InsaneJournal

[ficlet] Ookiku Furikabutte: Something Yet to Learn
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Abe/Izumi (Izumi -> Mizutani, Abe -> Mihashi)
Disclaimer: Oofuri is the brainchild of Asa Higuchi.
Continuity: Brand New Endings
Notes: First posted as ninja-fic here, and improved with art by kiwimangoodness. ♥ (This entry, therefore, is very much not worksafe.)

Saturday night and they're at Abe's, sitting propped against the bed. For minutes now the only sound between them has been that of the heavy rain beating on the window.

A cigarette makes its way back and forth between Izumi's right hand and Abe's left, their fingertips brushing around it every time it's passed over.

Something is different tonight. All of this has happened before, the sitting together and drinking and not really talking, occasionally taking out a cigarette from rarely used packs. But here, now, tension is infusing the comfortable silence.

It could be the rain. It could be that Mihashi's first pro game ended on a defeat earlier today and Abe heard about it despite his best efforts not to know. It could be that Mizutani has never been gone this long and Izumi's thin hope that he'll come back eventually (like he did the first three times) is wilting further every day.

It could be that it's been a bad week in a bad month in a bad year and they're both weary. That something has been building up over these evenings of shared misery that has become hard to ignore, a gigantic what if that can't be fully answered without putting something in motion.

Izumi takes the last drag of the cigarette and crushes the butt in the empty ashtray between them before letting his head fall back to look at the ceiling. "I can't think tonight," he says. Soft, detached, as if talking to himself.

Abe moves the ashtray out of their reach, and sits back so close their arms are pressed together; then it's only a matter of twisting his neck a little and their mouths press against each other as if it was planned all along.

Maybe it was. It's been hard to ignore, the thought that maybe the solution is right there under their noses, maybe they can both move on, help each other out of bright and deceitful memories of high school. Maybe there's no sense in Izumi waiting and Abe punishing himself, if they could just rely on each other just a little bit more.

But they kiss and kiss and slide hands under clothes, zippers and buttons bypassed in favor of immediate touch, and the semi-expected sense of revelation never comes.

When Abe pulls away he's aroused and breathing hard and clear-headed.

"It's not going to work, is it?" Izumi asks, not really a question at all. Abe make a non-committal noise and lets his head fall in the crook of Izumi's neck.

"I don't even like you that much," he says against the soft skin, and almost sees the shiver that runs down Izumi's back. It's true, somewhat. This thing between them isn't about affection, not even about friendship. It's about the need to have someone who won't be afraid to speak their mind but won't hassle either. It's grounding, yes, but certainly not romantic. And despite the half-hope for something new Abe knows he doesn't want that with Izumi.

He doesn't want that but this he thinks he might need right now, the heat and touch of someone he knows, trusts to an extent, and doesn't want to hurt.

"But enough for tonight," Izumi breathes, sliding a hand between Abe's thighs. Abe doesn't need to think before he repeats "for tonight" and shifts for a better angle.

They don't talk much afterwards, half words and broken sentences, curt directions in groans and hisses as clothes are discarded and hands find skin. It would be a lie to say they've never fantasized about this all, from Abe's lips tracing the freckles marring Izumi's cheeks to Izumi's fingers gripping Abe's thighs just tight enough to leave bruises.

Then there are no clothes left and the questions hangs between them of who will be doing what here. Neither of them is good at relinquishing control, and they don't make concessions to each other, ever.

"Fuck me," Izumi says easily, ending the struggle before it even begins. Abe doesn't argue. A habit of blunt honesty is the assurance that this is what they both want, so he grabs under the bed to find the necessary items that never seem to find their way back into the bedside table drawer even if they don't get used for weeks.

Izumi's hand pulling on his neck surprises him. The kiss is harsh and brief; when they pull back there's a heat in Izumi's eyes that wasn't there before, and Abe has to wonder – if Izumi yearns to get fucked as Mizutani longs for a cookie-cutter family, how is it that they always seem to gravitate back to each other?

Izumi shifts away, turns around to kneel facing the bed. He adjusts immediately, letting his legs slide further apart for a more stable position. A drop of lubricant falls on the blanket when he opens the tube to smear some on the fingers of his left hand – switch hitter, Abe thinks for no reason. He touches the base of the exposed neck, lets his fingers play with the fine hair there. Waits for Izumi to take a sharp breath before racking his nails down the arched back, making him gasp in surprise. But it works, it works and Izumi's forehead falls on the blanket as he prepares himself, his back slithering under Abe's fingers, directing the shape of the red trails left by his nails.

Abe is careful not to use his teeth when he opens the condom pack with his mouth and his free hand, and even manages to put it on without letting go of its hold on Izumi's neck. They're ready at the same time and it's only the matter of a moment to kneel between Izumi's spread legs, let his cock be guided by Izumi's hands as his own find their grip on his hips.

His breath hitches as he pushes in slowly, aware of nothing but heat and skin and pressure until Izumi groans and pushes back.

It's too fast, too hard, hurts both of them but neither cares. Abe's clenched teeth, Izumi's hand fisting the blanket, the moans not bitten back because there's no need to hide, the sweat that breaks between their bodies are only collateral signs of what's really happening here.

For once Abe gives instead of taking, for once Izumi accepts without reservations; and their breathing unconsciously falls to the same rhythm as Izumi shifts to wrap a hand around his own erection. He doesn't move it, lets Abe's thrusts control the speed and strength, and it's not long before he gasps and cries out, the muscles in his shoulder clenching under Abe's hand. But even as he comes he's still moving, still pushing back with all the strength left in his legs and Abe stops resisting.

They end up where they started, leaning against the side of the bed, their shoulders coming in contact with every heavy breath.

"Guess I got my half-hour," Izumi says once he's caught his breath and glanced at the clock glaring bright red numbers in the darkness of the room.

None but Abe would know that it's the best compliment he can give, from a conversation months ago, the first time he saw Izumi lost and helpless – if I let this stranger take me home, for how long will I be able to not think about it?

"Yeah," Abe sighs, stretching lazily. His arm falls across Izumi's shoulders and for once he doesn't feel awkward touching someone he's just had sex with. They share a glance, a derisive smile, one last languorous kiss, and when they separate it's fully comfortable, the natural end of this little adventure.

"How do you fit two people on this bed?" Izumi asks as he pushes himself up and grabs his underwear.

"I don't have sleepovers," Abe answers, watching white cotton slide up his legs with no remnant of sexual desire. "The trains run most of the night."

"Tough." Izumi slides under the blanket and raises an expectant eyebrow. Abe rolls his eyes, but finds his own boxers and joins him. Their legs tangle together almost naturally, and for once he falls asleep without a struggle on his mind.