Archive of Our Own

Eijun makes it a point not to stay out past ten on usual days.

Even in high school, he’s aware that keeping his health in top condition is no one’s responsibility but his own, and abiding by a consistent and good sleep schedule is essential. Besides, there is no better way to start the morning than waking up at five and going for a ten-mile run!

Still, there are exceptions like today, when Miyuki actually offered to review the recordings of a rival team for their first game of the semester next week. He’s usually kept busy by school assignments and team duties, having just assumed captaincy in his third year, and Eijun tries not to pester him for extra catching that much since he's probably stretched thin by everything he has on his plate.

That does not mean that Eijun's not going to accept generosity when he sees it. Eijun is more mature now, but he’s not stupid. Falling out of his sleep schedule once in a blue moon is not going to kill him. He accepts Miyuki’s offer without hesitation, buys him dinner after practice—see, he knows the gift of reciprocation!—and barely manages to refrain from throttling Miyuki when he remarks that cheap food from campus is not enough to pay for his services with that annoying, smarmy smirk on his face.

“I’ll poison your food one day,” Eijun growls at Miyuki, swinging the paperbag carrying both their takeouts in Miyuki’s face. “This is all I can afford!!”

Miyuki does not flinch even when the bag is close to hitting him between his eyes. “It’s not very smart to let me know this beforehand, don’t you think?” He turns to unlock the door of his flat and continues, as the key jingles in the lock, “Also, are you sure that’s all you can afford? There’s a joke going around that you’ve a… sponsor, Sawamura.”

He says sponsor with an obnoxious leer in his tone, like he’s implying something dirty in the crudest sense of the word, and he turns for a fraction of a second to waggle his brows at Eijun.

Eijun thinks of dark pink eyes and a low, baritone voice saying, “I want to hear you beg, Sawamura”, and his face flushes hot. They are not even... “I don’t know what you’re talking about!!" Eijun shouts back at him, indignant, even as his cheeks burn. "What does a sponsor even mean?!”

“My, my, my,” Miyuki sing-songs, shaking his head as he swings the door open. “You haven’t grown up much at all.”

The night passes quickly, with them squabbling and taking apart game strategies like they did back in high school. It reminds Eijun of the days back in Seidou when he treated Miyuki’s room like his own, barging in at the oddest timings. Miyuki is not the strictest upperclassman around, and Eijun’s realized early on that he’s almost disarmingly lax when it comes to hierarchical norms—in fact, he doesn't seem fond of them at all. He does not bat an eye to an underclassman treating him as if he were an equal; it seems to amuse him more than anything, really.

It’s only until Eijun picks up his phone to check for the time that he sees a missed call from Ryousuke an hour ago.

There's a clench of anticipation at the pit of his stomach, as he unlocks his phone and taps out a quick message to Ryousuke. He hasn’t seen Ryousuke for two weeks and hadn’t dared to ask what he’s been busy with—they’ve started this… arrangement between them for about over two months now, and Eijun still fumbles with the boundaries. Ryousuke's his best friend's brother, but he's also like... a friend? The brother Eijun never had?

—At least, until they fell into bed together. 

Haruichi had mentioned that Ryosuke seemed particularly busy last week when they had met up with Furuya, and wondered offhandedly if he’s finally settled down with the cute underclassman from his major who’s apparently been chasing after Ryousuke for weeks.

Eijun did not have a good night’s sleep for days after. The thought washes away the initial rush of giddiness, and he chews on his bottom lip as he wonders if Ryousuke is considering breaking off whatever they have between them if he’d indeed found someone new. It’s not as if Eijun has the right to be angry, really, when Ryousuke had been clear this was supposed to be a no-strings-attached arrangement—it’s all on Eijun that he’s developed feelings for Ryousuke despite knowing how the arrangement works, but still. Still! He thinks he’s allowed to feel upset if he’s dumped (whatever it’s called!!) after two weeks of radio silence from Ryousuke with no explanation at all.

Ryousuke comes online within a minute. Are you home?

I’m at Miyuki’s.

Eijun frowns down at the green icon next to Ryousuke’s name when he doesn’t reply immediately. What’s he up to now? Is he talking to someone else? A new friend, maybe? A sourness curdles at the center of his chest, and he’s scowling down at the screen before he even realizes what he’s doing.

“Sponsor-san?” Miyuki’s voice breaks Eijun out of his thoughts. “Trouble in paradise?”

Eijun’s thumb stills mid-tap on the screen, and he grabs a cushion from the couch behind him and chucks it at Miyuki. “I told you that I don’t have one!!”

“You’re always so easy to rile up,” Miyuki says, laughing, catching the cushion with his stupid catcher reflexes. “It’s getting pretty late, though. How are you getting back?”

It’s nearly eleven now, and the last bus has left ages ago. Eijun scrunches up his nose as he thinks over his options. “I can always jog back to my apartment! It’s good exercise!!”

“Wow,” says Miyuki, arching a brow at him. “You really are something, Sawamura.”

“Whatever do you mean?!” Eijun thumps his fist to his chest and huffs. “I will have you know I keep myself in tip-top condition every day! It’s all about the discipline, captain, the discipline!! ”

His phone vibrates with a new notification. How are you getting home?

“You can always just stay over the night,” replies Miyuki, picking up the takeout containers from the table and dumping them into the paperbag. “I have an extra futon around.”

“Oh!!” Eijun perks up. “We can go for a morning run!”

“ You will go for a morning run,” corrects Miyuki, “and I will be sleeping.”

I’m staying over at Miyuki’s I think!!

He can be nice if he wants to be huh!! :DD

Ryousuke’s reply comes within seconds. Send me his address.

?????

The address, Sawamura.

Eijun obediently does so, as confused as he is. Then: Why?

I will take you home.

Eijun’s stomach swoops, a jittery nervousness nearly overcoming him at the thought of seeing Ryousuke after two whole weeks, and he has to clear his throat first, trying to will his thumping heart to calm the hell down, before he looks up to Miyuki. “Uh. Actually. I think I’ll be heading home.”

A sleek jet-black car is already parked by the pavement when Eijun steps out from the stairwell after jogging down seven flights of stairs, the headlights nearly blinding in the darkness of the night. Eijun doesn’t bother checking the number plate as he makes his way to the car and raps the window twice with his knuckles. There’s a telling click of the door as Ryousuke unlocks it for him, and he slides into the velvety seat and slams the door shut behind him.

“Nii-san!” Eijun buckles his seatbelt without Ryousuke telling him to—he’s learned that he can be strangely strict about things like this—and turns to Ryousuke expectantly. He does not respond to his greeting like he usually does, however, and his eyes remain trained on the road ahead of him like he hasn’t heard him at all. There's a ratcheting sound as Ryousuke pulls the handbrake up, then shoves it down to its original position with what has to be more force than necessary, the vein of his muscled forearm straining against his skin, and the car revs on forward. 

Eijun wets his lips when he realizes that Ryousuke is dressed in the white button-up that Eijun loves to see on him, because it fits him so deliciously well at the edges of his broad shoulders and god, when he rolls up the sleeves to the elbows like he does now, revealing the protruding veins running down to his long, slender fingers, good god—Ryousuke sticks to his gym schedule religiously since entering university, and it shows.  

“It’s past eleven now,” says Ryousuke, breaking the silence between them. Eijun tears his eyes away from Ryousuke’s fingers, wrapped tightly around the steering wheel, and swallows to soothe the sudden dryness of his throat. He quickly pulls out his phone from his bag to distract himself. “What were you doing out?”

“I was at Miyuki’s,” replies Eijun, squinting at the sudden brightness of his phone when he unlocks it. He slides the brightness level down and begins thumbing through his chats. “We were watching Meiji’s games.” 

Ryousuke hums. “I thought you didn’t like being out past ten.”

“Well, there are exceptions!! It’s not every day Miyuki offers to review games with me!” Eijun turns to Ryousuke excitedly, about to start on how Meiji’s third batter is an absolute monster, when he notices Ryousuke’s knuckles are now white around his steering wheel. He’s still not looking at him, and Eijun has an inkling that Ryousuke may not be in the best mood at the moment. Did someone piss him off during practice today? Or did he end up with another leech for his project? “... Are you okay, Nii-san?”

“What did I say when it’s just the two of us?” Eijun’s heart jumps to his throat when Ryousuke finally, finally, angles his face inwards so their eyes meet. His pink eyes are darker than they usually are in the dimly-lit car as he raises a brow at him, the warm orange streetlights washing over the sharp planes of his pretty face. Eijun senses a certain degree of iciness in his tone, and decisively concludes that, yes , he’s angry about something, but Eijun has no idea what.

He’s never been on the receiving end of Ryousuke’s wrath; perhaps annoyance at worst, but he’s never seen him angry. Not that he wants to, of course. It’s probably terrifying. Really terrifying, he tells himself. Eijun surreptitiously adjusts himself in his seat as he tries to ignore the untimely observation that the top two buttons of Ryosuke’s shirt are left undone. It does not show much skin, not really, but if Eijun stares at the right angle, he can probably see… 

“Sawamura.” Ryousuke sounds vaguely amused now. 

Eijun’s eyes drop back down to his phone, cheeks flaming. “... Ryousuke.” His voice is pitched a little higher than it usually is, and it’s obvious even to his ears. Eijun has never once thought he’s embarrassing, but when he’s around Ryousuke it seems that it’s something that just keeps on happening.

Get yourself together, Sawamura Eijun!! You were the ace of Seidou! Soon-to-be Keio's ace!! Japan’s upcoming ace!!!

“Good boy,” says Ryousuke, voice low, the initial edge in his voice replaced by something more familiar, more pleased. Something flutters at the center of Eijun’s chest. And just like that, Eijun’s resolve crumbles. He shifts in his seat again, and tries to will the thoughts away. He doesn’t even know what Ryousuke is here for! Though they do end up in bed, more times than not. This particular train of thought does little to help the half-hardness resting against his thigh, and he is suddenly thankful he changed into dark sweatpants after practice today. “You don’t have any morning classes tomorrow.”

It’s not phrased as a question. Sometimes Eijun thinks Ryousuke knows his schedule better than he does himself. “Yeah, I checked before I headed over to Miyuki’s!” 

“Is that so?” Ryousuke’s voice is flat. “Good.”

Eijun wonders what’s gotten to Ryousuke this time. Did he say something wrong? It could simply be that Ryousuke’s stressed and pent-up from school, but he’s never… Ryousuke doesn’t usually have much to say, but he always seems content to let Eijun’s mouth run free before he feeds him with mostly aggravating and unhelpful responses. He does switch to the role of an older brother on occasion, whenever he senses Eijun needs actual advice from him. It’s actually really impressive how attuned Ryousuke is to Eijun’s moods. Eijun’s never had to deal with uncomfortable and stilted silence between them like this, and Eijun doesn’t really know what he should do.

Could this have something to do with a new partner? A part of Eijun shrivels at the possibility, chest tightening almost painfully, as Haruichi’s flippant comment shoves itself to the forefront of his mind again. That could explain why he seems unhappy, since he’d probably rather spend time with them rather than with him. A pang of hurt hits him, a fist-shaped punch slamming right into his heart. Eijun’s teeth sink down on his bottom lip as he leans back on his seat, crossing his arms against his chest. No, why should he be feeling bad about this? He wasn’t the one who wanted Ryousuke to come. Ryousuke was the one who offered to drive him back! How is any of this his fault?! 

Hold on. Now that he’s on this, he realizes that they have never established that they are exclusive friends-with-benefits. Is that even a thing? Could Ryousuke have partners on the side that Eijun doesn’t yet know of? It would be easy, considering they are from different universities. Most times it’s Ryousuke who comes to look for him after all, since he’s the one with a car, and Eijun doesn’t head over to Ryousuke’s campus often since it’s quite out of the way. 

The more Eijun thinks about it, the more he’s adamant they clear things up tonight. The nature of this arrangement is not something Eijun would consider were it not someone he trusts, and he supposes that the trust he has in Ryousuke has been terrible, fertile ground for these feelings to develop. Perhaps arrangements like this aren’t meant for people like him, after all. 

He had bumped into Ryousuke in a gay club during a post-game celebration. Most of his friends were wasted by then—he hadn’t even known that they were at a gay club. Drunk from alcohol and the high of winning the game, they had stumbled into the first club they found. It’s still a wonder how the bouncer had allowed them in with how shit-faced drunk they must have been.

He doesn't remember much of the night, except that Ryousuke had found him and held his hand while leading him out of the club, and that he had stubbornly held onto Ryousuke’s hand when he tried to remove his and refused to let go. He hadn’t seen Ryousuke since that one time on the baseball field during the intercollegiate league in his first year, and he hadn’t expected to bump into him in a gay club of all places.

He had been confused about his sexual inclination back then, and it felt as if everything had slotted into place after that night. Knowing no one else who could help him with the revelation, he had messaged Ryousuke. He still doesn’t know what kind of advice he had been looking for, but Ryousuke had been surprisingly patient with him. Can I kiss you? He had blurted out one afternoon in Ryousuke’s apartment, eyes wide and pleading and fixed on his. One thing led to another and they ended up in bed together; they did not go all the way even though Eijun was quite ready with how good and attentive Ryousuke had been, but Ryousuke put a stop to it before they went too far. Eijun gave his first time to Ryousuke eventually, anyway, and he doesn’t regret it—there’s no way he can find someone he could trust more than Ryousuke with that, really. 

It’s only when Ryousuke turns into a parking lot that Eijun belatedly realizes that Ryousuke has driven him back to his apartment while he’s been caught up in his own thoughts.

“Um!!” says Eijun, fingers curling into the fabric of his sweatpants as the unspoken implication sinks in. He can feel the tips of his ears burning, but his gut clenches in traitorous anticipation. “I thought you were taking me back home.”

"I changed my mind," he replies, sliding a look over to Eijun. He raises a brow. "You don't mind, do you?"

Eijun's eyes round wide as he shakes his head vehemently. "No, of course not!!" 

Eijun winces at the way his voice bounces off the interior of the car, ringing loud in his eardrums. He shrinks back into his hood and has a sudden urge to bury himself six feet under. 

Eijun nearly jumps out of his skin when Ryousuke stretches his left arm over the back of Eijun’s seat and leans towards him, right hand still wrapped around his steering wheel. His pink eyes lock onto Eijun’s for a heart-stopping, fleeting moment, pinning him in place, before they slide to look over his shoulder. 

"I'm just parking, sweetheart," Ryousuke says, a lilt in his voice that Eijun immediately recognizes as amusement, and the endearment is surely meant as a taunt, but Eijun can feel a damned furnace fanning up the collar of his shirt. 

God, Ryousuke will be the death of him.

As Ryousuke reverses his car into a parking spot, Eijun gets distracted by how his lips are mere inches from the prominent tendon raised against the slant of Ryousuke’s neck—and really, Ryousuke has to be doing this on purpose. Whatever his intentions are, Eijun is completely, embarrassingly, hard now, even though Ryousuke hasn’t even touched him yet.

“Eager, aren’t you?” Eijun’s eyes snap open—he didn't even realize he's closed them in an effort to regain some semblance of composure—and his face flushes with heat. Before he can open his mouth to retort, a warm hand splays itself on the inside of his thigh, fingers resting dangerously close to the obvious bulge between his legs. It shuts him up immediately. “Did you miss me that much?”

The corners of Ryousuke’s mouth are curled, eyes glinting with barely-concealed mirth. 

So damned annoying—!!

Eijun slides his hand to the back of Ryousuke’s neck, the loose strands of Ryousuke’s low hair bun brushing against his knuckles, and pulls him in forcefully. Ryousuke’s fingers dig into the flesh of Eijun’s thigh, surprise splintering across his usual placid expression as he catches himself on the back of Eijun's seat before his weight can fall on him.

"If you're all talk and no action," says Eijun, words spilling warm across Ryousuke's lips, "I'll be leaving, Nii-san." 

"Brat," says Ryousuke, all blunt edges, and leans in.

Eijun reaches behind himself and wrenches the door open, then swiftly ducks out of the car with a laugh.

He misses the quirk of Ryousuke's mouth behind him.

Ryousuke’s learned from a while ago that Sawamura’s mood is a capricious thing. Sawamura’s playful demeanor is replaced by a more thoughtful silence during the lift ride up to his apartment. It doesn’t matter since Sawamura will be completely occupied once they enter his bedroom, but it’s unusual for him to be so distracted when he’s with him.

“Ryousuke,” Sawamura starts the moment Ryousuke closes the door behind them, then pauses, taking his bottom lip between his teeth. He’s thinking very hard now, a little dent between his brows, and Ryousuke’s half-amused as he reaches out and gently pulls Sawamura’s bottom lip free with a thumb. Sawamura’s Adam apple bobs as he swallows, then fixes his gaze on Ryousuke. It reminds Ryousuke of the time when Sawamura asked if he could kiss him. He would be lying if he says he hadn’t been thinking about it—having such a cute, obedient boy so putty in his hands is an absolute treat, and he’s never deceived himself into thinking he has much of a conscience. “Is this arrangement… exclusive?”

Ryousuke’s thumb is still pressed against the corner of Sawamura’s mouth, expression as unreadable as ever, but his fingers are now curled into the nape of Sawamura’s neck, asserting slight pressure. “What do you mean?”

“Um,” Sawamura says, an unsuspecting rabbit ensnared in the grip of a predator, brown eyes earnest, “do you have other partners?”

Ryousuke raises a brow. A corner of his mouth tugs upwards, but there’s no glint of amusement in his eyes. “Do you want me to have other partners?”

“No!!” Sawamura begins to shake his head, but Ryousuke tightens his hold on his neck, and he obediently stays put, blinking wide, innocent eyes back at him. “I just mean—We never said anything about—”

“What brought this on?” Ryousuke leans in, their lips now scant inches apart. His words are the whisper of a breath across the length of Sawamura’s lips, and he watches with a curl of satisfaction as red unfurls across the expanse of Sawamura’s cheeks. “Do you have thoughts of taking someone else on the side?”

... Miyuki, maybe?

A strange, angry tightness knots beneath his ribs as the name flashes past his mind, and the smile drops from his face. Before Sawamura can get another word out, Ryousuke tugs him in and swallows his gasp with his lips. 

Sawamura tastes like lemon Ramune, a tangy citrusy flavor on Ryousuke's tongue as he licks into his mouth. Sawamura's arms circle around Ryousuke's neck as Ryousuke backs him up against the wall, keeping his grip at the back of Sawamura's neck and shoving a hand down the front of Sawamura's sweatpants. Sawamura's stuttering moan spills into Ryousuke's mouth as he thrusts his hardness into Ryousuke's fist. Ryousuke kisses him harder, more insistently, a one-tracked fervor that clouds his head with raw desire.

He hasn't had him in two weeks. It awakens a primal hunger in Ryousuke he doesn't know he's capable of—he's had partners before Sawamura, but there's something about his frank earnestness and boyish naivety that makes Ryousuke want to break him apart and put him together all at once. Leave his fingerprints on the soft clay that is Sawamura Eijun, and ruin him for anyone else but him. He quickens his strokes on Sawamura’s hard, leaking cock, nudging a knee between his legs, and lets out a sound when Sawamura’s tongue sweeps against his.

Fuck, he’s so damned hard now, straining painfully against the fabric of his dress pants. 

Sawamura moans against Ryousuke's lips, jutting his hips forward, and Ryousuke immediately pulls his hand out from Sawamura’s pants, fingers and palm sticky with pre-come. Sawamura whines, blinking his brown dewy eyes at Ryousuke before he leans in to try kiss him again, but Ryousuke slides his hand up from Sawamura’s neck and yanks Sawamura back with a rough hold on his hair, his knuckles cushioning the impact against the wall. Sawamura’s head is slightly tilted back now with Ryousuke’s firm grip on his hair, chest rising and falling as he struggles to catch his breath. His brows are pushed together, cheeks flushed a rosy pink and lips glistening red, looking equal parts confused and wanting. 

How can he ever allow anyone else to see this side of Sawamura?

Ryousuke clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, then licks up a sticky finger, tasting the sweet saltiness of Sawamura’s arousal. Sawamura’s eyes draw to a half-lidded gaze as they follow the movements of Ryousuke’s tongue, lips parted. Ryousuke’s mouth twists to a sharp smile. “Not so fast, Sawamura."

“Please, Ryousuke,” whimpers Sawamura, and there’s the familiar sweet pleading edge in his voice, and fuck, Ryousuke gets impossibly harder when he grinds down on Ryousuke’s thigh between his legs, fingers now finding purchase on his shoulders as leverage.

Ryousuke may want to tease Sawamura, but he doesn’t have the patience to go through with it when he has two weeks of pent-up frustration that’s never been properly released except by his hand and vivid recollections of Sawamura being fucked stupid under him. 

He’s pushing Sawamura towards the bedroom before he even thinks about it, shucking off their clothes as they move, and Sawamura’s fully naked beneath him by the time he’s lying flat on the bed. 

Ryousuke kisses him again, their lips moving in sync, already too familiar with each other to need to find a rhythm. He sweeps his tongue across Sawamura’s plump bottom lip, feels him open up for him without protest, his blunt nails digging into Ryousuke’s shoulder blades as Ryousuke presses the full length of his hardness against Sawamura’s muscled thigh, his hands a bruising grip on Sawamura’s slim waist. Sawamura only yields, pliant under him as Ryousuke claims his mouth, heated and possessive, a white-hot desire surging through his veins.

He only pulls away when Sawamura whines into his mouth, and he feels his lips curving of their own accord as he cups Sawamura’s face with a hand and runs his thumb over his jaw. “Use your nose, remember?”

Sawamura nods, lips parted as he tries to breathe again, but his brightly-lit eyes are so focused on Ryousuke he feels like he’s about to be set ablaze, and it’s—it’s a little too much, for what Sawamura is supposed to be for him. Ryousuke dips his head to mouth against the sweaty column of Sawamura’s neck, flicking his tongue against the pulse beating under his skin, feels Sawamura shuddering against him as he reaches to grab the bottle of lube by his bed.

Before Ryousuke can move a move to maneuver Sawamura on his stomach, Sawamura’s already scrambling to be on his knees, lifting his ass in the air for him as his fingers clutch into the gray satin bed sheets. It’s not the first time he’s seen Sawamura like this, but God. “Sawamura,” utters Ryousuke, voice pitched low and guttural, a searing desire coiling tight at the pit of his stomach.

Sawamura doesn’t answer him, burying his face in the crook of his arm, the shells of his ears red even in the bedroom dimly-lit by the lights from the building across them. Ryousuke’s mouth slants upwards, a soft fondness he’s unaware of flickering across his dark pink eyes. He’s suddenly not as intent on this position as he was seconds ago, so he pulls Sawamura down to him by his hips, eliciting a surprised squeak from him, then turns him back over.

Sawamura blinks up at him, cheeks suffused with heat, dark hair mussed against Ryousuke’s bed sheets. He looks really good like this, legs splayed on either side of Ryousuke, his hard cock curved slightly to the left, red and leaking with arousal. Fuck, he’s aching to be inside Sawamura. “What…”

Ryousuke doesn’t respond to his unfinished question, and kneels between Sawamura’s spread bent legs instead, coating his fingers with a generous amount of lube. 

He traces Sawamura’s rim with a finger, then slowly pushes a slicked finger into the ring of muscle, watching as the puckered hole swallows his digit into its depths. Sawamura keens, arching up into his hands, and it’s not long before Ryousuke adds another finger, and then a third, stretching him wider with every thrust of his fingers into him.

“Ryousuke,” Sawamura says, voice throaty and a little shaky, and it sends a jolt straight down to Ryousuke’s cock. He lifts his eyes from Sawamura’s hole, now wet and messy with lube, and sees Sawamura balancing himself up on his elbows, face flushed. “I’m ready—Ngh! ” Ryousuke twists his fingers inside him, brushing against a spot that has Sawamura bucking his hips down on him, a gasp tumbling from his throat. 

Ah. 

Ryousuke doesn’t listen to Sawamura, only continues finger-fucking him at a slow, measured pace, dragging his fingers just shy of his spot. Sawamura has his eyes squeezed shut and lips tightly clamped together as he twists his body down on Ryousuke’s hand, trying to get him where he wants. But Ryousuke’s not a nice person, and he’s not going to do anything about it unless Sawamura begs for it.

And Ryousuke knows that Sawamura’s reached his limit when he curls his fingers inside him, wringing a broken whine from Sawamura’s throat as a shudder courses through his body.

“Ryousuke, please,” Sawamura pleads, pretty brown eyes finally sliding open. They are glistening wet now, pinkish at the edges, and it’s one of Ryousuke’s favorite looks on him. Ryousuke might just give it to him at this point if it were any other day, but he’s feeling especially mean tonight. So he waits, eyes drawing to a half-lidded, taunting gaze, as he continues fucking his fingers into him at a pace he knows is driving Sawamura insane.

“Ahn, Ryou—” Ryousuke splays his fingers on the flat of Sawamura’s stomach when he tries to thrust his hips down again, a firm pressure to keep Sawamura from moving. Sawamura looks like he’s about to cry, now, and Ryousuke knows he’s a little fucked in the head because it goes straight down to his heavy aching cock. “Ryou, ahn—please , please!”

Ryousuke’s already lubed up his cock the next moment, pressing the blunt head of it against Sawamura’s slick hole as he wraps a hand around the dip of Sawamura’s waist, before he slowly pushes into him, inch by inch. Fuck, Sawamura’s so warm and tight around him, and it’s taking every ounce of his willpower not to just hammer into Sawamura and fuck him till he’s thinking of nothing else but him—he has to remind himself it’s not like the time when Sawamura stayed over and is sufficiently loosened by him the night before that he can take him so easily again.

“Ngh, you’re so—” Sawamura gasps, fingers digging into Ryousuke’s arms as he tilts his head back against the bedsheets, baring the unblemished, vulnerable column of his sweat-slick neck to him. It's been a while since Ryousuke has seen this expression on Sawamura, like he's learning anew how full he can feel with a cock inside him, and fuck, if it isn't an absolute turn-on. “You're so much…”

“Almost there, Eijun,” Ryousuke says, and even he can hear the strain in his voice as he bottoms out in Sawamura's ass, drawing a low, shaky moan from Sawamura. Forces himself to stop moving as he lets Sawamura adjust to his size, his aching hardness wrapped in Sawamura's incredible tightness. "You're doing so good." Ryousuke presses a kiss at the corner of Sawamura’s mouth, then another on his jaw. Sawamura makes a soft sound at the back of his throat, blunt nails digging into the hard flex of Ryousuke's forearms. “Can you feel how you're clinging onto my cock?”

"Ryou," Sawamura whines, face flaming, but he's clenching around him in response. 

Ryousuke chuckles, a dark, rough quality to it, then mouths down the smooth expanse of Sawamura's neck, nipping and sucking onto his bare skin. Sawamura is gripping around him so deliciously, and every muscle in Ryousuke's body is taut with tension as he holds himself back from plowing into Sawamura. 

Then Sawamura is rolling his hips down on him experimentally, a soft ah tumbling from Sawamura's throat, and Ryousuke knows he's starting to get used to it—and that's not really what he wants. Not what Sawamura wants, either. He's been with Sawamura long enough to know how he likes to be fucked.

He pulls out of Sawamura so the head of his cock catches around the rim of his slick hole, then his hips snap forward, sheathing himself back inside him in one single stroke. 

Sawamura moans, pretty face contorting with pleasure as he throws his head back, arching up towards Ryousuke, legs falling open wider for him. He's as expressive as ever, when he's being fucked, even if he doesn't say a word. And Gods, if that isn't a sight.

A guttural sound escapes Ryousuke's throat, and then he's lifting one of Sawamura's legs over his shoulder before he drives the whole of his length into him again and again, each time as intent as the previous with every forward snap of his hips, heavy balls slapping against the meaty cheeks of Sawamura's ass.

There's a wild look in Sawamura's eyes, gaze unfocused even though it's fixed on Ryousuke, as he just takes it with his breathless moans, all of Ryousuke's hard, punishing thrusts into him. 

Then Sawamura drops a hand down to his red, leaking cock, already making a mess on the flat toned planes of his stomach, and Ryousuke growls as he catches Sawamura's wrist in his hand and shoves it down by his head.

Sawamura blinks up at Ryousuke, round brown eyes glistening with tears, forehead slick with sweat. Something perverse in Ryousuke purrs in delight at this beautiful look on Sawamura, and he can feel his cock pulsating in Sawamura's tight heat. "Ryou, please—ah!" His breath catches, voice breaking off to a helpless whine as Ryousuke slams back into him, and Ryousuke can see the sharp pleasure twisting Sawamura's features as he cries out. "Want to come, please, please!"

Ryousuke's mouth curls, an unreadable glint tucked in his dark pink eyes. "Not yet."

"Why are you so—ahhh—" Sawamura's cut off when Ryousuke drives his cock deep inside him once more, watching the little frown on Sawamura's face crumple to something more uninhibited, more obscene, clenching around Ryousuke's cock. He really is gorgeous.

"Feels good, Sawamura?" Ryousuke asks, voice low and raspy, as he pulls out of Sawamura till only the head of his cock is left in him. He can see the way the rim of Sawamura's hole is stretched around his girth like this, one trembling leg still hooked over his shoulder, and it's one of the filthiest, hottest things that Ryousuke's ever seen.

"Yes, yes, yes, God—" and then Sawamura nearly howls when Ryousuke pulls him down by the waist with a bruising grip, and spears him onto his cock in a new angle that goes in deeper than any of the thrusts before.

Ryousuke doesn't let up now, quickening his pace and fucking into Sawamura, and there's a wet squelching sound echoing in the room as his balls slap against the meat of his fleshy globes. Sawamura's writhing on his cock now, desperate for release, but he doesn't reach for his cock this time, incoherent babblings spilling from his lips as Ryousuke pistons his cock inside him again and again.

Sawamura moans then, a low, keening sound that Ryousuke's all too familiar with, the muscles at his toned stomach flexing, and Ryousuke stops abruptly, clenching his jaw as he forces himself to remain still in the tight heat, cock aching so hard it's almost painful. A tear streaks down the corner of Sawamura's eye, mixing with the sheen of sweat at the side of his forehead. "Oh God, please move, please," he cries, nearly despairing, pushing his hips down on Ryousuke, "Ryousuke, please!"

Ryousuke sucks in a sharp inhale at the way Sawamura looks now—the pool of pre-come on his stomach, his brown hair in sweaty strands and mussed against his bedsheets, and his usual boyish face of innocence replaced by a wanton expression of raw desperation. It's ridiculously alluring, and when Sawamura's dark eyes flutter open and looks straight at him, Ryousuke finds himself wrapping a fist in Sawamura's hair and surging forward to slant his mouth over his.

They kiss like they're starved with no finesse to it at all, sloppy and wet and messy. Ryousuke nips and sucks on Sawamura's bottom lip before he claims his mouth again, and Sawamura pushes back against him with his tongue. Ryousuke makes a sound at the back of his throat, then starts quick, shallow thrusts into Sawamura's hole, grinding the base of his cock at the cheeks of Sawamura's ass every time he slides into him. Sawamura's scratching down the broad of Ryousuke's back as he hooks a leg around his waist, moaning into Ryousuke's mouth.

There's a glassy look in Sawamura's eyes when Ryousuke pulls away from him, and his spit-slick lips are swollen and parted, every thrust into him knocking a breathless moan from his throat.

Ryousuke's hit by a powerful surge of electrifying, possessive want to make sure he's the only one who can see him like this. 

"I don't share, Eijun," he says, cupping Sawamura's jaw and pressing a thumb to the corner of his mouth. Sawamura's eyes are unfocused somewhere above Ryousuke, panting and thrusting back on Ryousuke's cock, and Ryousuke doesn't know if he's heard him. He isn't even sure if Sawamura can understand what he's asking, but he doesn't care. "Do you want to share?" 

Ryousuke punctuates his question with a twist of his hips as he sinks back into Sawamura, who squeezes his eyes shut, a broken sob tearing from his throat. "I don't—ahhh—" Sawamura's long lashes flutter as he tries to keep his eyes focused on Ryousuke, taking every one of Ryousuke’s deep, slow drag of his cock inside him with a certain kind of mindless headiness, "don't want to share."

Sawamura then turns his head, flicks his tongue over Ryousuke's thumb, and takes it into the wet heat of his mouth.

It all goes down straight to Ryousuke's cock, the razor-sharp desire twisting right into the pit of his stomach, as Sawamura sucks on his thumb and circles his tongue around it greedily—Ryousuke feels like he's been teetering on the edge himself for hours, really, and his already thin cord-like restraint snaps.

Every muscle in Ryousuke's body is taut and burning as he plunges back into Sawamura, filling him up right to the base of his cock. Sawamura bites down on Ryousuke's thumb, making a long, muffled moan around it, and then Ryousuke is slamming into him again and again, with none of that controlled grace he's been fucking him with. His vision is blurred around the edges, and he feels almost feral—primitive, even, consumed by the urge to paint every single inch of Sawamura with his seed. 

Sawamura’s arching so prettily towards him, and he’s screaming now, mostly incoherent words that Ryousuke can’t make anything of as he pushes down blindly on Ryousuke's cock, driving Ryousuke towards the edge with the way his walls are clamping tightly around him—god, so fucking tight, so fucking good—heels of his feet digging into the small of Ryousuke's back. Ryousuke continues to ram into Sawamura with assured precision, the force of every thrust sliding him up on the bed, and Ryousuke has to keep him in place with an iron-grip on his waist.

Blood is pounding furiously in Ryousuke’s ears, rushing all the way to his head, and he knows he’s nearly savage with how he’s fucking Sawamura. He’d be worried he’s hurting Sawamura if not by the dilated pupils of his glazed-over eyes and the wanton, desperate way he’s writhing down on Ryousuke’s cock like he can never get enough of him. Like Ryousuke can ever get enough of Sawamura. He's so fucking perfect.

Then Sawamura wails, head lolling back on the bedsheets as his hands tighten their grip on Ryousuke’s forearms, every tendon of his sweat-slick neck standing out against his skin, and fuck, he’s coming untouched, clenching down on Ryousuke’s cock as strings of come shoot across his body.

“Fuck, fuck—god, Eijun.” Ryousuke slams into Sawamura, once, twice, then spills his release inside Sawamura, grinding deep against Sawamura’s sloppy wet hole as spurt after spurt of come paint his insides. Ryousuke can feel Sawamura shuddering against him, whimpering, before he drops his shaking legs down from Ryousuke’s waist. “Fuck.”

Ryousuke rests his head on Sawamura's chest, feels the rise and fall of it as he catches his breath.

After a moment, Ryousuke straightens himself and carefully pulls out of Sawamura, a slow, gentle motion. Sawamura's hole is a little puffy, and there's a mess of lube and come smeared and leaking from his hole. Ryousuke dips his head down to press his lips on the hollow of Sawamura's shoulder. "I'll be back."

Sawamura makes a sound of protest when Ryousuke lifts himself off him, and he cups Sawamura's jaw with one hand to kiss him properly on the lips. "Just a moment."

He wipes Sawamura down with a wet cloth when he's back, taking special care when he reaches the mess between Sawamura's legs. He can feel Sawamura's eyes on him as he cleans him up, but he says nothing about it. "... I'll take you to class tomorrow."

Sawamura hums in response, sounding too tired to form a proper sentence. Ryousuke joins him on the bed again after he dumps the cloth on the bedside table, and Sawamura shifts so he's wrapped in Ryousuke's arms.

Sawamura threads his fingers through Ryousuke's hair, only pausing mid-way to pull his hairtie free, so his hair tumbles down in loose curls against the back of his neck. He pats on Ryousuke's head absently as if he were a child, then tucks his hand back down between them.

There's a sort of serene tranquility now, with Sawamura pressed against his chest and his hair tickling his chin, and it feels like the raging thunderstorm within his ribs has finally quietened. “Was it too much?”

“No,” Sawamura whispers, soft like he always is after sex, voice raspy. He sounds like he’s about to fall asleep. Ryousuke's pretty sure Sawamura's eyes are half-closed at this point. Sawamura snuggles in closer to him, breath washing over his collarbone, then continues in his sleepy slur: "You... never... too much."

Ryousuke goes still for a moment, flicking his eyes down at the boy he's holding in his arms, and the warmth of the summer sea seeps into the marrow of his bones. 

After Sawamura's breathing evens out to a quiet, steady rhythm, Ryousuke tightens his hold around Sawamura, and drops a kiss at the top of his head.