Work Text:
Usagi glances toward Echizen’s front door when he hears it open. It’s late enough that he doesn’t expect many customers, but there are a few who prefer shopping in the evenings. The man walking into the shop now, for example. “Ah, Yukimura. You don’t usually come in by yourself.”
“Mattsun is at work and Tachibana-kun has homework. We’ve got a practice match tomorrow, but the two of them both managed to run out ammunition like idiots, so I’m running errands.”
“You know where everything is.”
Yukimura nods, but he catches Usagi glancing at the door leading up to the indoor field. That’s unusual. “Is someone upstairs?” he asks. It’s uncommon--few people who aren’t TGC competitors even know that field exists, let alone getting permission to use it--but not unheard of.
“Yes,” Usagi replies, but his eyes drift toward the door again.
Yukimura is not naturally curious, but he is naturally suspicious, and Usagi’s poker face is usually so much better.
“It’s Midori, isn’t it.” He doesn’t even bother to pretend it’s a question. “I’m going up there.”
“Yukimura, don’t.”
“Manager, you know I don’t let things go,” he says, making his way around the counter.
Usagi catches his arm. “Yukimura.”
He meets Usagi’s gaze unblinkingly. “Please let me do this. Let me do something.”
Usagi considers for a full minute before reluctantly letting him go. “Don’t start a fight. If you’re not back down here in five minutes, I’m going to go up there and break you two apart.”
“Got it.”
From the staircase, Yukimura can hear the metallic clink of falling targets after every shot Midori fires. It’s rhythmic, the pattern never breaking. It’s irritating how consistent he is.
Midori is reloading when Yukimura reaches the top of the stairs. He turns at the sound of the footsteps. “Ah, Yukimura-kun,” he says. “You’re alone today? That’s too bad. I was hoping I might see Tachibana-kun or Masamune again. I suppose I’ll have to settle for you.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Am I not allowed to shop?”
“Find some place else to buy your gear. It’s not like you don’t have money.”
“It’s not the money that’s the issue. I like it here. Besides, I was the one to introduce this store to Masamune. Shouldn’t you be the ones finding a new gun store?”
Yukimura ignores him. “Leave Mattsun alone. TGC is one thing, and we will take you down on that field, but stop showing up in his private life. You’re not welcome in it.”
“It’s Toy Gun Gun who all seem to have an issue keeping survival games out of their lives. Tachibana-kun even went and hunted me down. You boys need to learn how to compartmentalize.”
“Stay away from Mattsun. Stay away from all of us.”
“Suppose I say no?”
“Then I’ll make you.” Yukimura speaks his words like steel, but Midori just smiles.
“Mmm. I’m sure you’ll try. But you’ve tried before.” He puts his gun down and leans against the counter with his chin resting in his hand. “Say, what if I told you that I would leave Masamune alone if you came to play on Hoshishiro with us? Not during TGC, of course, but during the rest of our matches. Leave Toy Gun Gun, join Hoshishiro, and Masamune never has to see me again.”
“I would never do that,” Yukimura says, his voice flat. “I’m not going to leave Mattsun.”
“I thought you might say that.”
Something sparkles in Midori’s eyes. Yukimura frowns. He doesn’t know what it is, but he knows it’s dangerous.
“How about you come play with me?”
“I already told you, I’m not leaving Mattsun.”
“I don’t mean that.” Midori steps forward and wraps an arm around Yukimura’s waist, pulling their bodies close. His other hand moves to Yukimura’s chin, tilting it upward. Yukimura doesn’t so much as flinch, but he is very aware of how exposed his throat suddenly is. “Do you get the picture?” Midori asks, his lips close enough that Yukimura can feel his breath on his skin.
“Yeah. I get it.”
Midori smiles one of those smiles that strips his face of all its beauty. “So, we have an agreement, then?”
“If it’ll get you to stop interfering in Mattsun’s life, you can do anything you want to me.”
“You’re awfully easy to convince, Yukimura-kun.” Midori lets go of him and takes a step back. “Give me your phone number. And expect a call.”
Midori leaves first, well within the five minute time limit. When Usagi comes upstairs to check on Yukimura, he finds him leaning against the counter, staring at the ceiling, thinking.
The call comes before the week is out. They don't bother with small talk.
“Shall we get a hotel somewhere?" Midori asks. "They can get expensive, but they’ll do. I’m assuming you wouldn’t want to come to my home.”
“It doesn’t matter. We can fuck in an alleyway somewhere for all I care.”
“Well, that’s certainly an option.” He chuckles. It’s an unpleasant sound. “But I’d still prefer to do this inside somewhere. After all, it wouldn’t do to have someone else hear you.”
Not us. You. Yukimura scowls. “Just give me a place and time, since you obviously have one in mind.”
He can almost hear Midori smiling through the phone.
The hotel Midori chooses is nice, as far as love hotels go. The walls are white, and the sheets are probably clean; it would have seemed like a business hotel if it weren’t for all of the moaning carrying through the closed doors into the hallway. It’s the kind of place that suits Midori. He looks perfectly comfortable as he unlocks the door to their room and holds it open.
Yukimura steps inside, but he goes no farther than the entryway before standing still with his arms folded over his chest. He’s been to love hotels before, but this is nothing like his manga research field trips. The atmosphere is different, something entirely new to him. It makes him uneasy.
Midori waits a moment, giving him the a chance to move. When he doesn’t take it, Midori steps forward, sliding his hands along Yukimura’s arms so he can grab Yukimura’s wrists and force his hands apart. He leans in, and Yukimura doesn’t resist when he kisses him.
He doesn’t really have anything to compare it to, but he gathers that Midori’s technique is good. If Yukimura wasn’t repulsed by his touch, it might even feel nice. As it is, it’s all he can do not to push Midori away. He’s trembling when Midori finally stops, and he’s not entirely sure what’s causing it.
“Kissing’s not for you, I see,” Midori says. Yukimura glares at him. Midori laughs. “Now, now, Yukimura-kun, it’s far too early to be looking like that. We haven’t even gotten started yet.” He puts his hand on Yukimura’s neck, his fingers barely reaching into his hair while his thumb rests along Yukimura’s jaw.
Yukimura clicks his tongue and slaps Midori’s hand away. “Stop wasting time and just do what you’re going to do.”
He’s never once been afraid of Midori, but the way he looks at Yukimura--the smile, the narrowed eyes, the way his fingers rest against his lips--it’s familiar, and it’s trouble.
Nothing Midori does surprises him. Yukimura knows enough about sex and enough about Midori to know what to expect. When Midori binds his arms behind his back, he doesn’t do him the courtesy of letting him bend his elbows first. He ties them as they are, straight down to the wrist, and they both know it’ll strain Yukimura’s shoulders to leave him this way.
Midori isn’t kind about any of it; there’s no reason for him to be. He shoves Yukimura in the direction of the bed, making him stumble. Yukimura can’t right himself with his hands tied as they are, so he falls heavily onto the sheets. There’s no emotion in Midori’s touch as he strips Yukimura of his pants. There’s no affection, certainly, but there isn’t any of the vindictiveness Yukimura half-expects, either. Midori hums a tune as he pulls a tube of lubricant out of his bag. It’s some generic work song, cheery enough to be at odds with the way Midori pushes down on his chest--Yukimura winces at the pressure on his shoulders--and spreads his legs apart.
Yukimura bites his tongue to stifle a hiss when Midori pushes a finger into him. The intrusion is sudden, and it isn’t gentle.
“You’ve gotta loosen up, Yukimura-kun,” Midori says. “We’re never going to get anywhere if you keep clenching like this.” He slides another finger in, and Yukimura digs his nails into his palms. “See? Did you feel how difficult that was? It’ll make the whole experience unpleasant if you stay this tight.” He scissors his fingers, surprising a gasp out of Yukimura.
It hurts. Yukimura wills himself to relax because he knows it will keep hurting if he doesn’t and because he knows he wants to--has to--do this. Because this isn’t about him.
“Good boy!” Midori says, crooking his fingers as some sort of reward. Yukimura shudders. “Isn’t that better? I can probably fit three in now. Should we try?”
Possible and easy are two different things, Yukimura thinks with three of Midori’s fingers stretching him out. He supposes the latter doesn’t matter in the face of the former. Not here, and not with Midori.
Midori pulls his fingers out, but not before twisting them roughly inside of him. Yukimura grunts in pain. He watches Midori pick up a condom and set the packaging between his teeth so he can tear it open, watches him roll it on, hears him say something about how that’s plenty enough preparation. Yukimura tries very hard just to breathe.
He inhales sharply when he feels the head of Midori’s cock pressing against his entrance, but he forces himself to breathe out slowly, steadily, as he pushes his way inside. It doesn’t hurt much.
Midori starts slow, pausing long enough to give Yukimura the chance to adjust to his shape and size before moving. “This is your first time, isn’t it?” Midori asks. He doesn’t wait for an answer. He knows Yukimura won’t give him one. “You should try to relax. It’ll feel better if you do. I wouldn’t want you to think sex can’t be fun.”
He changes something in his movements. The pace is still the same, still slow, but now Midori pushes deeper into him. Yukimura can feel his heartbeat quicken.
“Oh, look, Yukimura-kun!” Midori says, pressing a palm to Yukimura’s cock. “You’re up. I was wondering if you’d actually get hard doing this.” He runs a finger along the underside almost idly. Yukimura shudders. His touch is too light. “I suppose that makes a few things easier.”
Midori leans forward with his hand on Yukimura’s cock, stroking it in time with his thrusts while he mouths at Yukimura’s chest through his shirt. The added stimulation makes it hard for Yukimura to focus. His breathing turns shallow, but Midori doesn’t back off. He doesn’t even let go to add more lube, choosing instead to pour it straight from the tube with his other hand. It shocks Yukimura how cold it is--or maybe it’s just that his skin is warmer than usual.
“Out of breath already? You really have no stamina, Yukimura-kun.”
Yukimura speaks through gritted teeth. “Do you ever shut up?”
“Well, somebody has to talk, and you are refusing to chat with me.”
“Just get on with it.”
Midori smiles. “If you say so.” He spreads Yukimura’s legs wider and speeds up his movements, shifting the angle of his hips to give himself a better chance of hitting Yukimura’s prostate.
No matter what Yukimura’s job may be, he’s not used to this. He’s not used to being an actual participant in sex, certainly not when there’s another person involved, and god help him, he is sensitive. He’ll get used to it, probably. Maybe. But not tonight. He’s always so cold, but right now Yukimura’s body is so warm he can’t stand it. It feels like he’s burning, and he’s never wished that he could take his sweater off until now. But he can’t even move.
He opens his mouth to try to catch his breath, and Midori immediately shoves two fingers between his lips. Yukimura chokes. Midori’s pushing far enough that Yukimura can feel his gag reflex starting to kick in, and he knows it’s deliberate; Midori doesn’t do anything that isn’t precise.
Yukimura bites down, hard. He hopes it’s enough to draw blood.
Midori withdraws his hand, laughing. “Now, now, we can’t have that. Unlike you, I don’t work from home.”
“Keep your fucking hands out of my mouth, then,” Yukimura says.
Midori just smiles at him and thrusts harder. Yukimura moans against his will, throwing his head back against the pillows. It all hurts--his shoulders are killing him, and he hates that he’s here in this fucking room with Midori, but if he concentrates on the heat building in his stomach and pretends he’s not where he is, it’s tolerable.
Midori leaves him lying still on the bed, with sweat cooling on his face and his heartbeat thudding dully in his ears. Yukimura loses track of time as he waits to recover enough energy to sit up. He thinks it takes minutes, though he never is sure.
The second time they fuck, Yukimura bites through his lip trying to keep quiet. It doesn’t even work as well as he hopes; he’s still too loud for his tastes, and he bleeds onto the pillowcase and sheets.
Midori looks pleased about it, and that makes it even worse.
A week into their deal, Yukimura is more tired than he’s ever been in his life. Sex, he’s discovered, is exhausting. He still has a manuscript to work on and Matsuoka is still roping him into training, so he hasn’t had a chance to recover. Yukimura is on his way back from a convenience store run when his legs give out.
He almost makes it up the staircase, but two steps from the landing it suddenly seems like a much better idea to lie down than to keep going, and once he’s down, it feels like it would be an awful lot of work to stand up again.
Yukimura has never had a good sense of time, so he has no idea how long he lies there, thinking about nothing and everything all at once. He might have slept there if Matsuoka hadn’t come out of his apartment to head to work.
“Yukki? Are you okay? What happened?”
Yukimura lifts his head. “Mattsun. You smell good. New cologne?”
“New shampoo. Are you alright? How long have you been out here?”
“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Yukimura lifts himself to his feet, dusting off his knees. “See?” he says, meaning to look reassuring, but he wobbles dangerously. Matsuoka catches hold of him, supporting his weight.
“You look terrible, Yukki. When’s the last time you ate something?”
Yukimura can’t remember. It’s not like the week before a deadline, when he honestly forgets to take breaks for food; he hasn’t had an appetite in days. He manages a light snack every day, when he forces himself to try, but… “I don’t know,” he says. Matsuoka frowns.
“Do you have a deadline coming up or something? You should have told me, I would have brought you food.”
It’s such an easy lie to tell. “Yeah, a special issue of the magazine. Anniversary. The bestsellers are doing specials in addition to the normal chapter, so I’m working overtime right now.”
Matsuoka nods in understanding as he unlocks Yukimura’s door. “Come on, let’s get you inside. I’ve gotta get to work now, but we’ll eat together tomorrow, okay?”
Yukimura slides under the kotatsu. “Sure. Can you do me a favor and put that bag in the fridge on your way out? I think I’m going to sleep before I eat.”
Matsuoka throws a worried glance his way, but he grabs the konbini bag anyway. “Don’t forget to eat again, alright? I’ll swing by after work.”
Yukimura waves him off. “Just go, you’ll be late.”
He lets himself relax after he hears the door close behind Matsuoka. The kotatsu is too warm for once, but Yukimura falls asleep under it anyway. He doesn’t wake up in time to eat before Matsuoka gets back.
If Yukimura expected the ropes, it comes as even less of a surprise when Midori pulls the collar out of his bag. He’s always seemed like the type for it.
He doesn’t walk Yukimura around the room like a dog, which Yukimura supposes he would be grateful for if he were inclined to feel gratitude toward Midori at all. As it is, Midori still fucks him on all fours on the floor of the dingy hotel room. Yukimura keeps his weight on his knees and forearms for most of it, digging his nails into the stained carpet when Midori enters him.
Then Midori slams his face into the floor, and Yukimura wonders if he’s unlucky enough that he’ll end up with a rug burn on his face as well as his knees. Midori keeps him pinned there for a while, with Yukimura gritting his teeth and the fibers of the carpet scraping his cheek.
When Midori lifts his hand, Yukimura is foolish enough to think, just for a second, that it’s a reprieve. But then he tugs sharply on the chain of the collar, and Yukimura chokes. Midori doesn’t let go. He keeps the pressure up, and Yukimura claws at the leather around his neck, trying to get his fingers under it so he can breathe.
“Yukimura-kun, I know you’re close,” Midori says, trailing the fingers of his free hand against Yukimura’s cock. He moves his hips faster. “If you come for me, I’ll let you go. Easy, right?”
Yukimura doesn’t have the breath to argue. He keeps trying at the collar--there should be space at the back, right? If he could only get his fingers in the right place--but he drops his right hand to grip at himself.
He doesn’t really register coming, but he must have because his hand is wet and Midori releases the chain. Yukimura collapses, coughing and gasping for breath. “Bastard,” he mutters, but he can’t get enough air in his lungs to say it properly.
“You can call me names all you want, but it certainly seemed like you liked it. You came an awful lot. Just look at the mess you’ve made.” As much as Yukimura wishes it was a lie, a glance down is all it takes to prove Midori’s words true.
He closes his eyes as Midori pushes him back down so he can finish.
Yukimura’s lost track of how many evenings he’s spent in hotel rooms like this with Midori now; or, rather, he’s never bothered to keep track. If he tries, he can tell the nights apart by the things Midori does to him. There is the night when Midori blindfolded him, the first night Midori bit him hard enough to bruise and left a trail of black and purple marks along his thighs, the night when Midori was so gentle that Yukimura almost couldn’t pretend he wasn’t worried. The trouble is that more often than not, the memories run together. Trying to sort them is like swimming in muddy water, so Yukimura doesn’t try.
Eventually, the pain that comes with Midori penetrating him settles into a dull ache that lingers long after he pulls out, a suffocating soreness that wears him down more than any run ever has.
Once, Midori strikes him across the face. He doesn’t say anything before he does it, so Yukimura figures it’s just to see what will happen. He glares up at Midori, who smiles blandly back at him for a moment before lifting his hand again, this time hitting the other side of his face. Yukimura winces. Midori tilts Yukimura’s chin upward, inspecting his handiwork. “You look better with some color in your cheeks.”
Yukimura turns his face aside, locking his gaze onto the light switch on the far wall so he won’t have to look at Midori anymore. It doesn’t stop him from hearing Midori chuckle above him, and it doesn’t stop him from coming with Midori’s hand wrapped around his cock.
He dresses himself again gingerly. Yukimura has never had physical stamina, and he’s been exhausted for weeks now; his shirt is still only half-buttoned by the time Midori is ready to leave. He waits, leaning against the door so he can watch Yukimura struggle with the buttons. Yukimura’s hands are shaking again. He can’t get his fingers to coordinate properly. He should really eat at some point.
“You don’t fight back like you did when we started,” Midori says.
Yukimura scowls and decides the buttons aren’t worth it. He throws his sweater back on before speaking. “I figured you’d enjoy that too much.”
“It’s too bad. Shouldn’t you be trying to keep me entertained? After all, if I stop playing with you, I might go back to toying with Masamune, right?”
Yukimura turns to face him. “I’m not going to give you the satisfaction of watching me resist when you touch me, and I’m not going to let you hurt Mattsun again. Fucking me is the only prize you get. That’s as far as it goes.”
“Is it?” Midori taps a finger against his own cheek, his eyebrows raised in a crafted expression of curiosity. “That’s your problem, Yukimura-kun. You never see the big picture.”
He does not deign to tell Yukimura what the big picture is before he walks out the door.
Midori presses him up against a wall. Yukimura has never understood how Midori makes himself feel so large compared to everyone else. He’s not much taller than Yukimura is, but whenever he’s here, Midori feels like an ocean. Yukimura’s body is numb, and he’s drowning.
Midori licks at Yukimura’s lips, but he keeps his mouth firmly closed. “Ah, yes, I forgot. You don’t like kissing,” he says. Midori doesn’t forget things. “You really are missing out on a fundamental part of the experience, you know.” He licks at Yukimura again, and the air feels cold where it hits the saliva he leaves behind. “Come on, Yukimura-kun. Won’t you open your mouth?” Midori asks, running his thumb along the seam of Yukimura’s lips and pulling at the corner of his mouth. “There are so many more fun things we could do if you would.”
Yukimura does open his mouth then, but only long enough to bite sharply at Midori’s thumb. He tastes blood.
Midori immediately grabs him by the throat, slamming him back into the wall. Yukimura coughs, dazed by the impact. “Now now, we’ve talked about this before, too. What am I going to tell Fujimon at work tomorrow?”
“Tell him you got bitten by an angry dog,” Yukimura manages to spit out.
Midori laughs. “I suppose you are still interesting. Good for you.” He drops him, and Yukimura rubs at his throat while he tries to catch his breath. “Was that enough foreplay for you? Should we start for real, now?”
Midori reaches for him, and Yukimura closes his eyes.
The only night that Yukimura ever comes close to screaming is the night that Midori gives him the barest minimum of preparation before forcing his way inside him. It hurts, and Yukimura buries his face in the pillow to muffle his whimpers. Midori lets him, for a little while. Then he tugs at Yukimura’s hair, lifting his head so he can’t hide the noises. He bites them back as best he can, but he knows Midori can hear them.
Midori presses his lips to the side of Yukimura’s neck. It’s a kiss mockingly chaste, a gesture feigning intimacy. Yukimura growls. He can feel Midori’s smile against his skin before he pulls away. Midori reaches for Yukimura’s cock, brushing his fingers against the head before stroking him firmly. His grip is too tight, but Yukimura doesn’t bother complaining. It’s not difficult to figure out what Midori is aiming for tonight.
Midori releases his grip on his hair, and Yukimura immediately falls forward, resting his weight on his arms, still trying to stay quiet. It doesn’t feel good, but Midori hits the right spots enough times to keep Yukimura hard.
The pain doesn’t fade, not when Midori is using as little lubricant as he is, but Yukimura gets used to it. It gets easier to control himself. He supposes that Midori must be able to tell, because he runs his free hand up Yukimura’s torso until his fingers find a nipple. Yukimura’s breath catches when Midori touches him, fingertips circling around sensitive skin. Yukimura can feel anticipation building up in him, and he grits his teeth, waiting for Midori to stop teasing.
He isn’t gentle when he does. Midori pinches and twists his nipple between his fingers as he speeds up his thrusts, and Yukimura was waiting for this to happen, but bracing himself against the pain doesn’t stop it from hurting.
Whether it’s the pain or the rate at which Midori’s cock bumps against his prostate, Yukimura can feel himself getting close. It’s fine, he tells himself. It’ll be over soon after he comes.
Midori squeezes the base of Yukimura’s cock, cutting his orgasm off at the precipice. Yukimura reaches blindly behind him, trying to slap Midori’s arm away. “St--Stop, what are you-- Let me go, let... me…” He trails off, panting.
“I should deny you more often,” Midori says, his voice bright and appreciative. “It’d be a nice change of pace if you begged.”
Yukimura chokes on his words. He hadn’t thought--but he’s so desperate, he’s so close that it’s no wonder he forgot himself. Midori thrusts deeper, squeezes harder, but Yukimura bites his tongue.
“I thought that might shut you up,” Midori says. He doesn’t sound tired in the least; his tone is completely casual. “This is fine, though. You begging would be nice, but it’s cute when you try to hold back, too. You’re not very good at it.” He waits until Yukimura’s breathing steadies before he lets go.
It takes time for orgasm to build up in Yukimura again, but Midori is relentless. Yukimura doesn’t stand a chance in the face of it. Still, he does his best to prove Midori wrong. He holds out for a while, too, biting back the whimpers enough that he can barely hear his own voice. But digging his nails into the pillow and his own palms isn’t enough to distract him forever.
He’s close again, he knows. Just a little bit more and he can--
“Not yet.”
Midori stops moving, and then he pulls out, and Yukimura hates himself for wanting him back. He tries to bury his face in his arms while he recovers, but Midori turns him over, pushing him onto his back and spreading Yukimura’s legs. “Ooh, that looks painful. Why don’t you try asking me to fuck you?”
Yukimura keeps his mouth closed, but his legs are trembling.
“No? Are you sure? But Yukimura-kun, it looks like this hurts.” He reaches forward to slide his palm across the head of Yukimura’s cock. He jerks back instinctively, but Midori follows him, fingers applying insistent pressure to the oversensitive skin. “See? It would feel much better if you just asked nicely.”
Yukimura winces, partly because Midori runs his nails up the side of his cock and over the head and partly because he bites down on the inside of his own cheek to keep quiet. He will not beg, not if he has any other options left.
Midori steps back, his face expressionless. His voice loses its teasing quality. “You certainly are determined. Someday I’ll have to break you of that habit, but luckily for you, I have other plans tonight.”
It stings when Midori presses into him again. He’s reapplied lube, thankfully, so it isn’t that; Yukimura suspects that he’s torn something. Midori probably knows, too, but it doesn’t change the speed of his thrusts. Midori rarely goes easy on him. It’s not long before he feels, for the third time tonight, the heat building in the pit of his stomach.
This time, he expects it. “I said not yet.” Yukimura closes his eyes as Midori takes hold of his cock again. It still feels awful; the incompleteness of the sensation is intolerable. He nearly chokes on it. He opens and closes his fists in an attempt to remind himself that he still has control over something until Midori grabs his wrists and pins them together at Yukimura’s side. He keeps his eyes closed as Midori fucks him, trying his best not to think about anything at all.
And then Midori lets go of him.
Yukimura comes in a rush, with a sound altogether too much like a sob. He knows in the back of his mind that it should, in theory, feel good; he’s read about orgasm denial, and he knows how it works, but he just feels drained. He dimly registers Midori coming as well. When he pulls out, it doesn’t hurt any less than the rest of it.
Midori grabs him by the chin, his fingers pressing hard into Yukimura’s jaw when he wrenches his face upward so he can look at him. Yukimura glares back. He can feel a tear running down his cheek. It’s aggravating. Midori drops him with a sigh, and Yukimura wipes at his eyes with the back of a hand.
“As expected,” Midori says, “your eyes aren’t pretty even when you’re crying. But that look of yours is good. I’m glad you’ve kept it.”
“Fuck off,” Yukimura says. Midori ignores it.
“Look,” he says, pointing down. “You got blood on the sheets again.”
To: Mattsun
Mattsun, can you come pick me up? And bring your wallet. I’m checking out a love hotel for my manuscript, but I didn’t bring enough money to cover a ride home.
From: Mattsun
Again?? Send me the address and I’ll be there, but you need to be more careful.
Midori drops Yukimura’s phone back onto the table by the door. Really, Yukimura should have brought it into the bathroom with him.
Midori takes Yukimura bent over the foot of the bed, his cock rubbing against the sheets every time Midori’s hips hit his. Midori’s left him his shirt and sweater tonight--he doesn’t always--though the shirt has long since been torn open. Red lines streak his chest and stomach, but Yukimura doesn’t worry about them. He knows by now how long scratch marks last. It’s the bite marks he’s concerned about; those actually bruise.
Midori tugs at Yukimura’s clothes so he can sink his teeth into a newly exposed shoulder. Yukimura turns his face away, pressing his cheek into the sheets and taking in the scent of the fabric. It doesn’t really smell of anything, which is the best Yukimura can hope for. Midori chooses decent hotels, but they’re still only decent; he expects everything he touches in these places to stink of sex.
“Lift your hips more, Yukimura-kun. This isn’t the time or place for lying around.”
Yukimura doesn’t move, even when Midori reaches beneath him to pinch one of his nipples.
“No reaction? You really have gotten boring. We should do something to spice things up. We could bring in a third person. How do you feel about Fujimon? I’m sure you’d prefer Ichi, but she wouldn’t want you.”
“You talk too much.”
Midori ignores him. “Ah, I suppose the one you really want would be Masamune, yes? He probably would come if I asked. And then we could really have some fun.”
“We have an agreement.” Yukimura all but spits the words out.
“We do indeed. But that agreement can only last as long as you keep entertaining me. And Yukimura-kun, I’m not sure I find you entertaining anymore.”
A sound cuts through the room: something that isn’t skin on skin, something that isn’t either of them. It’s the door creaking open, spilling light into the dimly lit room.
“Yukki?”
It’s Matsuoka peering inside.
“Mattsun?!” Yukimura springs up, eyes wild, only to have Midori grab his hair and slam his face back down.
“Now now. I didn’t give you permission to move.”
Matsuoka stands frozen in the doorway for a moment, taking in the sight before him. When he speaks, his voice is hard. “What are you doing to him, Midori-san?”
“Nothing he didn’t agree to. Isn’t that right, Yukki?”
“Midori-sa--”
“I always play by the rules, Masamune,” he says, and Matsuoka’s not the only one whose voice is sharp. “Don’t forget that.”
“Let him go,” Matsuoka says. “Yukki would never agree to this.” He steps into the room.
“Don’t!” Yukimura shouts, shifting his head in Midori’s grip to look at Matsuoka. He looks scared--he always looks scared when he’s around Midori, he always looks this way and Yukimura hates it--but determined. “Don’t come any closer, please, just--just leave, Mattsun, please.”
“See?” Midori asks, smiling. “He wants to be here. Look at how happy he is about it.” Midori pulls him upright, wrapping one arm around Yukimura’s waist while the other snakes under Yukimura’s shoulder so Midori can put his hand over his neck. He tilts Yukimura’s face up, fingers too firm against his throat and jaw.
Cool air hits his too-warm skin, and Yukimura knows what he looks like: his shirt ripped open to give Midori access to his chest--the marks, can he see the marks? What if Mattsun can see the marks--his pants somewhere around his knees, his cock hard against his will. Even without the nudity, this is the most exposed Yukimura has ever felt.
“Let him go, Midori-san.”
He releases his grip, and Yukimura drops back down. Matsuoka takes another step forward.
“Mattsun. Please.” His voice breaks. He doesn’t care.
“Yukimura-kun wants you to leave, but it doesn’t matter to me whether or not you stay, Masamune. You know I’m always happy to see you.” He grabs Yukimura’s hips and pushes into him again, taking his time. Yukimura catches Matsuoka, his face red, looking quickly away before he buries his own face in the sheets. Whether Matsuoka is in the room or not, Midori has no intention of stopping.
“Okay, Yukki. I’m going.”
Yukimura doesn’t look up again until long after he hears the door close behind him, not until he feels Midori filling the condom. Yukimura hasn’t come at all tonight, but he’s only half-hard. Midori reaches for his cock, clearly aiming for some sort of courtesy handjob, but Yukimura slaps his hand away.
“Get off of me.”
“What’s the matter, Yukimura? I thought you always like being around Masamune. You didn’t want him to see you like this? Or you wanted him to be the one on top of you?”
“I said get off of me.”
“Sure thing.” He pulls out and disposes of the condom quickly and without fuss; all too soon, he returns to stand over Yukimura, casually adjusting his collar and sleeves while Yukimura trembles with his face buried in his arms.
“Since I hurt Masamune again, I guess the game is over.” Yukimura doesn’t respond. Midori smiles. “Honestly, you didn’t think this would work, did you, Yukimura-kun? You and Masamune really are similar. He can’t beat me on his own, and neither can you. It’s amazing that neither of you have managed to figure that out over all these years.”
Yukimura’s voice comes out muffled. “Are you going to leave, or are you going to keep talking at me?”
“I’ll go, I’ll go, don’t worry. See you on the field, Yukki.”
His knees don’t give out until Midori’s closed the door behind him.
Yukimura lights a cigarette as he leaves the room. He pretends not to notice the way his hands shake around the lighter. It’s been a bad deal all along, but he didn’t expect it to go this poorly. He’ll have to figure out what to say to Matsuoka when he gets back. Yukimura runs a hand through his hair. He’s avoided thinking about this for a month, but he supposes his time is up now. He sighs as he gets to the sidewalk. The trains are still running, so that won’t be a problem, but…
“Yo.”
Yukimura’s cigarette falls to the ground as he catches sight of a figure leaning against the front of the building.
“Mattsun. You’re still here.”
“I called a cab,” Matsuoka says. “Looks like you’re just in time.”
Sure enough, Yukimura can see a taxi approaching, but he shakes his head. “It’s fine, I’ll walk to the station.”
“Yukki, we’re going to the same building. Take the taxi with me.”
He thinks about resisting more--he can’t imagine it will be a pleasant ride home--but the car has stopped and Matsuoka holds the door open, waiting. He sighs resignedly and climbs into the cab. “Whatever you say, Mattsun.”
They don’t speak for the entirety of the trip back to Tsukishiro. It’s the most uncomfortable Yukimura has ever felt with Matsuoka. It’s not until they’re on the sidewalk in front of the building that one of them says something.
“Aren’t we going to talk about what just happened?” Yukimura asks.
Matsuoka pauses at the foot of the staircase, one hand on the railing. He doesn’t turn around. “I need…some time. Before I can-- I don’t even know what to--”
“Okay. I get it. You know where to find me if you want to talk.”
Matsuoka nods. He doesn’t wish Yukimura a good night.
The first guest Yukimura gets, nearly a week later, is Tachibana. It’s a surprise when he knocks on the door; Yukimura knows how he feels about the contents of his room. But he looks genuinely worried, which almost makes Yukimura smile. That’s not a courtesy he’s used to receiving.
“Yukimura-san, do you know if something happened to Matsuoka-san?” he asks. “He’s been acting really weird lately. We haven’t had training or practice matches or anything.”
“Something happened,” Yukimura says. There’s a pause, but he doesn’t elaborate. Tachibana doesn’t push him. For a moment, he just stands in the doorway, looking up at Yukimura with his eyebrows furrowed.
“Are you alright? You seem a little strange, too.”
This time, Yukimura really does smile. “Don’t worry about me, Tachibana-kun. It’s just work. I’ll be fine.”
Tachibana frowns, but he lets the topic drop. “If you say so. Talk to Matsuoka-san, okay? It’s fine if you don’t want to tell me what’s going on, but talk to him.”
“You’re starting to get to know us really well, aren’t you?” Yukimura asks, ruffling Tachibana’s hair.
“Well enough to know when I should be worried about you two. Talk to him. Please.”
“I’ll try, Tachibana-kun. I will.”
He spends the next two days alone. He doesn’t sleep very much; he chooses instead to catch up on his work. Yukimura’s manuscripts feel less real to him than they did before, or perhaps they feel too familiar. Still, it’s something to keep his hands busy, and he still knows how to do this. He tells himself it doesn’t have to be difficult.
He’s leaning back in his desk chair, idly tapping the tablet pen against his knee, when he hears the door to his apartment swing open. The sound of the turning doorknob rings through the silence. It doesn’t take much to figure out who it is. Yukimura gets few visitors anyway, and there’s only one who would come by this late.
“You should really start locking your door, you know,” Matsuoka says.
Yukimura smiles, small and sad. “But then how will you come in to see me?”
Matsuoka sits on the floor by the kotatsu, and Yukimura settles down across from him, his knees drawn up to his chest. For a while, they don’t really look at each other. Though he keeps his head turned away, Yukimura watches him. Matsuoka won’t stop looking at his hands.
“I thought it was weird that your work kept taking you out of the apartment,” he says eventually. “And that ‘work’ went on for so long.” Yukimura just nods. He knows that Matsuoka is building up to something. “So every time you were gone this past month, you’ve been...?” He trails off, clearly still reluctant to say it.
Yukimura doesn’t have that problem. “Letting Midori fuck me, yeah.”
“But--why? Why would you let him touch you like that?”
“Because he said he would stop going after you if I did.”
Matsuoka waves his hands in some gesture of exasperation. “You had to know that wouldn’t work. He wouldn’t just give up.”
“I knew. I know. But I had to do something, Mattsun, and I figured it wouldn’t matter that much when it went sour. I was supposed to be the only one who knew.”
Matsuoka’s shoulders drop. Yukimura watches as his eyes wander over Yukimura’s body. He’s looked at his reflection only once since they took that taxi home that night; he’s never been a fan of mirrors, but he needed to know. So Yukimura knows what he looks like. The marks are starting to fade now, and most of what’s left is covered by his clothes. But he knows that when Matsuoka’s eyes linger on his neck, it’s because he’s caught the bruises that dot the sides of his throat. Twin sets of four in parallel lines; there’s no denying what those came from.
“Honestly, you…” Matsuoka sighs and stands so he can sit back down next to him. He slides his hand into Yukimura’s, lacing their fingers together.
“Mattsun?” Yukimura asks, but Matsuoka just squeezes his hand.
“No more going off on our own, okay? Neither of us. I know I can’t do it alone, and I don’t think you can either.”
“Apparently not.”
“I don’t want you fighting my battles for me, Yukki. I want you fighting them with me. You, and Hotaru--all of us. Together. What’s the point in winning if you don’t do it with family?”
Yukimura lets out a breath of laughter. “That was pretty cheesy, Mattsun.”
“I’m not that sorry.”
“It’s okay. I already knew you were lame.” Yukimura squeezes Matsuoka’s hand, too. It feels warm against his; Matsuoka has always had warm hands. Or maybe Yukimura’s are just always cold. “You know we can’t tell Tachibana-kun this happened, right?” he says. “He knows something is wrong, but we can’t tell him what it was.”
“No, we can’t,” Matsuoka agrees. “But what about you, Yukki? Are you alright?”
Yukimura stares blankly at him. “Why would I not be alright?”
Matsuoka stares just as blankly back. “Because you’ve been having sex with someone you hate for the last month? Because I know what Midori-san is like, so I know it can’t have been pleasant? Because now I know why I found you passed out on the staircase a few weeks ago?”
“I was not passed out. I was resting.”
“You were on the ground.” Matsuoka shakes his head and pulls Yukimura’s hand into his lap so he can hold it between both of his. “We’ll win, alright? Next time, the three of us will win. So you don’t have to do things like this anymore.”
Yukimura exhales heavily. It’s something akin to a sigh. “Okay,” he says. “Okay.” His grip on Matsuoka’s hand tightens. After a moment, Yukimura leans against him, resting his head on Matsuoka’s shoulder. “Can you stay here tonight, Mattsun? I haven’t been sleeping well.”
The circles he rubs into the back of Yukimura’s hand with his thumb say I know, but all Matsuoka says is “Sure. I’ll make breakfast in the morning, and then we can tell Hotaru we talked it out.”
“We should really try to worry that boy less,” Yukimura says. “I’m starting to feel bad.”
“You too, huh? Some adults we are.” Matsuoka puts one of his hands in Yukimura’s hair, scratching gently at his scalp. They stay there for what feels like a long time. It’s long enough for Yukimura to start dozing off, at least. Matsuoka pats his leg and starts to stand up. “You should get to bed, Yukki. I’ll be there after I have a bath.”
Yukimura crawls into his bed, still unmade even though he hasn’t slept here in days; he takes his naps under the kotatsu, and he can’t be bothered to tidy up at the best of times. He listens to the sound of running water until Matsuoka joins him under the covers. Yukimura presses his forehead to the top of Matsuoka’s back, just below his neck, and Matsuoka lets him.
It’s nostalgic. Yukimura can remember having sleepovers like this back when they were in middle school, before Midori, before his parents’ divorce took him to a high school without Matsuoka there, before Yukimura learned that most people don’t crave touch the way he does, before Matsuoka asked him for more space. Yukimura breathes, slowly and deeply, and closes his eyes.
For the first time in a month, he really does sleep soundly.