Archive of Our Own

It must have been sometime after the Sannoh match in Rukawa’s first year that he starts becoming aware of how Mitsui’s body looks. Anything before that is kind of a blur; besides Mitsui’s laughable attempt to destroy the basketball court and the embarrassing downfall, much of it was focused on training in a desperate rush to be ready for the summer nationals. After though—there was a bit of down time in the following months, less fighting and more synergy in a team that bonded over an amazing win.

It was during this time that Rukawa has the first recollection of glancing over to his left when they’re changing into their workout shirts after school, or changing out of the sweaty ones after practice, and seeing Mitsui’s lithe body flex under the artificial light. Rukawa is taller, broader, overall more muscular and has bulked up even more since becoming pro ten years on, but he remembers being entranced by the skin unveiled next to him for some reason.

It was a glimpse of something hidden under wraps, only privy to the accidental flashing during changing routines. Rukawa knew it wasn’t polite to stare, so he watched out of the corner of his eye, the scenery of Mitsui pulling his shirt over his head, slipping over his shoulders like silk, baring the shoulder blades and stretch of his back. Rukawa remembers his face heating up involuntarily, unable to tear his gaze away, even as Mitsui noticed and cocked his head in question.

When he said it was nothing, Mitsui didn’t question it, simply shrugged and grabbed his water bottle to head out of the door. There’s no reason why he should have, anyway. Rukawa was notorious for his straightforward and blank personality. But Rukawa knew it wasn’t nothing. He felt a low knot of heat in his groin and had to grasp his locker door to calm down.

It was ten minutes to practice, and Rukawa for the first time in his life, realised that he might be attracted to someone. His senior—Mitsui. Of course, he did what everyone would’ve done in his situation. He dismissed it as a joke. There was no way that was happening. He probably ate something weird for lunch and it wasn’t agreeing with his stomach. He went to practice. He thrashed Mitsui 5-2 in a 1-1 after running through their conditioning exercises, scoffing at the other’s lack of stamina. Mitsui scowled at him, tried to kick him behind the knee for the disrespect, and it almost turned into a fight if not for Miyagi yelling at them to get it together.

After practice, he returned to his locker, pulled his sweaty shirt off, and glanced to the left by reflex. Mitsui had yanked his own shirt off by then, cloth damp in his hands, leaving his hair wet and tussled from the movement. Sweat was trickling down his body, a testament to the workout they just had, with his chest rising and falling rapidly in the breath that was still lost. Rukawa unconsciously swallowed, gaze stuck on a bead of sweat dripping down the collarbone, rolling down to the pink dusty nipple underneath. The nipple was protruding, sticking out from the cooler air in the locker room, and the water droplet was hanging off, ready to fall.

It did.

Drip and splat just a couple of centimeters down, unto the curvature of Mitsui’s abdomen, following the trail down, down, down past the jutting hips and into the waistband of the boxers the other was wearing peeking out from his shorts. Rukawa eyed the low riding pants, flickering his sight down and up by reflex before he stared at Mitsui baring his neck to dab his sweaty skin with his crumpled shirt.

Rukawa was suddenly aware of that heat in his groin again. He almost felt dizzy from how hot it gripped him this time, like a raw burning flame. He whipped his glance back to his own locker to retrieve a fresh shirt, steadfastly ignoring the dawning creeping feeling up his nape that—that—that….

He found Mitsui’s body so erotic, he was getting a boner in public.

Ten years on, and Rukawa unfortunately, hasn’t moved on.

A lot has happened in ten years: Mitsui graduated, Rukawa himself graduated. Both of them went on to be scouted in college basketball—Mitsui for Osaka University, Rukawa for Duke in North Carolina, USA. Further on, they became pro players, Mitsui for Evessa, and then Alvark, while Rukawa came back to join Utsu Brex, and then Alvark.

Rukawa did not sign to Alvark because of Mitsui—the number he was given was a no brainer—but he will admit that it is actually rather nice to play with Mitsui in the same team again. There’s a certain kind of freedom that Rukawa can play in his style when he knows Mitsui is there backing him up, never failing to catch and shoot the unreasonable shots that Rukawa tosses to him in split second frames.

Also, his assigned locker is on Mitsui’s right, just like in high school. But not like high school, Mitsui’s filled out. He’s still not at Rukawa’s size, of course, but he’s definitely packing more solid and his abdomen definition is quite impressive. For Rukawa, the most important part is the curve of his back, which flexes under the arms pulling his shirt off.

“See ya tomorrow, Rukawa,” Mitsui pats his back once he’s pulled a new shirt on at the end of a training day, slapping his bare hot palm unto Rukawa’s bare cold and sweaty back while he’s halfway changing.

Rukawa jerks in shock, too caught off guard to respond, but Mitsui isn’t waiting for a response anyway, as the other whistles and waves bye to all of their team mates to the exit. Rukawa exhales roughly when Mitsui is gone, pulling his shirt down in haste and grabbing his towel off the hanger. No one stops him as he speed walks to the toilet cubicles, holding his towel close to his front. It’s mostly empty, but Rukawa choses the last one in the row anyway.

He goes in, locks the door quietly behind him, and puts his towel on the hook. He leans back against the door next to it, silent. He shudders; he can still feel the palm print in the center of his back. Slapping someone’s bare back is obviously a teasing gesture—the players do this all the time, though no one other than Mitsui has done it to Rukawa because of the glare he threatens. It’s not meant to mean anything, or do anything, really.

 Yet, Rukawa finds himself half hard, hard enough that he has to jerk off in the toilet. The first fumble of his pants is always the most humiliating. Rukawa has never thought he would be one of these people—but from his experience, it doesn’t go down on its own, and he has no desire to walk out of his workplace with a stiffy in broad day light ever again.

Rukawa’s thighs are still damp from sweat, which makes this activity even worse. Nonetheless, he dips his fingers past his waistband and grasps his cock, biting his lower lip at the heat of it, swollen in hand. God, why is he even bothering to hold back. He’s done this plenty of times by now. Rukawa pulls his shirt up to bite it by the edge, giving him free sight to the cock that he pulls out to the air. He’s already beading precome at the tip, which spreads easily over the shaft when he brings his hand up and down slowly.

Rukawa strains to hold back the moan in his throat. His head knocks back to the door, fluttering his eyes shut as he rubs himself, squeezing periodically for sloppy friction. He’s fully hard now, with the head of his cock flushing dark pink, and his hand is almost mostly wet all over already. It’s not fair that he gets so horny over Mitsui. He can’t help his body from reacting like this, not when he can picture Mitsui’s bare torso in his mind’s eye without even trying because he’s seen so much of it.

Especially that dip in the back, the dimples on his hips, where Rukawa knows he could plant his hands there and press in while he ruts up Mitsui’s tail bone. Rukawa exhales tightly, trembling at how desperately he’s jerking himself off now, so much that he knows he’s going to have a cramp in his palm. Still, it’s not enough to get him over the edge. He wants to feel his cockhead press on Mitsui’s cool, sweaty skin and paint the tan to white. Maybe he’ll smear the come all over and rut on it again, like a dog in heat until it wanes.

Rukawa gasps at the thought, cock spurting his shame all over the ground. His shirt had fallen out of his mouth, but he works the come out of his cock by feeling, stroking at it until he’s quivering a little in sensitivity. Like radio on mute, the background echoes suddenly filter back into his consciousness, bringing him back to reality. Rukawa drops his hand, flexing his sticky fingers to work the cramp out. For about half a minute, he simply leans against the door with his cheeks burning red in embarrassment, trying to catch his breath. When the warm in his face settles, he swipes off some toilet paper and starts cleaning. Himself, and the floor.

In fifteen minutes, he’s out of the building and in the safety of his own home. Laundry dumped into the basket, dinner taken out of the fridge and whirling in the microwave. Rukawa takes such a long bath that his food is cold in the microwave when he comes out, so he has to run it again. He eats by his balcony on his top floor apartment, enjoying the breeze and fading colours of the sunset. When he’s finished his cut fruits, he washes up and retreats to his sitting room. There’s no game on tonight, so he decides to retreat further into his bedroom after browsing the television for a couple of minutes.

Rukawa yawns, wondering if he should read or just call it an early night. He takes his time brushing his teeth before he slips into bed. His phone reads that it’s half past eight—too early, then. He checks his emails because he suddenly remembers that his agent had been begging him to recently, and answers a couple but ignores the majority. He also checks his message inbox, grimacing at the number of unread messages from the chat groups he’s been dragged into and muted, and then just closes the app without reading anything.

And then he opens Instagram.

Despite Rukawa’s disdain about SNS, he does have an Instagram account. He created one many years ago, and it has zero posts, no display name, and is privately locked. He only follows one account on it. Rukawa may or may not have created his account just to follow this one.

The story goes is that when he was training in the US,  he sometimes scrolled through the Shohoku group chat because he couldn’t sleep. There’d been one conversation that happened earlier in the day due to the time difference, buried under more incoming notifications, that caught Rukawa’s attention.

Mitsui had posted a link to the instagram account, asking the group to give it more followers. Miyagi had merely written back ‘do you have no shame’, and in return Mitsui wrote a lengthy explanation that gymfluencers, whatever that was, was gaining popularity and he was trying his hand at it. There was something about ‘I’m keeping my training schedule accountable’ and ‘I’ve gotten some requests for ads already, it’s a pretty sweet gig’ but truthfully Rukawa had been distracted the moment he clicked on the link.

It was a whole page of Mitsui’s half naked body, captured under the harsh lighting of the gym. Mitsui’s face was never been shown in the pictures, but his pecs and chest were clearly being flexed and on display, in the sheen of his sweat. There was already a following, a number much bigger than Rukawa expected. Rukawa tapped on one picture to blow it up, and immediately regretted it.

Mitsui had angled his phone downwards from the top, and though it was cut off from the neck up, it was clearly Mitsui biting his shirt to show off his abs after workout, with his pants riding low on his hips, enough to see a hint of a happy trail. Having not seen Mitsui in a while since landing in a foreign country, Rukawa found himself growing hard, but he couldn’t stop scrolling down. It wasn’t his fault—the comments were likewise full of dirty and suggestive comments, about what they wanted to do with Mitsui’s thirst traps.

It was picture after picture like this, of Mitsui’s chest and nipples and waist and hips on display; and like a movie montage Rukawa suddenly remembered every single dirty fantasy he had before Mitsui graduated and faded out of his horny puberty vicinity. He gripped the phone tighter and jerked himself off with his other hand before he could stop himself, the desire spilling out unto his fingers and sheets. When he tapped to follow the account and was told he had to sign up for one—he knew he was doing something extremely pathetic. Then again, when it comes to Mitsui, he’d never been able to stop himself.

Not then, and not now.

 It’s almost like a nighttime routine now, that Rukawa flicks to the latest picture that was posted, a bathroom mirror selfie with Mitsui’s face hidden behind the camera. Rukawa sinks down into his pillow, slithers a hand under his boxers and cups himself. Fuck. He knows he needs to stop doing this. But no one knows, and no one will know, and Rukawa will take it with him to the grave—so why not enjoy the pleasure that comes with it?

Rukawa swallows, bringing the phone closer to his face so that he can see the photo more clearly, and starts to move his hand. Like on command his cock is filling out again, especially when his gaze drops to Mitsui’s chest. He swipes his cockhead with his thumb and rubs the slick around gently. For a second he glances over to his bedside and wonders if he should bring out lube, or maybe a sex toy, but his attention is drawn back to his phone when he accidentally drops it and a sound starts playing out.

It’s another post now, a video, that Rukawa hadn’t seen before. The headless Mitsui in it is flexing his body sideways and back to the camera, showing off the ratio of his shoulders to waist. Rukawa grips himself harder at the sight, licking his lips. He can’t wait—he needs to get off now.

He tugs his boxers down for better ease, and rolls over to press his knees on the mattress. The position is incriminating, but Rukawa finds that he gets off the quickest this way. Phone left below in front of him, his hand finds his cock again, hardened up against his belly. The video suddenly stops and Rukawa bites in a curse, fumbling to tap it to get it to play again. This time, with a rough idea of how long the video lasts, Rukawa aims to finish before it ends. He’s leaking enough to get his cock wet under his palm, and he rocks his hips to push his cock into the sloppy grip he holds himself.

Fuck, it’s so good, tight and slippery and he can imagine humping Mitsui like this. Fuck, fuck, fuck—Rukawa moans, voice unfettered by the privacy of his own room.

“Senpai,” he breathes, low and guttural, “Senpai, senpai, senpai—“

And then he remembers Mitsui’s palm print emblazoned on his back, like a pressure holding his shoulders down to the bed, and he comes. His gasp is loud, keening, as he thrusts his cock wildly into his grip, riding the high, mouth open and saliva spilling from the corner. It’s damp, his pillow, that is, from where he’d been groaning into, leaving a wet stain that he avoids when he slumps down in post orgasm.

It’s pure bliss for the next few seconds, with a boneless warmth to his body and brain. And then it sets in that he’s just masturbated to Mitsui for the second time in five hours. Rukawa slowly patters around for the tissue box on his bedside to clean up. He sits on the edge of the bed after, offending phone on the bedside table, and face in his hands.

Fuck.

It’s not like Rukawa is in love with Mitsui. They’re old acquaintances, current colleagues, but they’re barely even friends, of which Rukawa has little which he counts. They see each other nearly everyday for work, but they don’t hang out that often. Mitsui is obviously more social than he is, and he also skips to the gym quite often for his…online hobby. Rukawa, in contrast, goes to work and then he goes home. Sometimes, if Sendoh, Miyagi or Sawakita are dropping by Tokyo, they hit him up to play basketball. It’s not much, but it’s enough for Rukawa’s social meter. Point is, Rukawa can’t say that he spends enough time with Mitsui that he knows enough about Mitsui to fall in love.

He may have had a crush in high school, but the wanting might have turned into something much more physical over the years, so it can’t be love. Rukawa has never experienced love anyway, and he doubts he will. He’s never looked at anyone and felt anything, other than Mitsui who apparently makes him so horny he loses all sense of self-decorum and shame.

Rukawa occasionally eyes Mitsui out of the corner of his eye as usual after practice while they’re changing up, watching him call out to one of their team mates. It’s their point guard, an older, easy going personality going by ‘Tetsu-san’.

“Hey, you free? You wanna go to the gym with me?” Mitsui asks. “We can get dinner too.”

“Sorry man, it’s date night with the wife,” the other says, shuffling over. “Also, I’m not going to help you take pictures for your porn account.”

“It’s not a porn account!” Mitsui denies, but he’s laughing together with the others who obviously overheard their conversation. “And I’ve told you that’s not me!”

“Well, I’m not going to help not-you take thirst traps of not-yourself,” Tetsu-san replies before slapping Mitsui’s back twice, ignoring the ‘they’re not thirst traps!’ protest. “Rain check on the dinner, though!”

Mitsui sighs, waving him off. Rukawa hears Mitsui asking a couple more others in futile before he notices Mitsui looking in his direction. Rukawa flicks his gaze back to his locker, packs his things and closes it with full intention to signal that he’s going home.

“Rukawa, you free? Wanna go?” Mitsui asks, tilting his head.

“Hn. I’m not your last resort, senpai,” Rukawa says, annoyed. “Bye.”

Mitsui blocks his way before he can leave. “Oh come on, I know you would’ve just shot me down the first time I ask anyway,” he says, though he looks a little contrite. “You always say no when I ask you to hang out.”

“And why would this be any different?”

Mitsui, for a lack of a better word, pouts. “This gym I’m going to has a sauna,” he explains. “They just renovated it and it opens today. I wanna check it out. Come on, it’ll be fun.”

“Why can’t you go by yourself?”

“…I’m shy,” Mitsui says, and Rukawa coughs abruptly. “Er…you okay?” he hovers when Rukawa doesn’t stop coughing.

“I’m fine,” Rukawa grinds out, avoiding the hand that tries to pat him on the back.

“As I was saying, I wanna check it out, but I feel a bit weird going there alone. You’ve got nothing on tonight, right? I treat you dinner after.”

Rukawa stares at him. “…You’re that type of person, huh,” he mumbles under his breath.

Mitsui peers at him. “What? What type of person?”

“Clingy,” Rukawa says it to his face.

“Hey, I’m still your senpai,” Mitsui scowls, though he doesn’t disagree. “Didn’t you say you have trouble sleeping recently?” he pivots, trying a different tactic. “Maybe the sauna will help you relax.”

Rukawa may have mentioned in passing to someone else that his short temper is due to the lack of sleep, but the gossip mill works fast within the team. Honestly, Rukawa’s sleep problems are about the person right in front of him, so it’s obviously not going to help going on this little trip with the offending person. And yet, Rukawa sees Mitsui bowing his head with his hands clasped and repeating ‘Please, Rukawa, please, please, please’ in a mantra and he just…

“Fine,” Rukawa says, already regretting everything. “Where is it?”

Mitsui brightens immediately, pulling out his phone to show Rukawa the building on the map. It’s  not that near, but Mitsui mentions he’ll drive them there and drop Rukawa back home after to sweeten the deal. Rukawa is only half listening because Mitsui has invaded his personal space, bumping shoulders with him in this position, and Rukawa can smell the sweat off his skin. Rukawa eyes the glistening sheen over Mitsui’s neck and nape bared to him—

“—Rukawa?” Mitsui elbows him, furrowing his eyebrows. “What are you zoning out for? This or this?” he puts his phone closer to Rukawa’s face. “Which one do you want to eat at for dinner?”

Rukawa pushes the phone to a distance and randomly just points to something on the screen. “Stop it. This is fine.”

“Great, I’m gonna make a reservation,” he says, tapping the phone screen and putting it to his ear while grabbing Rukawa by the arm to make him move. “Let’s go!”

The gym that Mitsui brings him to is obviously one of those super expensive luxury gyms. Rukawa trails after Mitsui while the other brings him past the reception. It’s all warm lighting and wood and carpet along the corridors, and Mitsui chatters on about the amenities—other than the usual fixings of a gym, there’s also an attached spa, heated pool, hot sauna and ice room.

The toilets are also pretty nice. Much nicer than their sport complex actually, and much quieter too, with more space and less people around. Mitsui hands over one of the towels he’d collected for them at the reception and directs him to take a quick shower. Rukawa relishes the feeling of hot water washing the grime of sweaty work he’d put in, almost forgetting that he’s not supposed to linger under. When he emerges, Mitsui is already outside the shower cubicles, towel wrapped around his waist.

Rukawa stops in his tracks when he notices that Mitsui has his phone camera pointed to the mirror. The other is obviously taking pictures of himself, turning his body not so subtly to angle it for the shots. It’s almost funny, seeing it in person, but Rukawa finds his gaze fixating on Mitsui anyway, and suddenly realises that he might be in real trouble if he gets hard here.

What was he thinking—going to a fucking sauna? That demands being naked? With Mitsui?

Rukawa grimly looks down at his towel hidden crotch. It’s hard to back out now, so he exhales, steels his expression, and shuffles into view. Mitsui is so engrossed in taking photos of himself that he jumps when Rukawa finally calls for his attention.

“What are you doing?”

Mitsui pulls the phone to him in a sort of reflex defensive gesture at Rukawa’s sudden voice, but his posture relaxes.

“Well, this is kind of a secret but I can show you,” Mitsui begins, tone with an undercurrent of pride in it. “I run a fitness insta account. I’ve had it for a number of years now, and it’s grown quite popular,” he says, showing Rukawa the page that he is so familiar with. “I get offers for deals and stuff, pretty cool right?”

On that point, Rukawa actually does not understand. “You have endorsements. As a pro player.”

“It’s not the same!” Mitsui huffs. “I get basketball stuff as a basketball player. I get other stuff from this one,” he says, not elaborating at all but Rukawa honestly doesn’t care that much about the details.

“Also,” Rukawa adds, before he can stop himself. “If this is a secret you should work better at it.”

“What?”

“I know, about this,” he nods at it. “You posted it in the Shohoku group chat before.”

Mitsui blinks. “Oh, right, when I just started the account…hm, I didn’t realise you read the chat.”

“I’m pretty sure Tetsu-san knows as well.” Or the whole team, really.

“It’s a secret as long as Coach doesn’t know. I don’t have any distinctive markings on my body, except for the scar on my knee but I’d blur that out,” Mitsui shrugs. “Anyway,” he swipes his phone to camera mode and points it to the mirror again. “You…you have really nice body, Rukawa,” he says as he rapidly takes several photos, like a seasoned pro, before Rukawa can stop him. “Damn, you bulk up so well. What do you eat?”

Rukawa can’t stop the involuntary shudder when Mitsui puts a hand on his bare shoulder. “Food,” Rukawa bites out, stepping away so that Mitsui’s hand falls off. “Are we going?”

Mitsui hastily puts his phone back into the basket where they’ve kept their belongings before scrambling after Rukawa when he doesn’t look back to wander off. The sauna is literally just next door, which is nice, and what is really nice that the sauna is divided into several rooms too. They find one which is empty, hot and full of steam. Rukawa steps in first, sitting unto the wooden bench. It’s been a while since he entered a sauna, and he completely underestimates the humidity. While he’s trying to adjust his breathing, Mitsui closes the door behind them and slips into the space next to him.

“Whew, this is nice,” Mitsui exhales, his chest rising and falling with the breath. “I kind of woke up with a neck cramp today,” he continues, moving to press the muscles of his neck. “Hope it loosens up after this.”

As Mitsui chatters on, Rukawa gets a first hand view of a half-naked Mitsui casually flexing. It feels like it’s hard to breathe, although that might just be that Rukawa can’t get used to the humidity of the room, and he also feels like the heat is enveloping him so tightly that he’s just hot everywhere. He tries to not think about it, but he knows his cock is hardening under the towel, so he tries to adjust his seating position to make sure it’s not obvious. Mitsui is oblivious, leaning back with closed eyes after he notices that Rukawa is not in a mood to talk.

Rukawa subtly swallows, letting his eyes roam over the stretch of the half-naked figure before him. It’s not like he’s never seen it before, he sees it nearly every day, and yet, the desire still hungers. Rukawa curls his fingers, itching to touch himself, and it’s a marathon trying to steady his heartbeat so that it doesn’t rush and make him faint in the already woozy atmosphere. He counts the droplets beading on his arm, anything to distract himself, until Mitsui makes a noise and props himself up.

“I’m good, you wanna stay or go?”

“Go,” Rukawa is up first, taking the opportunity to leave before Mitsui is fully attentive to his surroundings.

The rush of fresh air out of the steamy room is incredible, but it does not do anything to wane Rukawa’s erection. Rukawa makes a beeline towards the toilets, jerking in surprise when he feels Mitsui touch the back of his arm.

“Hey, cool off for a bit before you shower,” Mitsui says, frowning. “You look really heated. I don’t want you to faint.”

Rukawa shrugs him off, not stopping in his tracks to the toilet cubicles. “I need to pee,” he says, and Mitsui apparently stops following him.

God. Rukawa finds himself again in the privacy of a water closet, locking the door behind him. It could be steam, but he’s so warm everywhere, even his ears, like he’s just ran for miles. His cock is half-erect under the towel. Why the fuck did he come here? Rukawa can’t understand his past decision making. He palms his cock, feeling it harden to full mast within seconds. Shit—Rukawa bites his bottom lip and starts stroking.

One, two, and he’s squelching his length within his hand, first barely eased by the condensed steam, and then his own slick when he gets more aroused. He shouldn’t do this like an absolute pervert, but he also can’t stop, not when he can see in high definition how Mitsui’s chest had looked like in the sauna, dotted with dew. Fuck. Rukawa wants to squirt all over it, make the transparent liquid milky and thick and—

Rukawa stifles his groan as much as he can when he comes. His come drips; it’s not a lot which saves his clean up efforts, but it also means that he’s still feeling really horny, which is worse. Rukawa sighs, annoyed. He pees, flushes, and returns to the general area intending to head to the showers.

Mitsui cocks his head from his position at one of the chairs when he spots Rukawa, still half-naked with the towel around his waist. He’s also guzzling a bottle of mineral water.

“Hey,” he calls out, in mid drink, holding out another unopened water bottle for him. “Drink before you pass out.”

“I’m not going to pass out,” Rukawa says, but he does take the bottle, sits on the other empty seat, and drinks.

He doesn’t know he’s so parched until water hits his throat, and he end up swallowing it all down without taking a breath. Mitsui only smiles, capping his own empty bottle. He lazily reaches over.

“Look, your skin is so pink,” he says, poking Rukawa on the arm curiously. “Even your neck is red,” he comments, and then slides one finger down Rukawa’s nape.

Rukawa splutters at the sudden touch, coughing and spilling water when he chokes in mid swallow. Mitsui hastily slaps his back multiple times, which does not help at all.

“Sorry, didn’t know you were ticklish there,” Mitsui says. “Are you ok?” Rukawa tosses him a glare, and he backs off with a chuckle. “Well, I’m gonna shower first,” he says, and then escapes before Rukawa can chew him out.

Not that Rukawa was intending to—because he has a more urgent problem. Rukawa drinks the last of his water and tosses it into the recycling can before marching straight to an empty shower stall. He turns the water on cold, the coldest end, and sticks his entire heated body underneath. Despite the water stream hitting directly on his nape while he leans forward, hands on the wall, he can still feel Mitsui’s finger caressing down his skin.

It blooms a seed of want Rukawa didn’t know he had, one about Mitsui touching his neck. Mitsui has touched his neck before, sometimes when he’s grabbing Rukawa to hug excitedly in the aftermath of a game win, but not like this, all hot and sensual and too close to his pulse point. The water is ice cold, yet it’s not doing a thing to calm the fire in his veins. Rukawa can’t believe his cock is hard and aching to blow again already, almost like he’s thrown back to the throes of hormonal puberty. He grits his teeth and pumps himself, breathing in deep and slow. The rise to the peak is slower this time but Rukawa gets there eventually, eyes squeezed shut under the fall of the freezing water.

Mitsui is again waiting for him when Rukawa finally emerges from the shower, sitting down on one of the chairs and playing with his phone. Rukawa almost feels a sense of relief that Mitsui is finally dressed properly, from what he’s just gone through in the last hour.

 Dinner is at a tiny and crowded izakaya, where they’ve been squeezed into a corner table. It’s so tight that their knees knock into each other under the table, and they have to slot their feet at right angles to fit. Rukawa can even smell Mitsui’s shampoo when the other leans forward, despite the delicious food aroma wafting in the air. Rukawa hasn’t been here before, but Mitsui apparently has, because he only asks if there is anything Rukawa doesn’t want to eat before he orders a spread.

“—and I’ll have a beer too. Kirin.”

Rukawa lifts his right foot and steps on the front of Mitsui’s shoe. “You’re driving, senpai.”

“It’s just one—“ Mitsui starts, but he sighs at Rukawa’s stern look. “I’ll have an iced oolong then.”

Mitsui’s foot pokes him in retaliation, and they have a small petty back and forth footise until the waiter repeats their order for confirmation before leaving. Rukawa scowls when Mitsui locks his ankle with one foot and uses the other to stroke the back of his shin. If he’d didn’t know any better, he would think Mitsui is trying to seduce him, but because he knows better, he kicks the distracting appendage until they scuffle into an interlocked deadlock of criss-crossed ankles.

“Oh damn,” Mitsui suddenly says, awed, eyes drawn to his phone screen. “My follower count just went up by a thousand.”

Because they’re sitting so close, Rukawa can see everything on the screen, including Mitsui’s latest post on that instagram account. He’s not sure when Mitsui had posted, but it’s one of the pictures he’d taken at the toilet mirror before they entered the sauna. And there is another naked torso in the picture, in the background, which Rukawa realises it’s his body.

The caption reads: at the sauna with my bro.

The rolling comments below that are all of peach emojis and water spray emojis and eggplant emojis and Rukawa may not be active on social media but he’s not stupid. Mitsui’s ‘fitness’ account fanbase is filled with horny netizens who clearly want to see more than just Mitsui’s naked torso. They want to see his dick. And maybe him having sex.

(Rukawa knows because, well, he is…one of those observers too.)

The sudden extra attention is clearly due to the fact that there is new naked person in the frame, who is more ripped than Mitsui is. It certainly drives the imagination wild.  Rukawa grabs the phone and tries to delete the photo, but the instant Mitsui realises what he’s attempting to do, he fights for it back.

“Oh come on, your face isn’t in it!” Mitsui whines. “And you have no marks on your body, no one is going to know it’s you!”

The team would definitely know. “I didn’t say you could post a picture with me in it,” Rukawa says, unforgiving. “I didn’t say you could take a picture with me in it.”

Mitsui obviously struggles harder than Rukawa for his phone, but eventually he lets his grip lose. “….Fine, whatever. But it’s already on the net, so it’s gonna live there forever.”

Rukawa deletes it anyway before throwing the phone back to Mitsui.

“…Okay, I’m sorry I didn’t ask for your permission before I posted that,” Mitsui says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry. But, how about we take another one that you’re okay with?”

“What?

Rukawa’s confusion is interrupted by the waiter coming back with multiple plates of their ordered food. Plenty of meat and vegetable skewers are arranged onto their small table, and they all smell delicious. Rukawa doesn’t know he’s that hungry until faced with options to stuff his mouth with. Mitsui absentmindedly hands him a skewer and he starts eating.

“Not to brag but I’m very popular with gay men,” Mitsui starts casually, like a continuation of their conversation. “But I want more female followers. The picture with you—it got a lot of attention from girls. I mean, you’ve always had lots of fan girls so I’m not surprised.”

“They’re probably porn bot accounts,” Rukawa says in between his chews, feeling slightly ticked.

Mitsui kicks him under the table, but it’s not very effective considering that their ankles are still locked together. “You know more about SNS than I thought,” he comments. “Like, you knew immediately how to delete the post.”

“Isn’t it common knowledge,” Rukawa retorts, because he’s not going to admit he owns an instagram account. “I am not going to be in your posts, senpai,” he says as the final word.

Mitsui sulks. “But you have such a nice body! You don’t even purposefully do muscle conditioning, do you?”

“So? I don’t care.”

“Don’t you ever want to show it off?” Mitsui asks.

Rukawa sends him a look that he hopes Mitsui reads clear as day that he’s never thought about it. “It’s for basketball.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mitsui waves it off, like he’s not a pro player himself. “But like, it’s nice when someone says you look good.”

“Is that what you’re getting out of that?” Rukawa cocks his head to the phone placed in the corner. “Validation?”

“I guess,” Mitsui admits, shrugging.

“You’re a pro player, senpai,” Rukawa says. The best three-pointer player, the best shooting guard I know, he wants to add. “You’re being paid. For your skill.”

“Yeah, well,” Mitsui exhales. “It’s different. Basketball is…” he trails for a bit in thought. “I’m good at shooting hoops, obviously, but not exactly top tier on everything else. I have to work at it. Constantly. It’s difficult. Whereas that, that’s easy.”

Mitsui may not be the absolute best at everything else besides his specialty, but he’s certainly good enough in everything else, and that’s what makes him such a valuable and lethal a well-rounded player.  Rukawa has all these on the tip of his tongue, but as he watches Mitsui eat, the words don’t come out. They never have. The insecurity that Mitsui has about himself is not unfamiliar—Rukawa has seen it in Shohoku, and occasionally, during game aftermaths. And the attention that Mitsui’s side hobby gives…of course that’s addictive to him.

They eat everything on the table within fifteen minutes, which is a feat considering the number of plates they stack up at the end. Mitsui, true to his word, pays for dinner, but not without grumbling a bit at the price of the bill. He insists on finishing another refill of his iced tea to make it worthwhile, so Rukawa ends up half listening to chatter that Mitsui brings up in the meantime—about their team, about their mutual friends.

Rukawa finds himself sleepy with the food digesting in his stomach and the warm, cozy atmosphere. He can feel the heat from Mitsui’s leg from how they’ve been pressed together for a long time, with Mitsui’s foot doing random caresses on the back of his ankle. It feels like he’s been lured into a comfortable lull, like they do this every day, with the causal touches and easy laughter.

When Mitsui sends Rukawa home after, Rukawa opens his front door and is greeted by the silent echo of his walls. The warm light flickers on when he presses for it, but even that doesn’t erase how….empty it feels compared to where he’d just been, with Mitsui. He has to sit down behind his front door for a few moments to orient his thoughts.

This is why he doesn’t want to hang out with Mitsui.

It makes him…feel things.

Remember things.

The last basketball game Rukawa played with Mitsui before he joined Alvark many years later was the winter nationals. Mitsui was the only third year who stayed to compete, while the other focused on studying for college examinations. No one on the team could laugh at him because everyone was equally terrible at exams, and using sport to enter tertiary education was likely their best bet. Rukawa himself knew that he had much better chances of being scouted to a top-ranked university than via the usual route—not that he was going to be anything than a pro player anyway.

But for Mitsui, it was difficult—the other was grappling with the fact that he threw away two years of competitive basketball, which could have potentially solidified offers if he’d stayed true and played. Instead, he had to try for one more chance in the winter. And it was with a team that lacked a strong center.

Honestly, Rukawa knew that it was futile. They lost Akagi, and there was no one on the roster who would feasibly play his position as well. It would’ve been better next year, if they attracted another crop of first years for more variety in the regular selection. Though they did have months to drill Sakuragi into an actual player, but it wasn’t enough. Mitsui’s determination to not let that perturb him was evident by the hours he came before morning practice and stayed in the evenings to train. Rukawa watched him occasionally, feeling a rare sense of pity for him.

In the summer nationals, they rose to the third round and lost to Aiwa. In winter, they rose to the third round…and lost to Sannoh.

It was bad luck to be matched against Sannoh so early, yet again. Unlike Shokoku, every single one of their third years stayed to play. Although Sawakita had gone to the US already, creating a hole that their ace left behind, it was still less than the hole Akagi left behind. It’d been a brutal match. They fought toe to toe the entire way, and lost by two points.

It was upsetting, of course, but it was a great game. Miyagi and Sakuragi were bitching about it in the locker room post-match, but there was a sense of respect and acceptance of their loss. Rukawa in all honestly felt more tired than sad, and he was really looking forward to going home and sleeping in his own bed.

But Mitsui—Rukawa spied him sitting quietly on the floor of the locker room, towel over his head. Everyone had assumed the other was just exhausted, and left him there to catch his breath. It was only when everyone else had assembled outside talking excitedly about what to eat, that Rukawa noticed the other still unmoved at the corner. He’d approached, wanting to nudge Mitsui with his foot to inform him that they were leaving.

Mitsui was crying. It was silent, but his hands were gripping his towel so hard that they trembled. His frame was rising and falling with rapid breaths in between his quiet sobs. Rukawa froze, because he didn’t expect that. Mitsui still hadn’t acknowledged his presence, and maybe the other was just far too gone to, and Rukawa debated leaving him to his privacy and never mentioning it again. But for whatever reason, Rukawa found himself crouching down, hand warily poking Mitsui on the shoulder. Mitsui shied away at the touch, sniffing hard before he curled up with his face in his knees.

He wouldn’t stop crying.

“Senpai,” Rukawa started, and then paused for more than ten seconds because he didn’t know what he should say. “…You played well.”

At that, Mitsui full on sobbed, hiccuping loudly. He was burying his face down, hands anxiously clawing over his sweaty head.

“Senpai—“ Rukawa tried again, but Mitsui was blubbering something.

“I-it was m-me…” Mitsui coughed out, voice muffled from his position. “It was m-me, I c-couldn’t do it, I-I couldn’t….”

“It wasn’t you,” Rukawa said immediately because he knew what Mitsui had meant.

In the last minute of the game, Rukawa had been hard pressed by Fukatsu and Minoru in his attempt to score and turn their fate around. Unfortunately the defense was too tight, and he’d tossed it behind to Mitsui before the ball was stolen. Mitsui had been in an extremely unfavourable angle for a shot, with Nobe bearing him down, but he took the chance anyway, and for a long moment Rukawa’s breath had been stolen away watching the ball curve beautifully in the air.

It thunked on the basket rim.

Less than a second later, the whistle blew for the end. Of course Rukawa had a fleeting hope for that second when the ball was in the air, that it would be their ticket for another Sannoh victory. If anyone could do a miracle shot like that, it was Mitsui. But the ball didn’t go through, and just like that, their journey in the nationals was over.

It certainly wasn’t Mitsui’s fault. No one would dare to put the blame on an incredible attempt like that.

Only, perhaps, Mitsui himself.

“Y-you gave it to me…” Mitsui was mumbling, voice wet and wobbly. “—and I couldn’t…couldn’t…”

Rukawa grasped Mitsui’s shoulder, forcing him to retract from his fetal position, and hugged him tight. It was like a dam broke when Mitsui clung onto him. Loud sobs, fingers digging into Rukawa’s shoulder blades, desperate, as Mitsui cried into his neck. Rukawa found no more words to say, so he held the other close, afraid to let go in case Mitsui fell into pieces.

It was a long time before Mitsui calmed down enough to extract himself from the embrace, face and eyes reddened, and made an excuse to limp to the toilet. Rukawa sat alone on that floor, heart and stomach making flip flops in loops, until Miyagi burst in in panic because he realised that he’d left both of them behind. 

He remembers it as the first time he realised he had feelings he couldn’t—didn’t—want to describe. He keeps it locked in a box at the very far recesses of his mind, because it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter when Mitsui told him excitedly a few days later that he had a scout offer, it didn’t matter when Mitsui graduated, it didn’t matter when Mitsui went on to dominate college basketball and went pro, and and…

Rukawa finds himself back to the same scene when it’s ten years on and Mitsui is crying because they lost to Ryukyu. It’s not the first time, and likely won’t be the last, that Mitsui reads so much into his lack of ability to make completely nonsensical shots. Sure, Rukawa had passed him the ball in the last second of the game, but no, Rukawa did not expect him to score from the other end of the fucking court. Yet, Mitsui has his face in his hands, chest rising and falling in a rhythm that Rukawa knows to be more than exhaustion.

It’s the last game of the season, so win or lose, almost everyone has already gone out of the locker room to celebrate. Mitsui is of course the only one who pretends to be busy packing, just so that he can have a break down in privacy. Rukawa lingers, because he knew it was coming, and when the last of the team mates are out of the door, Mitsui immediately presses his hands to his eyes and tries to control his breathing.

It’s a routine by now, maybe. Rukawa lets him pretend for a few seconds, before takes the two steps between them to reach out. Mitsui has his head planted in Rukawa’s chest in the next instant, hands fisting Rukawa’s jersey. Rukawa gingerly presses his hands on Mitsui’s back, then pulls him in close wordlessly. Once, Rukawa had snapped at him for saying ‘it’s me’ or ‘it’s my fault’, and Mitsui has never said it again, so they stand there in silence except for Mitsui’s sniffing. Yet, Rukawa can still see the same thoughts whirring below him, but like always, he doesn’t know what to say.

So he doesn’t.

“….I-I’m going to be better,” Mitsui murmurs against him, even as a fresh wave of tears leak from the side of his eyes, “I’m going to be better,” he repeats, like a prayer or a swear.

Rukawa stills, gaze hyper focused on the words coming out of Mitsui’s mouth. He want to eat them. He wants to put his mouth over it so he can swallow the words down. It’s not something Mitsui should say. Rukawa holds him, breath caught at the fixation he finds himself of the inexplicable urge to wipe Mitsui’s eyes clean and kiss him, kiss him hard, devour him, until he shuts up forever.

They don’t ever talk about it. Their hugging thing.

Mitsui understandably does not want to talk about his vulnerability. Rukawa has no desire to bring up why he feels the need to comfort Mitsui when he doesn’t have to. And so they exist, like junior and senior and team mates and colleagues who get along just…fine. Even so, Rukawa can’t help but eye the other a bit suspiciously the next day when Mitsui has absolutely no hint of it while they’re playing with Miyagi and Sawakita for fun.

Since the other two lingered in Tokyo after the match, they hit both Mitsui and Rukawa up for a friendly. Miyagi is insufferably smug that Ryukyu had won, and so is Sawakita, who’s insufferableness mostly manifests in the form of telling Rukawa exactly why Alvark had lost in a post-game technical analysis. As much as Rukawa’s head is full of basketball, he does not really want to hear a rival team tell him about his mistakes, so he decides to sit out after an hour of playful grappling on court.

Leaning against the wire fence, he watches Mitsui get pressed by both Miyagi and Sawakita, which is funny, because Miyagi can’t really press someone. Miyagi comes towards the bench in a huff after a few rounds.

“Shut up,” Miyagi says to him, even though Rukawa hasn’t opened his mouth.

Rukawa debates saying something to piss the other off, but he gets distracted by Mitsui suddenly laughing out loud. He’s to far away to hear what’s being said, but Mitsui is obviously trading some kind of banter with Sawakita, clearly having fun.

“…I thought he’d be more depressed that you guys lost yesterday,” Miyagi suddenly says, his water bottle pressed to his lips before he takes a mouthful. “Especially since it affected Alvark’s season ranking.”

Rukawa says nothing, but notices that Miyagi is looking at him. “…What?”

Miyagi shrugs. “Is he doing okay?”

“Are you asking or are you itching for a fight?” Rukawa asks.

“I’m not an asshole,” Miyagi rolls his eyes. “I know that he’s…sensitive,” he settles on finally. “And the last shot…well—“

“It’s not his fault,” Rukawa states. “No one could’ve made that shot.”

“Hm,” Miyagi glances at him in surprise. “You know he’s been trying to hit full court shots, right? Of course it’s practically impossible, even more so with the pressure of a live game. Anyway, I think he really thought he could do it.”

“So?”

Miyagi drinks some more water before he says, “It’s nice of you to take care of him, I guess.”

It takes a moment before the underlying meaning catches up to Rukawa. Rukawa steadfastly refuses to look at Miyagi or open his mouth.

“I…tried to find you guys after the match yesterday, and your team said you two were still in the locker room, so…” Miyagi explains, looking a bit awkward.

“It’s not like that,” Rukawa interrupts plainly.

“I didn’t say it was like anything,” Miyagi retorts.

“Fine.”

“Good.”

On court, Sawakita yells at Mitsui for stealing a shot over his head. Their laughter scatters in the wind that blows past.

“It’s not the first time I’ve seen it, by the way,” Miyagi adds. “Your opening match against Chiba Jets. Last year’s Asian Games final. The year before, with…with…that team I can’t remember right now,” he ticks off with his fingers. “And Sannoh.”

Rukawa feels his face reddening for no reason at all. It’s not really a secret—more like, a moment that has been hidden for the sake of privacy.

“…What’s your point?” he mutters.

Miyagi clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck for a while before he speaks. “I understand if it’s something you want to keep private, but…you can trust me, you know? I mean, I told you about Eiji and…and…you never judged me. So why should I, with you?”

Rukawa blinks, and then it really dawns on him what Miyagi is trying to do. “Senpai,” he says, exhaling a bit. “I am not in a relationship with Mitsui-senpai.”

“I know you’re not,” Miyagi says, scowling like Rukawa just told him he’s an idiot. “But you like him.”

Now that, makes Rukawa freeze.

“…I’m not trying to make things difficult for you,” Miyagi says after a while, peering away. “I just don’t want to you to get hurt.”

“I don’t like him,” Rukawa chooses to say.

“You’re not a good liar,” Miyagi returns evenly. “Your face is all red.”

Rukawa’s lips quirk in annoyance as he lowers his head and tugs on his fringe to hide his face.

“So is your ears. And your neck,” Miyagi continues, like a dick. “…Actually, I lied the first time, but you are really turning very red.”

“Shut up,” Rukawa snaps, fisting his palm tight. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

Miyagi chuckles, probably in amusement. “Heh…even you can make that sort of face.”

Rukawa swivels on his heel and stalks away. He hears Miyagi calling him from behind, sounding apologetic, but he can’t calm himself to stay there any longer. It feels like it’s Mitsui’s graduation all over again, when the school was bustling with excitement and tears to wish the third years well. Rukawa only turned up because everyone else on the team had, and he thought it was stupid to be that emotional over saying goodbye. If they never see the third years again, then they weren’t close enough and it didn’t warrant the tears, if they did see each other again, then a goodbye was useless.

And yet, when Rukawa had seen Mitsui, uniform disheveled because people (male classmates) had been begging for his uniform buttons, his heart wavered. There had been an urge to say ‘I want to see you again, when can I see you again’ on the tip of his tongue, along with the feelings bursting from the cage he’d kept squished and locked over the months, because…because he liked Mitsui. He liked him so much it was disorientating and it didn’t make sense and made him feel so weird.

Rukawa swallowed the words.

Mitsui spotted him then, grinned and said something about winning the next nationals. It was a blur, but Rukawa remembers the hand that came to ruffle his hair, soft and gentle, and the smiling goodbye that broke his heart.

“Rukawa! Rukawa—” Miyagi grabs the back of his arm, jerking Rukawa out of his thoughts. “…Fuck,” Miyagi stares, wide eyed at the unguarded look on Rukawa’s face. “I…I didn’t mean to…um.”

Miyagi falters for words as Rukawa jerks his arm back and turns his face away.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to tease you,” Miyagi starts, shuffling his feet worriedly. “Are you…are you okay? You look…” he trails off, and then glances around before he grabs Rukawa’s arm again. “Hey, let’s go somewhere a bit more quiet.”

Rukawa’s in no mood to protest, so he gets dragged to a distance away, while Miyagi yells the word ‘toliet’ very loudly at the other two on court so that they don’t get followed. They stop somewhere with a vending machine, out of sight from the open court. Miyagi fiddles with his pockets and realises he didn’t bring his wallet, so they just end up standing there doing nothing.

“…I know how hard it can be, Rukawa,” Miyagi says quietly, jabbing the vending machine button for a soft drink absentmindedly even though he didn’t slot in any coins. “You don’t want to ruin anything, so you don’t say anything, but…you want more. But you can’t be greedy, because…you’ll ruin everything.”

“I don’t really want to hear about your love problems, senpai,” Rukawa says, and Miyagi kicks the back of his thigh.

“I’m trying to help!” Miyagi hisses, annoyed.

“You can’t help,” Rukawa says to that, equally annoyed. “It’s not something I can do anything about. So leave it.”

Miyagi cocks his head, stilling at response Rukawa finally deigns to give him. “You could tell him.”

Rukawa scoffs.

Miyagi looks a bit unsure, but he’s resolute when he says, “He won’t judge.”

“He will,” Rukawa returns just as quick.

“He was really bad at it but he was the first one who told me he was on my side if I wanted to come out,” Miyagi starts.

“It’s not about that.”

“Then?”

When Rukawa falls silent again, Miyagi kicks him, again. “Fuck, it’s really like pulling teeth with you. What are you afraid of? It’s not like you.”

Having been in Shohoku together really just means that they know exactly how to piss each other off. Rukawa looks directly at his reflection in the vending machine and opens his mouth.

“I jerk off to him every day after work. Ever since I joined Alvark. When he touches me, I get hard. I can’t come unless I think about him.” Miyagi is gaping, shocked into silence, and Rukawa relishes that look out of spite. “So don’t tell me he wouldn’t be disgusted. Because I am.”

Rukawa flits his gaze down for a moment before he collects himself and digs into his pocket. He pulls out his card and key holder, and taps it to the vending machine after selecting a can of pocari sweat. It’s cold when he picks it out to drink.

“…Not gonna buy me one?” Miyagi croaks, but Rukawa only turns around and starts walking back to the court. “Hey, hey,” Miyagi catches up with him, pulling on the back of his shirt. “It’s not the worst thing, you know, about Eiji, I also—“

“I told you I didn’t want to hear about your love problems.”

“You’re such a fucking asshole, Rukawa,” Miyagi says, breath exhaled. “But because I’m not, I’m telling you that you don’t have to be like this.”

Rukawa empties half the drink. “Like what?”

“Desperate,” Miyagi says, eyes fixated on Sawakita waving his arms enthusiastically at them once they come into view.

It’s not a fair statement to make. “You can only say that because Sawakita said yes.”

“…True, but I also reached the stage where I just wanted to move on. If he’d said no, at least I’d know,” Miyagi says. “I’d be surprised if you aren’t there already.”

Rukawa doesn’t know the entire story of how Miyagi and Sawakita got together. He only knows the basics—that Miyagi had been grappling with his sexuality and apparently had a really hard time figuring it out, but Rukawa doesn’t have much sympathy for him, because he was privy to Sawakita calling him every fucking day whining about his gay crisis over Miyagi.

“…I can’t move on.”

“Then get over him,” Miyagi returns, just as they step back into the court. “Surely you can do better than the asshole who beat me up.”

“—What are you guys talking about?” Mitsui bounces over at the last minute, and then he steals Rukawa’s drink and guzzles the last of it.

Rukawa stares transfixed at the droplets of sweat rolling down the exposed neck, hand still curled in the holding position because he’d been caught off guard. He swallows involuntarily, and then he’s aware that Miyagi is watching him stare.

“…Mitsui-senpai,” Rukawa starts when he finds his voice to be normal. “Start running.”

Mitsui spies the dark glare on Rukawa’s face and does exactly as warned. Sawakita is completely unhelpful in the background as he laughs and laughs and laughs while Miyagi physically lunges to hold Rukawa back from stomping Mitsui’s face into the curb. Rukawa is still sulky after dinner, even if Mitsui buys him back another pocari can. Miyagi says nothing more about their conversation, although he does give Rukawa a meaningful look when Mitsui drops him and Sawakita off at their hotel.

It’s terribly quiet in the car with the loss of the other two.

“Are you seriously still mad at me?” Mitsui asks after they sit there in silence for two minutes. “I already paid you back for the drink.”

“I’m not mad,” Rukawa says.

“You totally sound like you are,” Mitsui points out, leaning on his hand propped by the window. “Miyagi said something about me, didn’t he?”

“He didn’t say anything,” Rukawa denies.

“I didn’t hear everything, but I did hear something about the ‘asshole who beat him up’,” Mitsui returns, although he doesn’t look offended. “Come on, even I know that’s me.” Rukawa almost rolls his eyes, keeping his gaze out of his side of the window, until Mitsui nudges his shoulder lightly. “What were you guys talking about? You two were gone for a while.”

“Why do you want to know, senpai?”

Rukawa hates that the stupid traffic light is red, because it feels like they’re going to be stuck together for longer than necessary.

“I’m curious,” Mitsui says honestly. “You guys were talking about me.”

“Not everything is about you,” Rukawa snorts, but Mitsui still has that look on his face like he’s not going to stop prying. “…He was telling me that you supported him when he was thinking of coming out. But you were weird about it.”

“Weird? I wasn’t—wasn’t weird!” Mitsui denies hotly, frowning. “I read an article about gay rights and everything!” Rukawa wants to laugh, but he hides it with a cough. “Also, he thanked me!”

“For the effort. Doesn’t mean you weren’t bad at it.”

Mitsui glares at him, but the rubbing on his neck spells that he does care about it. “…Why was he telling you about that, anyway?”

Rukawa’s gaze flickers to the clock on the car dashboard. The light is still red.

Rukawa sighs, and then he says, “Because I’m gay.”

Mitsui turns to look at him, eyes wide in surprise. Rukawa has never specifically imagined how Mitsui would react at this piece of news, although, it’s not like he was hiding it deliberately. No one has ever asked, likely because there’s assumptions about his sexuality. (That’s he’s asexual and only has eyes for basketball.)

“…Um, congrats? Uh, fuck, what should I say?” Mitsui fumbles. “It’s cool? I-it’s…it’s brave of you to come out. Thank you for telling me, I’m proud of you and I know it’s hard to—“

“Save me the spiel, senpai,” Rukawa rolls his eyes. “I’m not in crisis like Miyagi-senpai.”

“I-I see,” Mitsui replies, and he startles when there’s a loud honk behind him. The light has turned green, and the car jerks when Mitsui steps on the accelerator.

“When did you um…know?”

“When did you know you were straight?” Rukawa asks in return.

“I…I just—….” Mitsui falters, and then he sighs. “Sorry, that was not a good question, huh. Uh…thanks for telling me, anyway. That you trust me enough. I’m, I’m flattered, and—”

“You are being weird about it.”

“I’m not being weird!” Mitsui scowls. “I’m trying to be sensitive!”

After dropping a bomb like that, Rukawa knows Mitsui can’t sit still.

It takes about a minute before Mitsui says, “It’s not fair that you have so many fan girls, they’re wasted on you. You should take some of my fans. I’ll trade.”

“Not interested.”

“I guess you wouldn’t date a fan, huh,” Mitsui muses. “We can hit up some gay bars, I could be your wing man. For some reason, gay men really like to hit on me, so—“

“Not interested,” Rukawa repeats, with annoyance seeping into his tone.

“Then what’s your type?”

“Not you.”

“Come on, be serious,” Mitsui whines. “If you know you’re gay, then you must have gotten the hots for someone before. Who was it? Is it someone I know?” Rukawa must have been making some sort of face, because Mitsui laughs. “Okay…what about a celebrity that you like? For me, I could definitely go gay for someone like Hiroyuki Sanada-san—”

Rukawa physically turns his body to the car door. “I shouldn’t have told you anything.”

“Hey—come on, I’m being supportive!”

Rukawa refuses to engage for the rest of the journey, no matter how much Mitsui teases him. He’s ready to just go home and sleep the day off, and everything will restart tomorrow. Nothing will change. Except, Mitsui grabs his wrist just before he hops out at his destination, looking serious.

“Hey, if you need anything, you can talk me, you know that right?” Mitsui offers, smile soft. “To be honest, I’m kinda pissed you told Miyagi first and not me. I know it’s not about me, but I thought we’re closer than that,” he pauses. “It changes nothing between us, yeah? You’re ‘Rukawa’ to me. Always have been, always will be.” He lets go of Rukawa’s wrist. “Good night.”

Rukawa’s breath stutters, but he gains enough back to say, “Night,” and closes the door shut behind him.

He stalks to his apartment lift as fast as he can, barely even giving his receptionist a nod. A minute more, and he’s practically flinging his front door open, leaning his weight on it to shut it close. He knocks his head back, and sinks to the floor. His wrist, where Mitsui had held him, still feels like it’s tingling. Eyes closed, he can feel the touch slipping away, slowly but surely. He chases it, unwilling to let go.

Rukawa slips his hand underneath his pants and boxers waistband. He refuses to open his eyes, because all that awaits him is shame. But he’s safe being oblivious for now, with his cock plump in his hand but clammy from his sweat. It doesn’t take long for it to heat up and throb with a few strokes. Rukawa makes a soft noise from the back of his throat as he masturbates quickly, legs propped up and other hand scrabbling on the ground.

Why does Mitsui have to be like this? He’s everything Rukawa can’t tear his eyes away from, everything that makes Rukawa feel so ruined inside. It’s as though jerking over his physical body isn’t enough—he had to take Rukawa by the heart and soul and make him desperate, like Miyagi had said. He’s there, already there, beyond there, at the stage where he knows he can’t go on like this.

Rukawa’s thought about confessing before. During Mitsui’s graduation day. The night he signed onto Alvark. The B League Early Cup finals. The post-game of Alvark versus San-En. Some random Wednesday evening, when Mitsui dragged him to see a movie because no one else was free to go. The urge always lingers for a bit, before Rukawa reminds himself why it’s useless. He’ll only get hurt.

When he comes in hand, he whispers Mitsui’s name like he’s in love.

It’s not because of Mitsui, but Rukawa would be lying if he didn’t say Mitsui is part of the reason he decides to get a cat.

A small sliver of a reason.  Rukawa barely slept that other night, and somewhere at 3AM in the middle of doom scrolling, he adopts a kitten. Rukawa’s always loved cats and he always wanted one—his parents weren’t keen on pets, and he knew he would get one when he could support himself.

He’s been eyeing kittens from a shelter site that he has bookmarked for more than a year, but has never really committed to it. Now that he has (impulsively) chose one to bring home, he requests for an entire week of leave, which is granted in the wake of the end of the basketball season. Rukawa busies himself getting his apartment cat-proofed, relishes that he doesn’t have to face Mitsui at work, and brings his newest member of his family home.

It’s a tuxedo kitten, all black except for a patch of white on the chest and a smaller tuft on the nose. It’s still tiny, merely six weeks old and stumbling over its feet. Rukawa immediately knew this was his child for life. The shelter staff had given him quite detailed instructions to care for the kitten given its young age, and Rukawa was careful to adhere to it. The cat, which came with the name of ‘Matsu’, is Rukawa sole focus, so much that he barely even thinks about Mitsui over the course of the week.

Until, of course, Mitsui comes barging into his apartment.

Rukawa wasn’t even aware that Mitsui knew his apartment number until he has to gets up halfway playing with Matsu to check on his ringing doorbell. Reception wouldn’t have let someone this far up the building unless it was a mail delivery or someone Rukawa actually knows, and Rukawa had guessed the former, given that he’d ordered a lot of cat toys. Instead, it’s Mitsui wearing a clinical mask and carrying a plastic bag. When Rukawa is slow to open the door, Mitsui starts knocking on it, impatient.

“What do you want?” Rukawa snaps when he opens it.

“Oh—hey,” Mitsui waves, looking relieved for some reason. “How are you feeling? You look…better than I thought.”

Rukawa frowns. “Why did you come here, senpai?”

“I bought you food,” Mitsui lifts the plastic bag. “And some medicine, in case you ran out.”

Rukawa furrows his eyebrows. “…What for? I’m not sick.”

“You’re not?” Mitsui says, surprised, taking his mask off. “But you didn’t come to train for the last three days and you haven’t been replying me, so I thought—“

“I’m on leave. Coach should’ve said.”

“Yeah, well,” Mitsui scratches back of his neck, lips pressed together. “He just said you took some off days, and didn’t want to tell me what for, and you never take off, so it had to be something super serious—“

Rukawa is barely listening, because his attention is drawn to Matsu crawling his way out of the door, and he lunges to scoop him up before a paw even touches the boundary of the parameter.

“—and I thought you might be avoiding me but—oh my god, a kitty!” Mitsui gasps, fully distracted, his monologue thrown aside for the arrival of a kitten.

“It’s a dog,” Rukawa says just to be contrary. “I’m busy, senpai. I’m not sick. You can leave.”

“No, no, no, no—let me in,” Mitsui squeezes his way in, shutting the door behind him. “Is this why you took leave? Ohh, he’s so cute,” he coos. “What it’s name? He? She?”

“He’s Matsu-san,” Rukawa replies.

“He’s young,” Mitsui notes, reaching to stroke the cat with gentle a finger. “I’d say about…five plus weeks?”

“Six.”

“Hm. Can he eat dry kibble yet?”

“Half. Have to mix it with wet,” Rukawa says. “…You know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course,” Mitsui snorts. “Didn’t I tell you? I used to have a family cat. She passed on in old age a couple of years ago though. She was always so grumpy, not like Matsu-matsu,” he tickles the underside of Matsu’s chin. “What a sweet boy.”

Matsu-san is very sweet. He’s been an absolute sweetheart to Rukawa, and now Mitsui. He suckles on Mitsui’s finger, much to Rukawa’s annoyance and Mitsui’s growing delight.

“You can leave now,” Rukawa says as a not so subtle suggestion.

“Let me stay and play with Matsu-matsu,” Mitsui says, looking around to see where he can put his things down. “Wow, your place is pretty nice. You know, I thought about buying a unit here when I first signed on to Alvark since it’s close to the complex,” he says off handedly, wandering off on his own once he’s toed his shoes off. “Do you want to eat?” he rustles the plastic bag. “I got that sweet potato rice from that diner you like.”

“I’ve eaten.”

“I’ll put it in the fridge then,” Mitsui replies without missing a beat. “Where’s your kitchen? Oh, you can keep the medicine too—where do you keep it?”

Rukawa sighs and puts Matsu down before grabbing the offered boxes to put it where he keeps the first aid box. When he comes back, Mitsui is on the floor of his living room, playing with his kitten. He’s smiling in the way that crinkles his eyes, and he leans forward and plants soft kisses to the furry little animal in between petting him. Rukawa finds that his feet freeze to the ground at the sight, face warming up, and it takes a good few seconds to shake himself out of it.

He needs to get Mitsui out of his apartment.

“Hey, do you have anything to drink?” Mitsui calls, flicking on his television. “They’re playing a recording of the Dragons versus Tigers match in a bit.”

“I don’t want to watch baseball,” Rukawa says, coming forward. “Don’t you have other things to do, like…your photo hobby?”

“I’ve posted a pic already,” Mitsui replies absentmindedly, cocking his head expectantly at Rukawa with a hopeful look. “Drink?”

Fuck. Rukawa wants to strangle Mitsui for just being so…so….ugh. He shuffles back to his kitchen and takes the water filter jug and two cups.

“Here.” He sets it down on his low table. “A drink.”

Mitsui sighs when he sees it, but he does pour himself a cup of water. There’s a tupperware from the plastic bag Mitsui had brought in earlier, and when Mitsui cracks it open, Rukawa resigns himself that Mitsui is not going to leave until he eats his dinner. Rukawa takes Mastu instead, keeping him gently pressed against his chest as he sits on the couch and pretends to watch the baseball match. Mitsui is very engrossed into it, eating without taking his eyes off the screen. Rukawa jerks a little when Mitsui moves himself off the floor to sit next to Rukawa on the couch, causing their arms to brush.

Matsu mewls, likely at the smell of fried tempura coming off Mitsui’s plate. Rukawa hushes him, stroking his tiny ears.

“He’s cute,” Mitsui suddenly says, and Rukawa glances to see the other tilting his head at him with a smile on his face. “Reminds me of that black cat we used to feed outside the Shohoku gate. Why did you get him?””

“I wanted one,” Rukawa says simply.

“…You’ve hit that stage in your life, huh,” Mitsui says, “Where you want someone in your life.”

“It’s a cat, senpai,” Rukawa returns. “Don’t be dramatic.”

Mitsui only grins. “He’s your son, Rukawa. You’re a father now. A pet daddy.” Rukawa grimaces, hard. Mitsui is amused at his expression, as he laughs, loud, pulling his phone out for a photo snap.

“Senpai,” Rukawa growls under his breath, but Mitsui simply adds himself into the frame with the victory sign and takes another photo.

“Can I hold him and have one pic just with me?” Mitsui pouts, opening his hands in a receiving gesture.

“No.”

“Come on, Rukawa,” Mitsui pleads. “I’ll give you cat-rearing tips,” he adds. “I’m a veteran, like I can tell you right now that cat water fountain you got is a terrible decision.”

Rukawa flicks his gaze to plastic contraption he set up in the corner of the room. It’s true that Matsu hasn’t used it, since Rukawa has been spoon feeding him water, but that’s probably just because Matsu is still too young. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Give me Matsu-matsu,” Mitsui says, firm.

Rukawa sighs and gently holds out the kitten. Mitsui takes the tiny one in his arms, cupping its sweet little head. He snaps more than three pictures of himself and the cat before Rukawa kicks him lightly.

“What about the water fountain?”

“It doesn’t match your decor,” Mitsui says, and hops off the couch immediately anticipating that Rukawa is going to snap at him. 

“I don’t care about the—“

“I know,” Mitsui smiles, quickly evading how Rukawa is hot on his heel, annoyed. “But I should say that you have to change the water in that at least once a week. Twice, even. It may be self-replenishing, but you have to clean it.”

“I know that already,” Rukawa huffs before he finally corners Mitsui in front of his closed bedroom door.

Mitsui has one hand on the knob, intending to open it, but he must have seen the glare seeping into Rukawa’s expression because he stops and turns around, contrite in surrender that he can’t hide anywhere.

“Okay, final request,” Mitsui hugs Matsu to him. “Can I take one with him for my fitness account?”

Rukawa blinks, and then it catches up with him that Mitsui wants to take a half-naked selfie with his baby.

“You’re not even trying to keep it as a secret, are you,” Rukawa states, grabbing Mastu back from this pervert.

“No one’s gonna know!”

“You literally just posted a picture of Matsu-san into the team’s chatgroup,” Rukawa deadpans. “Which I didn’t say that you could.”

Mitsui deflates. “But he’s so cute!”

“He’s mine,” Rukawa retorts.

“Okay, okay,” Mitsui placates. “I’ll let you vet every photo of Matsu-matsu before I post it, okay? Let’s go back and watch baseball—“

“I don’t want to watch baseball,“ Rukawa simmers but its futile.

He ends up sitting in the corner of his couch with the game playing in the background and Matsu sleeping on his lap. Baseball is just so mind-numbingly boring, even if Mitsui excitedly tugs his sleeve multiple times and rambles on about some side cutter pitches. Rukawa doesn’t realise he’s dozed off until he rouses at the feeling of someone trying to move him to lie down horizontally.

“Where’s Matsu—…“ he mumbles.

“I brought him to his bed, you don’t want to accidentally crush him,” A soothing voice replies. “You’re too heavy for me to carry you, but you should at least sleep lying down. Come on.” Rukawa is coaxed gently to put his legs up. “There’s a good boy.”

Rukawa makes a sleepy noise at the back of his throat. A gentle hand presses against the top of his head, caressing his hair slowly. His mind is hazy, being in the state in between sleep and awake, but the moment that a thumb just so slightly runs along the curve of his ear is when he jolts to full awareness. His eyes are still closed, but his heartbeat is running at a hundred, like the blood pressure is rushing.

“Thanks for having me over, Rukawa,” Mitsui murmurs, and then the warmth of his hand is gone.

Rukawa stays absolutely still until he hears his front door closing, and even then he waits for another minute before he opens his eyes. His neck feels so hot and itchy, just because Mitsui touched his ear. Also, his crotch is getting tight, and the more he thinks about touching himself to ease it the worse it gets. He stumbles off the couch, just peering to check whether Matsu was sleeping on his bed before he goes to his bedroom.

Somehow, Rukawa just feels like crying. The tightness in his chest is just too much. It’s almost hard to breathe. His clock flashes that it’s just past midnight. Rukawa just wants to sleep, but he can’t sleep because, because it’s just… it’s just not enough. He pulls open his bedroom drawer and grabs the lube bottle and the closest vibrator. It’s not his biggest, and perhaps thankfully so, because he’s not interested to spend a lot of time stretching himself out.

He divests his pants and underwear since they’re completely unhelpful. Lube smears everywhere in the dark room. Rukawa hikes his knees up, feet flat on the mattress and jerks himself off for a bit before slipping one hand lower to press against his hole. He’s going too fast bullying a finger in before he’s really relaxed, but he can’t be bothered about that now. He just needs, needs, needs something, and while he’s hard and leaking he’s not going to complain about his ass being stuffed.

The vibe rolls somewhere on the bed that Rukawa has to pat around to find, printing lube droplets everywhere. When it’s pressed on his rim, it goes in, just an inch, but that has Rukawa feeling feverish already. It’s not as big as Mitsui’s dick but just being penetrated makes Rukawa feel like he’s giving himself away. He thrusts the vibe in and out for a bit, never really pushing it in to full hilt, yet he’s sort of already on the horizon.

It just takes him to whisper, “Mitsui-senpai, Mitsui-senpai—“ out loud with a stroke over his cock and he’s coming, head knocked back onto the pillow.

Over the next week, Rukawa returns to work. Truthfully he’d wanted to take another week off, but his own body is feeling a bit off without playing proper basketball for so long. Just to be safe, he installs a pet camera into his home, gives a feed of it to his receptionist who has orders to call him immediately if they notice something is wrong. Rukawa himself watches the live feed during the water breaks, which is most of just Matsu jumping around or sleeping.

Tetsu-san likens Rukawa’s behaviour to that of an overprotective parent, reminiscing something about doing the same thing with his first child, but Rukawa can’t be bothered to listen. The chatter goes over his head, although some of his team mates sneak behind him to watch the nanny cam. Rukawa only jolts when he feels a chin lean on his shoulder, hot sweaty body pressing on him.

“Matsu-matsu’s doing well,” Mitsui comments, ignoring that he just invaded Rukawa’s personal space. “Oh look! He’s coming here, he’s coming—”

Rukawa leans away, hoping Mitsui will get the hint, but Mitsui just throws his arm over Rukawa’s shoulder to stop him from moving to wave at his phone where Matsu is crawling towards the camera, which is worse. By now, Rukawa has completely tuned out to whatever Mitsui is saying, because he can’t think about anything as his head going woozy from the blood rushing to his face.

“…—you okay there?” Mitsui is leaning far too close, and this time Rukawa just stands up, uncaring even if he accidentally jams Mitsui’s chin up from the movement.

“Toilet,” he says, walking out of the court and his phone gripped tight in his knuckles.

Thankfully, no one follows him outside. Rukawa stops just outside the court doors, turns left and then squats, putting his head in between his knees. He doesn’t know why he’s been reacting to Mitsui so much more than normal, like he’s back in high school again.

He had ten fucking years to get a hold of himself, but it seems like he never has.

What did Miyagi say? To get over Mitsui? Rukawa wishes it’s that simple. A cat was obviously never going to cut it. He’s tried looking on gay apps once, but nothing ever interested him because they’re not Mitsui. It’s so fucking stupid that Rukawa just returns to that stupid “fitness” instagram account to jerk off instead of actually finding a hook up. Rukawa digs out his phone and taps into his instagram account, looking at his timeline feed, which just has random advertisements and Mitsui’s posts. He needs to delete this if he’s ever going to gain his sanity back.

What else is the alternative? Tell Mitsui?

He would rather kill himself.

“Hey, are you sure you’re—“

Rukawa practically lurches at the sudden touch on shoulder. He’s so startled that he falls palms down on the metal grate of the small drain in front of him, and his phone thankfully soars a fit further to land on the grass. Mitsui catches him immediately, wide eyed and worried about his hand, which reveals angry red marks.

“Oh shit—“ Mitsui curses, grabbing Rukawa’s hand to himself. “It’s not bleeding, is it? Sorry, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you, but you seemed a bit off, and—“

Rukawa can’t fucking deal with this anymore. “Don’t touch me, senpai!”

He might have slapped Mitsui’s hand away quite harshly, zooming immediately to retrieve his phone before Mitsui sees anything. Mitsui stands there, shocked at the sudden snipe, but he’s not relenting to leave Rukawa alone.

“…I didn’t mean to startle you,” Mitsui says finally, hands raised in surrender. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Rukawa snaps.

Mitsui raises his eyebrows slowly. “…Well…break’s over and I just wanted to let you know…” he trails off. “We should get your hand checked out first though.”

“It’s fine,” Rukawa says again, flexing his palms.

They’re sore from his body weight, but it’s not going to be a thing.

“Rukawa, you’re our small forward,” Mitsui steps forward again, reaching for his hand. “If anything happens to you—“

Rukawa steps back in reflex, holding his hands to himself. Mitsui looks a bit lost at the reaction, head tilted to eye him more keenly.

“…Rukawa?”

Rukawa is this close to losing it. Maybe he already has.

He swivels on his heel to stalk away—just, somewhere away from Mitsui to calm himself down. He can hear Mitsui call out to him worriedly, but he concentrates on walking faster, down the corridor into the ajoining building of their sports complex, to the nearest toilet, so that he can lock himself in one of the cubicles. Unfortunately, Mitsui sprints after him, and when he tries to slam the door in Mitsui’s face so that the other cannot follow, Mitsui rams his entire body weight on him and they hit the wall of the cubicle.

The ensuing fight is almost childish. Rukawa doesn’t actually want to hurt Mitsui, and neither does Mitsui to him, which is obvious when neither of them go for the face. Rukawa tries to push him away, but Mitusi grabs onto his shirt. In their tussle they trip over the porcelain bowl, which sends both of them falling awkwardly to the side, where Rukawa takes the brunt of the fall. He winces when he feels his hand splash into the toilet water from the angle he finds himself in, with Mitsui practically straddling him.

Rukawa can barely breathe from how their bodies grind together. It’s like a wet dream, honestly, maybe even one Rukawa had before, if he can remember it from the countless ones he’s had. Damp and sweaty post-practice, making out in the toilets out of sight from the the team. When he stills, he can feel Mitsui’s chest arising and falling pressed against his, hands gripping the back of his shirt to hold himself upright. It takes all of Rukawa’s willpower not to move his hands off the floor. His cock is so hard, almost aching from the weight of Mitsui’s body on him.

“Rukawa, let’s just…stop, okay?” Mitsui says, sounding tired. “What’s going on?” he asks worriedly when he gets silence. “Why are you so…prickly today?”

“…I don’t want you to touch me,” Rukawa mumbles.

Mitsui blinks, then slowly gets off Rukawa’s stomach and moves a step backwards on the floor. “…Alright,” he says, listening. “I…I know I can be a bit much but you can always tell me to fuck off.“

Rukawa just shakes his head and curls his knees up to hug them. He doesn’t want this. He does want Mitsui to touch him and hold him but he can’t because it’s too much, burning a fire in his veins. He curls up because his cock throbs,  just from that stupid little grappling and close proximity and it’s so inappropriate, and Mitsui is looking at him while he’s losing his fucking mind.

“Rukawa, if something has happened to you, please tell me,” Mitsui starts, crawling to his side. “You’re really scaring me,” he murmurs. “Come on, look at me,” he hovers, hand not quite touching Rukawa’s frame as requested. “It’s just me, yeah?”

Perhaps this is when Rukawa simply gives up.

He lets Mitsui see him, with everything he’s ever felt on his face.

It feels like eternity as Mitsui stares back, lips parted and breath inhaled. His expression flickers with hesitance, worry, disbelief—and then curiosity and nervousness, and—Rukawa can’t bear to look anymore, turning away. His face must be red like fire; his neck and ears certainly feel like it. Belatedly Rukawa wishes he had his towel so that he can throw it over his head.

“…Rukawa—“ Mitsui starts ever so soft, but then there’s a sudden yell of ‘Rukawa-san? Mitsui-san?’ that make them both jolt.

One of their teammates had ventured into the toilets to find them. Rukawa curls up even tighter, horrified that they’re going to have an audience. Mitsui scrambles, pushing his way out of the cubicle in a split second to intervene before they get found. Rukawa just stares at his knees in silence the entire time until Mitsui comes back.

“I um, told them you’re not feeling well…” Mitsui starts carefully. “Should we go to the medical room?”

Calling in sick from a fucking crush? Rukawa hates himself so much right now. He takes a deep breath, wiping his face with a rough palm and adjusts his expression back to as normal as he can. He’s an adult. He can have his breakdown when he goes home. He doesn’t look at Mitsui at all when he pushes himself up, thankful that he’s gone soft from how depressed he feels, and goes to the sink to wash his face.

Mitsui hovers uncertainly. “…If you want to talk—“

“I don’t,” Rukawa says, voice settling into its usual hard tone.

“But—“

“Practice has started,” Rukawa says over him, grimly trooping out.

Rukawa continues practice, and it’s never been a day like this where he’s counting down the seconds to when he can go home. He moves like a robot, almost, off the court the instant their coach dismisses them, walking with a blind focus to just get out of the sport complex and get home, get home before Mitsui—

“We need to talk,” Mitsui trails right behind him, voice firm. “Rukawa—“

“I don’t want to talk,” Rukawa says, jabbing the light for the pedestrian crossing impatiently. “I’m not feeling well, senpai. Leave me alone. I’ll be fine tomorrow.”

“You…you—you can’t just show me a face like that and expect me to believe that you—…y-you—“ Mitsui protests indignantly.

“That I what?” Rukawa spits out, harsh.

Mitsui closes his mouth, not finding the words. And then he says, “This is not fair to me, Rukawa.”

Rukawa almost scoffs. Like he cares about how Mitsui feels about this thing that has driven exactly one person crazy for years—and hint, it’s not Mitsui.

“Rukawa, you didn’t even say anything to me!” Mitsui continues, fast on his heel when the fucking light finally turns green. “What am I supposed to know, huh? I’m not a mind reader, and if you don’t want me to assume things, you have to open your fucking mouth!”

By now they’re a minute away from Rukawa’s apartment—Rukawa can see the finishing line even. If he enters and tells the receptionist that he bars Mitsui from coming up, they’d get security to do it. He doesn’t need to entertain any more of this. And yet, he stops in his tracks, feeling Mitsui bump into him by accident from the sudden halt, and says,

“I like you, and I hate it, Mitsui-senpai.”

His voice must have shook, because his hand trembles enough that he has to grip it to steady. When he steps onward to his apartment foyer, Mitsui does not follow.

As an adult in his mid twenties, Rukawa knows he handled his confession to Mitsui like a fucking disaster. It’s not like he’s had any experience before, so maybe it’s understandable for a first attempt. Rukawa seriously debates calling in sick the next morning when he’s in bed with the weight of his stupidity crashing unto him the moment the sun shone on his face. Matsu is eating his breakfast obediently on Rukawa’s lap, which is the only thing he can find joy at the moment. Rukawa checks the number of days of leave he still has left on his phone as Matsu licks and chews, concocting what he should type to the coach if he really is going to take the day off.

Fuck. He can’t believe he’s been reduced to this just to avoid Mitsui.

Before he can do that, however, there’s an incoming call from Sawakita. This early in the morning? Rukawa lets it ring and go to voice mail, unwilling to deal with that. A second later, Miyagi calls him. Rukawa is suspicious, because it could just be Sawakita using Miyagi’s cellphone. Also, he has no desire to talk, so he lets that also go to voice mail. Then he gets a text from Miyagi stating ‘Just pick up the phone, I have something important to talk to you about. Its urgent.’. There’s no slang or emoji, which makes it sound actually serious, so Rukawa sighs and receives it when Miyagi calls again.

“Kaede—“ Sawakita starts, and Rukawa almost puts it down if not for Miyagi yelling in the background and a hurried apology when he snatches the phone back.

“Sorry,” Miyagi says, hushed, and it sounds like he’s moving somewhere fast. “I know you don’t want to deal with Eiji right now, but he’s just really worried about you.”

Rukawa not stupid by any means. “You told him.”

“Mitsui told me, yesterday—Eiji was there.”

“…And?”

“How are you feeling?”

“We’re not close enough for this, senpai,” Rukawa says, cuddling Matsu close to him when the other refuses to eat anymore.

“You can drop the asshole act, Rukawa,” Miyagi returns. “I care, and you don’t want Eiji or Hanamichi or Sendoh doing this with you, do you?”

Rukawa sighs. He takes a moment but he does say, “I shouldn’t have told him.”

“Why not?”

“I feel like shit,” he says honestly. “I don’t want to go to work.”

Miyagi makes a sympathizing noise but he says, “You need to talk to him. From what I heard, you barely told him anything.”

“I have nothing to say to him.”

“Don’t be a hardass,” Miyagi chides. “Of course he’s going to be confused when you just dumped this on him.”

“What’s the point? It’s not like it could work out anyway,” Rukawa mutters. “You were right. I wanted more and I ruined it. I’ll get over it. I’m going to work,” he says finally, curt. “Bye.”

“Hey, wait—“ Miyagi seethes, but Ruakwa hangs up and pets Matsu one more time before going to change.

He steels himself when he gets to the sports complex. He’s a professional basketball player, and he will play basketball, whether Mitsui is there or not. He says nothing as he slips on his jersey, not even when Mitsui enters halfway and starts fiddling with his locker. For the first time, Rukawa keeps his eyes absolutely straight, not even veering to look at his left, although he can feel Mitsui eyeing him from time to time.

To his relief, Mitsui doesn’t deliberately approach him throughout the day. To his irritation, Rukawa finds his gaze slipping naturally to where ever Mitsui, whether it be on court or joking with the other teammates at the water cooler. Rukawa keeps to himself, using Matsu as an excuse to huddle on his own to watch his cat during breaks, and then packs up for the day, having survived it.

Mitsui, of course, won’t let him go so easy.

“Rukawa, I’m coming to see Matsu-matsu,” he announces out loud in the locker room before Rukawa leaves. “Wait for me.”

Rukawa scowls, minutely, because he doesn’t want to make a scene. “No, I’m busy.”

“I’ll help you bathe him, come on,” Mitsui replies smoothly, closing his locker and cocking his head for Rukawa to follow him like he’s been the one waiting.

“You are not coming up to my apartment,” Rukawa states seriously as they walk.

He tries to walk faster, but Mitsui matches his pace, and they honestly just look ridiculous power walking together. Rukawa just stops in his tracks, because this is so stupid.

“We need to talk,” Mitsui returns, just as unforgiving. “Don’t be ridiculous, Rukawa,” he says when he spies the defiant look on Rukawa’s face. “I’m not forgetting what you said to me yesterday, so we are dealing with it. Either we do it here, in front of the gate where anyone can hear us,” he warns. “Or we do it in the privacy of your apartment.”

Rukawa does not like being threatened. “Here then.”

“What?”

“I am not letting you into my house,” Rukawa repeats, crossing his arms. “So what do you want to say to me?”

“Um, okay,” Mitsui replies, clearly thrown off. He clears his throat nonetheless, an awkwardness settling into his posture. “So…about what you said, that you, that you like me—did you…do you mean it?”

Rukawa only stares, trying not to think about it too much else he’ll get thrown off. “…Yes.”

“Since when?”

“I don’t want to tell you.”

Mitsui frowns. “You agreed to talk—“

“I did not.”

“Rukawa, I’m really trying!” Mitsui raises his voice, clearly annoyed. “I’m trying to understand where you are coming from but you have to meet me halfway!”

“There’s nothing to understand,” Rukawa almost hisses. “Another gay man likes you, so fucking what? You don’t have to give me a second’s thought, senpai, I know you won’t, so let’s just all fucking move on.”

Mitsui blinks, wide eyed at the outburst, before he exhales. “…I don’t want to move on,” he says quietly. “I want to think about this, okay?”

“You’re straight,” Rukawa reminds him.

“Um.” Now Mitsui looks a bit flustered, scratching the back of his neck. “Actually, I…I never said that. You just assumed,” he continues, when Rukawa frowns at him. “Everyone assumes. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I like girls! They’re like, my main…preference, that why I didn't correct you, but,” he shrugs a bit. “I’m not that against the idea of…of…” he gestures vaguely. “Like, if it was you, I….—“

“I’m not going to be your experiment just because you’re curious,” Rukawa says plainly.

“Of course you’re not!” Mitusi replies, aghast. “I’ve already done…—I’ve sucked a dick before and I liked it!”

Rukawa is suddenly reminded that they are literally having this conversation in public—it seems like Mitsui is too, because he flushes darkly and covers his face.

“Fuck,” Mitsui swears. “…Can we please go to yours and continue this? Please.”

Rukawa nods curtly, even though he said never like a couple of minutes ago. The walk and ride up the lift to his apartment floor is in absolute silence. Rukawa is honestly kind of confused—he’s not a hundred percent sure what Mitsui is trying to get at—that Mitsui might what? Like him? It sounds a bit like one of those manga Sawakita likes to forward to him to read; out of touch with reality.

Even so, he can’t help but glance at the other out of the corner of his eye, and it seems like Mitsui is watching him too. Rukawa averts his gaze when they meet, feeling his skin prickle. He’s nervous, even though it’s not the first time he’s hung out with Mitsui alone. He tries not to think too much—expect too much—and is marginally relieved when he squats to retrieve Matsu who’d been waiting for him at the front door. With the warm little body against his chest, Rukawa relaxes a little, even if his heartbeat is pounding.

“Hi Matsu-matsu,” Mitsui coos, and for a second it felt like everything was back to normal. “Rukawa, can I touch?”

Rukawa nods—because it wouldn’t do for him to deprive Matsu of pats just because he’s feeling some type of way. But instead, Mitsui affixes a look at him, puts a hand on his shoulder, and pulls him in to kiss him. Rukawa has his eyes wide open when their lips meet. It’s a gentle pressure, not quite what Rukawa expected, but also beyond anything he did. Mitsui tilts his chin, brushing their mouths together at an angle that makes Rukawa shakily exhale, and the gap is sealed immediately.

It’s warm. Rukawa feels like he’s melting, heat concentrated on his face with the knowledge that he’s being kissed. By Mitsui.

Mitsui’s hand slips up to Rukawa’s nape when he steps forward and lightly pushes Rukawa up against the closed door to deepen the kiss. Rukawa swallows, head knocking back into the hard wood when he tries to take a breath. Matsu is squished against his chest in this position, but when Rukawa flickers his gaze down to his cat, Mitsui tilts his chin up to kiss him again, blinding his vision.

It’s not fair.

It’s never been fair.

Mitsui’s thumb comes to caress the side of Rukawa’s lip in between kisses, where Rukawa only exhales rapidly to catch his breath. Mitsui is staring at him, unrelenting, their foreheads pressed together in this distance.

“Since when did you like me, Rukawa?” Mitsui whispers, entranced.

“….Shohoku,” Rukawa finds himself answering.

Mitsui kisses him again. This time, Mitsui’s mouth is open and he coaxes Rukawa to part his to slip his tongue in. Rukawa shudders at the feeling, but he likes it, he likes the way Mitsui is trying to eat him, desire clearly felt. Matsu mewls between them at a particularly long and intense kiss where Mitsui grabs him by the back of the head to pull him closer. They jolt apart, spittle sheen over their lips, as they look at the poor forgotten kitten.

“…Does he need to eat?” Mitsui ventures first, voice a tad husky.

“Yeah,” Rukawa says, wiping his mouth the back of his hand before he pushes Mitsui backward. “I’m going to feed him.”

Rukawa has a small realisation that he might be half hard from just kissing, and he also doesn’t really want Mitsui to look at his flushed face, so he shuffles hurriedly to the kitchen. Mitsui waits behind him as he prepares Matsu’s meal—though he’s not standing in the way, but Rukawa can feel the heavy gaze following his every move. He finally puts the cat bowl on the floor when it’s done and goes to wash his hands. Mitsui comes to leans against the table counter beside him, and Rukawa pretends to wash his hands longer than necessary, until Mitsui reaches over to turn off the tap. The drip, drip, drip of water from his hands into the sink shouldn’t feel so awkward. They just kissed for fuck’s sake.

“Why did you kiss me, senpai?” Rukawa asks, retracting his hands to wipe them on the towel.

Mitsui’s posture is casual, but his fingers tapping the counter top betrays him. “I, I wanted to. So.”

“To test me out?”

“No,” Mitsui says, lips quirking to an annoyed scowl. “Is it that hard to believe that I would just want to?” he asks, pinching the bridge of his nose at how difficult Rukawa is. “I just told you I’m not straight—“

“But me,” Rukawa inserts. “I don’t want your pity. I want—…” he inhales roughly. “Have you ever thought me, senpai? In that way?”

Mitsui glances at him ever so slightly. “…I know you look at me,” he says instead, which is neither a yes or no. “I’ve always thought you were…judging me or something,” he half chuckles. “Or just zoning out. I don’t know. I guess I thought you’d never be actually interested, so I figured not to think too much into it. Even when you told me you were gay, I mean, you said I wasn’t your type, and…”

“Did you expect me tell me you were?” Rukawa almost rolls his eyes.

Mitsui ruffles the back of his hair for a couple of seconds. “Guess not. But when you told me yesterday…it felt like everything made sense.”

“What made sense?”

Mitsui pushes himself off leaning the counter lightly, just taking one step towards Rukawa. Rukawa is wary, but he does let Mitsui slowly wind his arms around his waist to embrace him. Face leaning just in the crook of Rukawa’s neck, hands gripping the back of his shirt. Just like when they—

“Why you’re always there for me,” Mitsui says against his collarbone, voice slightly muffled. “I know we don’t talk about it. But I…I know you never had to do it for me. Hold me, Rukawa.”

Rukawa hugs him. Tight. Their temples rest against each other. When Rukawa closes his eyes, he feels like he’s back at the Shohoku locker room again. Mitsui, curled into his arms, unable to let go until they rode themselves back to calm. Rukawa doesn’t have to pretend anymore.

He’s free.

“You can’t back out, senpai,” Rukawa murmurs. “I will never let you.”

Mitsui props his chin on Rukawa’s shoulder. “Always knew you were the possessive type,” he says, sounding amused, and then he lowers his voice. “I saw you looking at my insta.”

Rukawa stills. It had to be when he was debating to delete his account that day, before Mitsui startled him from behind and kicked off this entire mess.

“I’ll give you a private show if you’re interested,” Mitsui continues, like he’s not shamelessly dirty talking in the kitchen.

It’s just Rukawa’s luck that he’s obviously hard at the words and proximity to someone he likes—Mitsui peers at him with a growing smile, even if his face is a tint pink. Rukawa releases his embrace and snatches Mitsui’s wrist. When he drags Mitsui out of the kitchen, Matsu tries to follow them, curious at the movement, but Rukawa is solely focused on one thing. He yanks open his bedroom door, then closes it behind, careful to prevent his cat from following them. Mitsui seems to get the hint, but he tugs Rukawa instead towards the en-suite bathroom.

Right. Neither of them have showered. They’re wordless as they peel off their clothes before they get under the shower spray. Rukawa makes no pretense that he’s watching Mitsui strip bare, not just the torso he’s so familiar with, but down to his cock. It’s jutting hard half, with some sprinkling of wiry hair at the base, but at size Rukawa thinks he’s estimated sort of right.

Mitsui is also looking at him. There is interest—but also envy.

“Damn, you’re…big,” Mitsui mumbles, pulling Rukawa under the water spray with him. “I really wanna take a picture of you.”

“Absolutely not,” Rukawa says.

Mitsui kisses him, smiling in a way like he thinks he can make Rukawa change his mind. They make out under the water, soap up, make out, then rinse. Rukawa won’t kid himself to think that they’d make it out of the shower without coming at least once. Mitsui has him leaning back against the shower wall, squeezing their cocks together. Rukawa groans, panting into Mitsui’s hot mouth as they trade kisses, shuddering when Mitsui’s thumb brushes against his cockhead. Water isn’t a particularly great lubricant, but there’s enough slick between them to make the friction so addictive, especially when they rut together.

Rukawa comes first, gasping into the crook of Mitsui’s neck, while Mitsui takes a couple more strokes to get there, breathing Rukawa’s name with a punctured exhale. For a few seconds, they pause to catch breath, and then Mitsui looks down between them.

“You’re still hard,” he says, like in awe. “Want me to fuck you? I’ll stretch you and everything.”

Rukawa stares at him. Mitsui hastily scrambles to re-word, afraid that he’s accidentally overstepped boundaries, but Rukawa abruptly winds an arm around Mitsui’s waist and lifts him off the ground.

“Holy—fucking—shit!” Mitsui curses with a yelp as he gets hefted over Rukawa’s shoulder. “Rukawa, what—“

“Stop moving, it’s slippery,” Rukawa bites as he flicks off the shower and walks straight out towards his bed.

He’s dripping water everywhere but he doesn’t care. He drops Mitsui unceremoniously on his bed, ignoring the plea for a towel, and crawls right on top of Mitsui’s lap. He practically smashes his face into Mitsui’s for a kiss, unrelenting. Mitsui stands no chance.

“Yeah?” Mitsui breathes when they part, half grin in place for Rukawa to confirm his consent.

Rukawa nods.

“Honestly, I’d thought you’d want to do me instead,” Mitsui says. “But I’m not complaining. Lube?”

Rukawa goes to retrieve it from his bedside drawer. He also tosses a pack of condoms on the bed, because even if he’s deluded in some type of love, he’s not going to catch something that will affect his health.

“Got a favourite position?” Mitsui asks, perhaps jokingly, but Rukawa is serious when he says,

“I want to see you.”

Mitsui has a look in his eyes. He makes Rukawa lie down, and then clambers over, knees in between Rukawa’s legs. For a moment, Mitsui just looks.

“What?” Rukawa asks, feeling a bit self-conscious.

“You like me,” Mitsui says, out of the blue.

Rukawa warms. “We’ve been over this.”

“Tell me again,” Mitsui says, softer. “Please.”

Rukawa has come this far. Mitsui isn’t going anywhere.

“I’m in love with you,” he says truthfully. “Senpai.”

Mitsui cradles his face and kisses him. It’s a rush. His heart is pounding from the confession, and with the way Mitsui is molding their mouths together, it’s rushing all the blood to his head. Rukawa breaths, ragged, as Mitsui presses their lips together again and again. Rukawa clutches the back of Mitsui’s nape when he feels Mitsui’s thighs pressing against the back of his own. In this position, Mitsui’s cock rests over his, and every little jerk between them brings the heat.

“God, Rukawa, you—“ Mitsui swears as he gropes downward, palm fisting over Rukawa’s dick when he finds it.

Rukawa keens at the touch, pulled into a slow growing warm lull as Mitsui strokes him, base to tip, tip to base, until he’s dribbling precome. It’s good. It’s so good, which makes him moan in disappointment when the same hand suddenly releases him and slips lower to prod his hole. It’s just a curious brush, tracing his rim, but Rukawa clenches, thinking of all the times he pretended—which makes his ears flame red.

There’s a click of a cap and the finger over his taint returns, albeit wet, smothering lube around. It traces him, round and round, till Rukawa almost snaps at Mitsui to hurry up, when Mitsui presses his finger in. It’s a sudden intrusion, which makes Rukawa jolt and squeeze it.

“Tell me if it hurts,” Mitsui murmurs to him.

“Deeper,” he demands instead.

Mitsui acquiesces, pushing his finger in to the knuckle. Mitsui seems fairly surprised that Rukawa can take a finger in so quickly. He doesn’t comment on it though, concentrating on making Rukawa take two. Rukawa is no stranger to fingering himself but he has to admit, it feels a bit weird with someone else doing it to him. Especially if that someone is Mitsui, who is very intently watching his expressions.

“Can you take one more?” Mitsui asks, low, fingers thrusting in and out in a very slow pace.

“You’re too slow,” Rukawa complains, and he groans when Mitsui makes him lift his knee higher for better access. “Hah—…fuck,” he swears, feeling so stuffed. “Fuck me already.”

“I’ll get there,” Mitsui promises.

He ignores Rukawa’s impatiences, crooking his fingers to feel Rukawa out, until he sees Rukawa shudder and jerk when he rubs against a particular spot. Rukawa knows he’s in trouble when Mitsui deliberately prods it again. Rukawa groans, tossing his head to the side at the feeling wrecking up his spine.

“Fuck, look at you,” Mitsui breathes, squelching his fingers up Rukawa’s ass, shamelessly watching Rukawa turn to mush below him.

Rukawa’s cock slaps against his hipbone when Mitsui finally slips his hand out and hikes Rukawa’s knees up again. It’s almost a similar sort of view Rukawa has of Mitusi’s bared torso that he sees in those selfies, but it’s also different, with Mitsui rolling on a condom on his hardened cock. The head goes in Rukawa’s hole so easily it’s almost embarrassing.

Rukawa flutters his eyelids at the breach, pressing his fingers into Mitsui’s shoulder so hard that they’re going to leave red marks. Mitsui says something to him about breathing, but he’s quite so out of it that he barely hears anything. All he can feel is the cock entering him, eased in until it’s full hilt. Maybe he’d misjudged Mitsui’s size. For some reason, it’s overwhelming.

“Rukawa, Rukawa,” Mitsui whispers, voice almost raw. “Look at me.”

Rukawa opens his eyes that he didn’t realise he’d shut. “…I’m going to come,” he exhales, and then he does.

He hears Mitsui swear as his legs lock around the other’s hips, spilling white liquid all over his abdomen and chest. Mitsui’s still hard inside him, rutting with every clench that Rukawa’s makes around him. Mitsui smashes their mouths together, panting into every kiss and he thrusts, more vigorously now, chasing his orgasm. Rukawa claws his back, moaning at the sensitivity, the high, which peaks when Mitsui wraps his hand around Rukawa’s spent cock.

His cock practically stiffens at the immediate touch. Rukawa whimpers, drawn from his throat, feeling so fucking horny that he’s going to blow again so soon. Of course he is. He has Mitsui inside him, turning him out, slamming in the right spot, moaning into his mouth, coming inside him—Rukawa breaks, he breaks, heaving out Mitsui’s name in mind-numbing pleasure while he paints himself white again.

When Mitsui pulls his cock out, Rukawa simply stares at the ceilling and pants to catch his breath. Mitsui joins lying down on the side, and for a few minutes they say nothing.

“Go on a date with me tomorrow,” Mitsui nudges him.

Rukawa pauses for a bit. “I don’t want to go to the gym.”

Mitsui elbows him. “It’s not the gym,” he denies. “Movie rental. Let’s get a show, some food and come back to yours.”

“You can rent them online.”

“I’m trying to get you to go somewhere with me, Rukawa,” Mitsui says exasperated. “But it can’t be for long, because of Matsu-matsu.” He prods Rukawa’s arm. “You don’t want to date me?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Rukawa can feel Mitsui smile like the other believes he has gotten his way. It proves true because Mitsui changes the topic.

“Got some wipes?”

Rukawa almost gets up, but his back is protesting, so he points towards his beside drawer. Mitsui rolls himself over, pulling the handle and—

“Hey,” Mitsui starts. “Why do you have so many sex toys?”

.

.

.

.

.

Dating Mitsui is…remarkably easy actually. Rukawa’s lifestyle doesn’t change one bit. Mitsui is generally touchy feely with the team, so no one notices anything when he deliberately lingers touches on Rukawa whenever they stand close together. Rukawa finds it annoying, because it breaks his concentration, but he’s not going to show it and give Mitsui the win. Otherwise, they play with Matsu together, eat together, and have sex.

So other than the sex, nothing really changes. Including Mitsui’s picture hobby. Truth be told, Rukawa doesn’t like it, because that body belongs to him. Sure, he may be a hypocrite for jerking off at it for like a decade, but now that Mitsui is actually his boyfriend, it irks him to know that there are plenty of others likely doing the exact same thing.

The worst thing is that Mitsui has started taking photos of himself in Rukawa’s apartment—because he’s stopped going to the gym. Mitsui said something about the lighting being better or whatever, but honestly Rukawa thinks its all lies just to strip in front of him to preen, because Mitsui knows he gets annoyed and drags him to the bedroom after.

“…You want me to take the photo,” Rukawa repeats, just to be sure when Mitsui hands him his phone one time, because he thinks Mitsui can’t actually be serious.

Unfortunately, the other is.

“Yeah, look at that,” Mitsui says excitedly, putting his hand over his bare ribs where the sunset through the window is giving it a nice orange glow. “You can see my eight-pack so nicely—“

“Six.”

“Eight,” Mitsui sniffs, pointing at him. “Come on, take it! The light is not gonna last, I want to try out some other poses too.”

Rukawa sighs, moving to himself on the sofa.

“That’s too far away, come closer,” Mitsui frowns, gesturing at him. “Don’t take my face, you hear?”

“I’m zooming in,” Rukawa states, blandly tapping on the camera controls.

He, decidedly, does not zoom in. Instead, he makes sure Matsu is eating in the kitchen before flicks it to video mode and taps it to start.

“You’ve got it?”

“You’re moving too much,” Rukawa says, glancing over. “Do it again.”

Mitsui complies earnestly. Beyond feeling horny, Rukawa is irritated that Mitsui is just so into this that he thinks it’s acceptable to ask his fucking boyfriend to take fucking thirst trap photos for a thirst instagram account.

“Put your hands under your chest,” Rukawa says.

Mitsui blinks, but he moves his hands.

“Higher.”

“This is a weird pose—“

“Higher.”

“Like this?” Mitsui queries, frowning. “I’m touching my nipples.”

“Squeeze them.”

“W-what?” Mitsui startles.

“Squeeze them,” Rukawa repeats, voice brooking no argument.

Mitsui hesitates, obviously putting the pieces together in his mind that Rukawa is not actually taking pictures for him anymore. Rukawa simply holds the phone in his position and waits. There’s a red flush that runs up Mitsui’s neck when he finally pinches his nipples between the vee of his thumb and index finger.

“R-rukawa—” Mitsui starts, licking his lips, but Rukawa doesn’t want to hear it.

“Harder.” Rukawa orders, stern.

Mitsui hisses sharply.

“One hand, down. Take out your cock.”

It’s almost too easy, because Mitsui pants are going to tent. Rukawa adjusts himself by uncrossing his legs, where Mitsui can definitely see his growing boner too.

“Make yourself come.”

“Shit,” Mitsui mutters under his breath.

Rukawa has his eye on the phone screen, recording the shameless masturbation session. It’s lewd as fuck, to have Mitsui follow everything he says knowing that he’s being recorded. Mitsui’s cockhead is flushed pink, moist and starting to leak as Mitsui fists himself. He’s biting his lower lip, gaze transfixed on Rukawa who says absolutely nothing and watches the show. It’s perhaps even more unbearable that Mitsui is jerking off in complete silence, with only his grunts, that it takes him faster to reach the peak. Come splatters all over the floor at the finishing touch, where Mitsui has his eyes squeezed shut and mouth open.

It’s fucking obscene.

Rukawa is fully aware that he’s properly hard, watching Mitsui get off in front of him. He quickly taps the screen to send the video to himself before Mitsui breaks out of the trance and storms over to snatch it back. Mitsui’s face is all red as he clutches his phone tightly to himself.

“…You could’ve just said no,” Mitsui mutters unhappily, but he is leaning into Rukawa for a cuddle. “You didn’t have to make me…do that.”

“That’s what your account really is, senpai,” Rukawa says, unrepentant.

“It’s not the same!”

“It’s the same.”

“I wouldn’t show my dick on camera!” Mitsui protests, like he didn’t just show his dick on camera. When Rukawa points that out, he grumbles. “…Because it’s you, obviously,” he says. “I trust you.”

That makes Rukawa feel better marginally.

“Hey,” Mitsui says after a while, finger hovering over the video to delete it from his folder, thoughtful. “What if we make an OnlyFans account? You know, like making sex videos between us? We can wear masks, and—and—Rukawa, calm down, I’m joking! I’M JOKING—“