Midousuji Akira (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
discarding) wrote2023-09-12 10:48 am
discarding) wrote2023-09-12 10:48 am
STRANGERSおまけ
There's nothing more aggravating than being an amateur—than doing your best to walk with new legs, aware that you're near fatally clumsy in your lack of skill as you actively push to just stay upright and not trip.
Midousuji has been distinctly aware of his shaky gait, traversing things that are basically alien to him. But human connection has its distinct results, loathe he is to admit it, when it comes to his racing. But the nature of sex and romance and friendship, more than Midousuji even previously understood on an intellectual, eye-rolling basis, has proved to be more confusing than he could have imagined. It's a little embarrassing that his pandora's box has been his own withered little black heart, and he still doesn't enjoy utilizing it this way. It's like the foreshadowing has been right under his stupid dick this whole time in some fruity little red scrawl of a heart against bright chrome.
Eyes wide and empty, Midousuji barely absorbs the tinny, chaotic beats in his ear pods, head slightly hung as his big body sways slightly along with his large cycling bag. There's a lot on his mind, but he's not letting any of that through, at the moment, in an act to preserve his energy and sanity.
He's going to Italy—tomorrow. And he's booked his flight out through Tokyo. Word's not really out, though some of his cycling friends know—not everyone on his team is great at keeping tight lip. After all, Naruko's on his own team—not a legendarily discreet person. But outside of cycling, Midousuji knows there's a good chance word hasn't gotten out all that far, and there's a similarly decent chance that Ishigaki hasn't heard. Midousuji hasn't been wanting to think of it, because of the strange frenetic pressure it wells him with; makes his limbs stiff and locked, his head hot, his heart racing, his skin balmy.
Midousuji and Ishigaki have been spending time together, here and there. Back when he was a freshman, it was once a season. Then in his next couple years, maybe once a month—with the occasional text or call, no less. Calls became more frequent. And in the last six months, so have their in-person meetings, despite the distance. Maybe twice a month. Especially as Midousuji's anxiety began to grow when he learned Ishigaki had outgrown Kyoto, and intended to stay in Tokyo; that Midousuji had taught him the world was so much bigger than Kyoto, and how Midousuji panicked when that also meant that Ishigaki's world was bigger than Midousuji. The same feeling that caused this baffling anxiety was the same thing that chased Komari into Midousuji's bed, and was the same thing that had made Midousuji decide to fly out from Tokyo instead of somewhere closer, and was the same reason he was on this train right this second.
It almost seems Ishigaki's had a taste of his own medicine, though that's not possible, if Ishigaki indeed doesn't know he's going to Italy. And even if Ishigaki was aware... well, on Midousuji's part, it's not like he's moving to Italy. But it's a long trip, far away, with odd timezones. The coincidence of the timing versus Ishigaki's recent behavior all the same feels silly, Midousuji thinks. How Ishigaki's been so in his grill about spending time together lately... It twists his stomach in equal parts embarrassment and butterflies, which in turn makes him feel nauseated with himself.
His hand twists against the hanging plastic loop used to steady its passengers, the motion squeaking under his glove.
Midousuji's aware of it now, that he desires Ishigaki. And that, in fact, he's been in love with him for a while. He didn't realize it until he worried he might have feelings for Komari—and after contemplative comparison, he realized Komari was actually standing in an embarrassingly large shadow. Worse, Midousuji realized that just before his sexual relationship with Komari tied itself off with a bow. They hadn't been fucking too often, due to the same distance, but it was still at least once a week&madsh;and the sex was intense, not to mention. Going from virginity to that sort of regular fix left Midousuji...parched, to say the least. His quiet moments with Ishigaki have been difficult to bear, which has probably made Midousuji seem terser, and quicker to end their time spent together... Maybe that was why Ishigaki was getting so clingy, and not because he caught wind that Midousuji's leaving for a few weeks.
Midousuji steps off the train at last, and politely moves his big body away from traffic, standing in front of a bench. He's had enough. Enough of this unbearable sexual tension, enough of coquettishly tiptoing around the deplorable reality of having feelings for another person, enough of the unsaid and the anxiety. Midousuji had thought about going directly to Ishigaki's, but being he has his travel bag, as well as his bike, etc... it'd be pretty embarrassing, and annoying, to show up with all his shit if Ishigaki's with his stupid friends or whatever.
After staring at his phone for a bit, he pulls his glove off by its fingertip using his teeth, and sends Ishigaki a message.
> Are you home?
> I'm in your area.
No apologies for the short notice, of course.
> Speak now, or for 3 and a half weeks, hold your peace.
Midousuji has been distinctly aware of his shaky gait, traversing things that are basically alien to him. But human connection has its distinct results, loathe he is to admit it, when it comes to his racing. But the nature of sex and romance and friendship, more than Midousuji even previously understood on an intellectual, eye-rolling basis, has proved to be more confusing than he could have imagined. It's a little embarrassing that his pandora's box has been his own withered little black heart, and he still doesn't enjoy utilizing it this way. It's like the foreshadowing has been right under his stupid dick this whole time in some fruity little red scrawl of a heart against bright chrome.
Eyes wide and empty, Midousuji barely absorbs the tinny, chaotic beats in his ear pods, head slightly hung as his big body sways slightly along with his large cycling bag. There's a lot on his mind, but he's not letting any of that through, at the moment, in an act to preserve his energy and sanity.
He's going to Italy—tomorrow. And he's booked his flight out through Tokyo. Word's not really out, though some of his cycling friends know—not everyone on his team is great at keeping tight lip. After all, Naruko's on his own team—not a legendarily discreet person. But outside of cycling, Midousuji knows there's a good chance word hasn't gotten out all that far, and there's a similarly decent chance that Ishigaki hasn't heard. Midousuji hasn't been wanting to think of it, because of the strange frenetic pressure it wells him with; makes his limbs stiff and locked, his head hot, his heart racing, his skin balmy.
Midousuji and Ishigaki have been spending time together, here and there. Back when he was a freshman, it was once a season. Then in his next couple years, maybe once a month—with the occasional text or call, no less. Calls became more frequent. And in the last six months, so have their in-person meetings, despite the distance. Maybe twice a month. Especially as Midousuji's anxiety began to grow when he learned Ishigaki had outgrown Kyoto, and intended to stay in Tokyo; that Midousuji had taught him the world was so much bigger than Kyoto, and how Midousuji panicked when that also meant that Ishigaki's world was bigger than Midousuji. The same feeling that caused this baffling anxiety was the same thing that chased Komari into Midousuji's bed, and was the same thing that had made Midousuji decide to fly out from Tokyo instead of somewhere closer, and was the same reason he was on this train right this second.
It almost seems Ishigaki's had a taste of his own medicine, though that's not possible, if Ishigaki indeed doesn't know he's going to Italy. And even if Ishigaki was aware... well, on Midousuji's part, it's not like he's moving to Italy. But it's a long trip, far away, with odd timezones. The coincidence of the timing versus Ishigaki's recent behavior all the same feels silly, Midousuji thinks. How Ishigaki's been so in his grill about spending time together lately... It twists his stomach in equal parts embarrassment and butterflies, which in turn makes him feel nauseated with himself.
His hand twists against the hanging plastic loop used to steady its passengers, the motion squeaking under his glove.
Midousuji's aware of it now, that he desires Ishigaki. And that, in fact, he's been in love with him for a while. He didn't realize it until he worried he might have feelings for Komari—and after contemplative comparison, he realized Komari was actually standing in an embarrassingly large shadow. Worse, Midousuji realized that just before his sexual relationship with Komari tied itself off with a bow. They hadn't been fucking too often, due to the same distance, but it was still at least once a week&madsh;and the sex was intense, not to mention. Going from virginity to that sort of regular fix left Midousuji...parched, to say the least. His quiet moments with Ishigaki have been difficult to bear, which has probably made Midousuji seem terser, and quicker to end their time spent together... Maybe that was why Ishigaki was getting so clingy, and not because he caught wind that Midousuji's leaving for a few weeks.
Midousuji steps off the train at last, and politely moves his big body away from traffic, standing in front of a bench. He's had enough. Enough of this unbearable sexual tension, enough of coquettishly tiptoing around the deplorable reality of having feelings for another person, enough of the unsaid and the anxiety. Midousuji had thought about going directly to Ishigaki's, but being he has his travel bag, as well as his bike, etc... it'd be pretty embarrassing, and annoying, to show up with all his shit if Ishigaki's with his stupid friends or whatever.
After staring at his phone for a bit, he pulls his glove off by its fingertip using his teeth, and sends Ishigaki a message.
> Are you home?
> I'm in your area.
No apologies for the short notice, of course.
> Speak now, or for 3 and a half weeks, hold your peace.
no subject
Midousuji moves himself closer, then, caging Ishigaki against the wall. He's close enough for Ishigaki to hear the wet sounds of saliva thick in his mouth and the deep breathes in between, otherwise subtle sounds now unbearably loud.
"Yeah, just...." He finally says, quietly, trying to control his breathing into something less noticable. There was an atmosphere here, one he didn't want to break by speaking too loudly. "Surprised is all. That was pretty bold. Even for you..."
Ishigaki then notices the subtle movement of Midousuji's shoulder, and his eyes follow down his spidery arm to impatient fingers that sprawl across his crotch. His brows raise, face twitching in a worrisome motion- not surprised in the action itself, but from his reeling reality.
His original instinct to Midousuji's audaciousness is to challenge it with martyred temperance, perhaps out of habitual self defense, but Midousuji has shown there'a no waiting for time to smoothen out Ishigaki's uncertainties anymore. Midousuji has been waiting- patiently, he's now sure, and long enough for his base, animal instincts to boil over. Ishigaki breathes in, eyes flashing a shy look- a trickle of wonder and wait showing through them, before falling back down to poke curious fingers under Midousuji's.
"Hey, let me," he whispers. Ishigaki instictually moves forward, forgetting for a moment they're already so close, his nose now at the side of Midousuji's almost non-existent one, foreheads brushing. Ishigaki's eyes roll between Midousuji's waitful stare and the room around them, nerves still prominently staining his face pink up to his ears, before they fall on their joined hands again.
His orgasm had lulled his nerves with its soft waves, and although his pulse still thumps loud in his ear, he thankfully finds that it's easier to act on impulse now. His hand slides underneath Midousuji's until it's fully cupping him through his pants, dick prominently hard under his palm. A needy warmth spreads out and downwards in response, pooling into his stomach as he imagines the shape under his fingertips.
"I didn't expect you to be waiting for me... If I knew, I-" He fumbles, guilt guiding him through his words.
Ishigaki's expression drops into something smaller then, now glaringly aware that he doesn't have the confidence to say anything meaningful. He doesn't even know, not entirely, if what Midousuji is doing has any meaning outside of being pent up without Komari in the picture now. He can only make an educated guess, that this was Midousuji's characteristically bizarre way of showing interest, and not Ishigaki's hopeless projection. Or at the very least least, hope that his careful touch makes up for anything otherwise- the stimulation probably the only thing keeping Midousuji from cutting him off.
"You'd think for someone so persistent towards you, I'd catch on." There’s the sound of a laugh under his voice. "Always a step behind... You'll have to forgive me."
His palm strokes more firmly this time, and again, until it's a rhythm purposely too slow for what Midousuji is asking for. He’s almost doubtful, ready to wake up from another one of his wet dreams, but there’s a weird gentle sincerity sliding under his defenses instead- his mind empties with each stroke, telling him that he's content with whatever Midousuji throws at him next, open to whatever crued sincerity he has to offer. He reminds himself there’s familiarity here, something to ground himself against in a situation that otherwise leaves him thoroughly at sea.
He leans in then, body raising off the wall and into Midousuji's frame, an arm lifting when he rises to wrap over Midousuji's neck. He hasn't looked up from their hands until now, though it doesnt matter much that he has. Midousuji's eyes are a lightless blur reflected in his own with how close they are, too dark to be anything distinctive. What's apparent now is that he can smell his signature scent closely, one that usually only lingers faintly from his clothes, or his wordlessly designated side of Ishigaki’s couch, and it's probably no more than the select laundry detergent he ritually uses, but it's enough for the subconscious of Ishigaki's want to push him forward.
Ishigaki doesn’t think through what he’s doing, doesn’t process the implications or the actions- he just closes the little distance they do have, Midousuji's lips against his and Ishigaki tipping his head into something comfortable.
no subject
Ishigaki’s words, once again, are persistently, and annoyingly, distracting—with a wheezing exhale rasp let from between his teeth, his eyes roll down to Ishigaki’s, his broad chest heaving once or twice as he struggles to regulate his excited breathing.
“Waiting?” he grounds out, more interrogating than curious, and narrows his eyes, his narrow nostrils flaring as his teeth then clench tight again.
He feels annoyed, but isn’t immediately sure why, which makes sense—his hard dick has left little room for much cognitive crunching, but he knows there’s still a bone (ha) to pick there, somewhere. He hadn’t been waiting on Ishigaki—not exactly—as he hadn’t been aware of his feelings with any meaningful clarity for too long.
“For one second, see if you can resist being such a terrible martyr…”
Despite the teeth in his phrasing, the words struggle out with some labored, distracted strife. As usual, Ishigaki lets his words get in the way of their potential bonding outside of the superficial—but he realizes the same may be true of himself as well, at this point, grown enough to understand his lack of understanding and clarity, embodied by silence and stoicism may be just as detrimental. So, realizing this, he squeezes his eyes shut, letting go of a heavy, hot, frustrated breath, slapping a hand over his eyes. His jaw drops to give him more ease in breathing.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, stupid,” Midousuji half says, half pants, recognizing it’s a partially a lie. Midousuji had maybe given signals, but he only realized recently that he’d been doing that at all; his feelings weren’t properly contextualized until shortly before this boiling point. Losing the carnal release and the power in the carnal interaction with Komari’s subservient body had indeed been part of what illuminated that… but disturbingly, Midousuji’s been forced to realize that this condition of his has been existing for longer than he’d possibly ever care to admit. Even alone.
As Ishigaki begins to stimulate him lazily, but firmly, through too much obstructing layers, Midousuji’s thin lower lip is snatched between his perfect teeth, and his shoulders shudder as he struggles to regulate his breathing. He recognizes then how hot his face feels beneath his fingers and palms, and the corners of his mouth downturn in a frustrated grimace.
Then, he’s distracted—this time in a way unexpected and also somewhat welcome—when Ishigaki’s arms come across his neck. When their eyes meet, a second longer than he’d like, Midousuji diverts his gaze away with a drop of his head and a full lidding of his eyes—and his whole body rolls with a shudder as his gaping jaw lets go of another heavy, warm breath. His hips roll forward with a rumbling, hungry groan. It’s not enough.
Midousuji is surprised when his dodging is superseded with a—kiss?
Ishigaki is kissing him?
Heart stopping, Midousuji’s eyes flicker partially open, and he grunts into their kiss; his perfectly toothed maw parts to bossily push his tongue into their kiss, and his thin waist and broad back retract in a bowing motion as the hand that doesn’t rest against the wall along with its elbow struggles to yank down his cycling kit. When Ishigaki’s head tilts, Midousuji makes a small, deep grunting noise in his throat, clumsily grasping Ishigaki’s hand to guide it towards the urgent heat of his warm, urgently hard arousal.
“Just—shut up. Just touch my cock,” he breathes between kisses. “Stop talking so much.”