little.
“You can tell me to stop,” Hayama says. “Tell me to stop and I’ll untie you and
let you go. You won’t have to eat any more.”
It’s perhaps a little cruel of him to say this – now that he’s offered, there’s
no way Souma can tell him to let him go. Souma makes an indifferent sound.
“A deal’s a deal,” he says, and Hayama holds up the spoon again. Souma’s mouth
opens almost automatically and he swallows the dessert willingly. It’s not like
it tastes bad. Souma almost wished it tasted bad, because then at least he
wouldn’t be so eager to be spoon-fed by Hayama. “Is there alcohol in this?”
“Maybe I’m trying to get you drunk,” Hayama says smoothly. “Maybe I want to
take advantage of you.”
Souma had already guessed that much, even if there hadn’t been alcohol in the
food.
“Aren’t you already taking advantage of me?” he asks, deadpan. “I’m sure this
wasn’t our original agreement.”
“Perhaps,” Hayama says, and pushes another mouthful of food into Souma. “Should
I untie you and let you go?”
“You’ve started now,” Souma gasps. He knows exactly what this feeling is and
it’s kind of embarrassing and kind of unsurprising that Hayama’s managed to get
it out of him with sweets. “You kinda seem desperate to chicken out halfway.”
“I will if you tell me to,” Hayama says, and holds up another spoonful. Souma
doesn’t lean forward but he doesn’t lean away either. “But it looks like you
don’t mind.”
Souma knows how he looks. He smiles up at Hayama as indifferently as he can.
“Are you sure you don’t want to sit down?”
Hayama straddles him as he forces the next spoonful past his lips. Souma’s
whole body feels under attack from the taste, the sensitivity of his skin
somehow heightened, and now his clothes feel itchy and rough and they make him
want to squirm.
“Did you put something else in this?” he gasps. Hayama looks amused.
“No,” he says. “Is me sitting here making you uncomfortable?”
“Not really,” Souma says. Uncomfortable isn’t quite the right word for how
Hayama sitting on him makes him feel, but it does describe how his trousers are
quite accurately.
Hayama feeds him another spoonful, pressing the fingers of his free hand
against Souma’s throat as he swallows. Souma’s neck is flushed red and Hayama’s
fingers move with the movement of Souma swallowing.
The spoon in Hayama’s hands is slippery with sweat now, and if Hayama is honest
with himself his plan hadn’t involved being this affected. But Souma’s pretty
eyes are staring up at him, laughing at him through the cloudy lust in them,
and Hayama isn’t going to back down from a challenge from someone he’s already
beaten.
He offers Souma another spoonful, and with his other hand unbuttons the first
three buttons of Souma’s shirt. Souma makes a choking noise, and Hayama looks
up to see that there’s a smear of white on his lips where the spoon had slipped
out of his mouth.
Hayama doesn’t even think about it. He leans down and licks the white off of
Souma’s mouth, and Souma tilts his head back and lets him. Hayama stays there,
too close to Souma’s face, and Souma looks up at him as though waiting for him
to do something else.
“That it?” Souma asks. “You were undressing me a minute ago.”
“And you were enjoying it,” Hayama murmurs, and kisses him.
All he can taste is what he’d been feeding Souma, rich and sweet and heavy and
spiced, and he wonders if he would have been able to hold up as well as Souma
had if he’d been the one being fed this. It’s dizzying, the taste, heady and
intoxicating, far more so than the few drops of alcohol he’d added should have
made it.
He pulls away to offer Souma another spoonful and Souma takes it, wraps his
lips around the spoon and swallows around it. Hayama kisses him, messy with
flavour, and Souma opens his mouth.
Souma’s drowning again, Hayama’s mouth stealing any hope of a breath from his
lungs and he kisses back, tries to make Hayama lose too. He can feel Hayama is
as hard as he is, and Hayama’s hands are at the top of his chest where he’d
begun undoing buttons but got distracted in the meantime.
This is still about Hayama’s win though. Hayama pulls back and Souma breathes
hard, panting into the air between them. Hayama smirks at him, the victory on
his face marred by his flushed gasping.
“You sure you don’t want to ask me to stop?” Hayama murmurs. “I might if you
beg.”
“If you want to run away you’re more than welcome to,” Souma tells him. “Untie
me before you leave though, so I can take care of myself when you’re gone.”
Hayama shoves one hand into the front of Souma’s pants and Souma bends forwards
as much as his bound hands will allow, gasping. Hayama’s hand is hot, burning,
and he holds up that damn spoon near Souma’s mouth again as he twists his hand
around Souma’s cock.
Souma laughs, breathless. He wonders if he’s actually enjoying himself.
Certainly, some parts of him are. The spoon Hayama is offering is very close to
his mouth and he parts his lips, enough for Hayama to feed it to him.
It hits just as hard this time as it has every time, the heady taste filling
Souma’s mouth and he’s dizzy with it, dizzy with this and with Hayama’s hand in
his pants and he groans, helpless, kind of wanting to give in and let Hayama do
as he pleases.
It’s kind of humiliating. He kind of likes that.
He forces his eyes open and looks at Hayama, who’s still straddling his lap and
unbelievably close to him. Souma tries for a grin but it’s a pale imitation of
his usual smile, and Hayama twists the hand he’s got in Souma’s pants in
response. Souma doesn’t close his eyes this time, letting Hayama see his eyes
as he cries out for the first time.
Hayama feeds him another spoon and kisses him, immediately after, licks his way
into Souma’s mouth like he’s trying to clean it out. Souma kisses back, as
vicious as he can be tied to a chair.
“You’re going to lose,” Hayama says. “You already lost.”
“Obviously,” Souma says, and bites his lip as Hayama moves his hand again.
“Obviously I lost.”
Something glints in Hayama’s eyes at that, something greedy and heavy and Souma
thinks he’s seen the same look in other people’s eyes before. Hayama leans in.
“Say that again.”
Souma looks at him, unimpressed, and Hayama’s fingers move delicately along his
cock. Souma’s expression falls slack and Hayama feeds him another spoonful, and
then another, and another, faster than Souma can swallow. White, creamy
stickiness dribbles out of the corner of Souma’s mouth, and Hayama’s eyes catch
on the smear for just a moment too long.
He pumps his hand again, harder this time, and Souma’s mouth falls further
open. He’s swallowed most of what Hayama’s given him but the dribble at the
corner of his mouth is still there and Hayama doesn’t want to lick this one up.
He leaves it there and kisses Souma, tasting the sticky spiced sweetness of the
pudding he’s been feeding him.
Souma groans beneath him and pushes forwards, upwards, against Hayama and
Hayama hisses at the pressure. He’s hardly unaffected. He’s about as far from
unaffected as he could be, and Souma grinds up again, movements hampered by his
bound hands.
Hayama gasps into Souma’s mouth and Souma takes advantage, forcing his tongue
into Hayama’s mouth, and it’s too late now for Hayama to pretend that Souma’s
got no control at all. Hayama squeezes his hand and pushes his other hand up
Souma’s shirt.
It’s soft. Souma’s skin gives beneath his fingertips, and Hayama thinks that it
would be easy to dig bruises into him.
He touches lightly, running his hand up Souma’s chest and feeling over his
ribs. Souma arches up into him and Hayama wants to drag this out but he’s too
far gone for that and Souma is too.
He pulls his own cock free and hisses at how sensitive he is, and Souma hisses
too. Hayama wraps his hand around both of them and pulls and Souma groans
underneath him. His knees are slipping off of the sides of the chair and his
trousers are in the way, and Souma’s shirt is getting in the way of his other
hand, and he thinks he might come right now.
“This was a stupid idea,” Souma mutters. He’s bitten through his lip and Hayama
watches as a single drop of red wells up before leaning in to lick it off. It
tastes horrible and Hayama takes Souma’s lower lip between his teeth without
actually biting him. “This was a stupid ide – ah,” Souma’s complaints falter
for a moment as Hayama twists his hand around them. “Couldn’t you have used a
bed?”
“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” Hayama groans. “This really wasn’t supposed
to happen.”
Souma shudders. Hayama slips further and considers just toppling the chair, so
he doesn’t have to keep them balanced.
Souma comes in his hand and all thoughts he has are forced out to the sound
that slips out of Souma’s mouth as he does. The puff of air that accompanies
the sound brushes over Hayama’s own lips and Hayama locks eyes with Souma for a
single moment.
He comes into his own hand, and for the moments after the two sit, balanced in
the chair, panting like they’ll never breathe again.
Souma groans. “Oi, Hayama. My hands.”
Hayama doesn’t remove his face from where it’s buried in Souma’s neck and
reaches around to pull at the knot in the tie he’d used to bind Souma’s hands.
Souma brings his arms around and begins rubbing at his wrists. Hayama pulls
away and stands up to stretch.
Souma had been right. The chair had been a stupid idea. But the plan had just
been to turn Souma on a bit, to humiliate him, not to fucking sit in his lap
and jerk them both off.
Not that he’d object to doing it again. Provided Souma didn’t want anything
else.
Souma glares up at him suspiciously. “I’m not dating you.”
Hayama considers snorting. “Good. I’m busy.”
Appeased, Souma stands up from his chair and grimaces down at the mess they’ve
made, which has gone all over him and barely splattered Hayama. “Ugh. I can’t
go back to Polar Star like this.” A long pause. “Well. They’re all gonna know
anyway.”
Souma eyes the sink on the other side of the kitchen (they just had sex in a
kitchen, and that’s disgusting) and then he settles on the paper towels nearby.
“Do you wanna meet up next week? You’ve gotta tell me more about your starter.”
“Calling it a starter isn’t going to change the fact it beat your dish.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Souma says distractedly, zipping his pants back up. “Oh, I can
invite Kurokiba too. I wanna talk to him.”
“Stop inviting people to mine without asking,” Hayama says. It’s probably
futile, because Souma doesn’t like listening, but he can say he tried at least.
“Yeah, yeah,” Souma says again. “See you around, Hayama.”
“Get out, Yukihira.”
Souma blows him a kiss and leaves.
End Notes
     souma is aro and has slept with every person in the school no i'm not
     sorry yes i make the rules
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