Initial D Fan Fiction ❯ More Than Friends ❯ More Than Friends ( One-Shot )

"It is never too late to be what you might have been." - George Elliot

 

More Than Friends
by Riven Liether


God, Takeshi looks like shit.

Ever since that Eight-Six driver came onto the scene, this bastard has been losing. At first, he was all high and mighty, "I know what the Eight-Six did, and I know how to beat him." Bullshit. He lost, almost as bad as I did; scraped the shit out of his car. I shake my head and sigh at the memory. This is the third loss in a row he's had since that night.

I warned him, earlier. I told him that he had no chance. Even though Takahashi Keisuke lost against the Eight-Six, he's still better than us. Takeshi, like the bastard he is, just laughed it off. I know he was fronting, though; he was nervous as hell. His hands were shaking as he got into his car. His nerves had been shot by the previous losses to the Eight-Six. I warned him, but he wouldn't listen to me; said he had to earn back the team's good name. What an idiot.

I watch carefully as Takahashi spouts something about conserving his tires. I'm barely listening, though; my gaze is on our team leader, and how his expression falls even lower with every word, the full realization of FD diver's skill seeping into him. I know how he feels, but I can't help being angry at him and that damn ego of his. It's worse than mine. At least *I* learned my lesson.

His speech completed, Takahashi finally gets into his car and leaves. `Bout time, the ass. Takeshi is just standing there, looking at his shoes. I and the rest of the team stare at him as the people from the galleys start to disperse.

It's still raining, we're all soaked, but it's like we don't even notice. The place is nearly empty now, except for us, the Myougi Night Kids, and the echoes of the raindrops splattering on the pavement of our home course are loud and haunting.

Our team has always been split into two factions; half follow Takeshi, the leader and presumed fastest on the team, and all of Myougi. The other half follows me, since I can keep up with him even though he's in a GT-R and I'm just in an EG6. Currently, the half that follows him is silent with concern, and the half that sides with me is boiling with anger at this sorry excuse for a leader.

I can't say I blame them.

I don't know what to do. He's just standing there, looking so forlorn. What he did was stupid, and I should probably go over there and kick his ass, like so many of our team wants to do. But I just can't bring myself to move.

After what seems like an eternity, he breaks the relative silence with a cough and a shuffle. He doesn't look up as he speaks. "Well, I guess that's that."

No one responds. Not with words anyway. My half of the team starts toward him, but I shoot them a look that says, "cool it." I take a step forward. "Oi, Takeshi, what are we going to do about—"

"I don't know," he interrupts. "I just. . .don't know."

There is another heavy silence. I know what I need to do. I look back at the team. "Did any of you assholes come with someone else?"

Most of the team frowns at my language, but a couple of heads nod.

"Good, one of you take his car." I turn back to Takeshi, and start walking toward him. "I'm driving him home."

"I can drive—" he starts to protest.

"I SAID I'll drive you." My tone is firm, and I know, with him the way he is now, he won't refuse me. I hold out my hand expectantly.

Reluctantly, he digs into his pocket and brings out his keys and drops them into my outstretched hand. I toss them in the direction of the team. Somebody catches them.

"The rest of you, go home. We'll talk about this next week."

***

The ride to Takeshi's apartment is uncomfortably silent, with the exception of the gentle beat of rain on the car's exterior. Takeshi stares out the window lifelessly, elbow resting against the sill and his hand supporting his chin. He now dons dry clothes: a grey sweatshirt and black pants from the trunk of my car; he's a lucky bastard that I wear baggy clothes. I steal glances at him every now and then, wondering what he's thinking about. The windshield wipers swish quietly.

I myself wear dry clothes as well: a red sweatshirt and a pair of blue jeans. I clear my throat, hoping to lighten the mood a little. "Hey, what do you say after we drop your car off we go out for some wine? You look like you could use a drink."

". . .I have something at the house."

"Oh." Well, that did just fine. "Okay." Maybe I'll forego the scolding until tomorrow, if the alcohol is good.

***

We barge in through the apartment door. It's spotlessly clean, of course; I expected no less. He carelessly drops his keys on the counter and wipes a few stray stands of ebony hair off of his forehead. He reaches for a two-doored cupboard. "Get a couple of glasses, would you?" he asks quietly.

As this isn't the first time in his home, I automatically reach for the cupboard on my left. As I gather the two glasses, I steal a glance out the kitchen window. His GT-R is parked neatly next to the curb, where it was left. Kase offered a hurried "oyasumi nasai", not wanting any bad mood of Takeshi's to be turned on him for driving his precious car. He left quickly with the guy who followed us in his own car. Oh well, none of my business.

Takeshi and I make our way to the Japanese-style table in the living room and kneel. We set the glasses and wine down and sit cross-legged, not bothering to kneel in the traditional manner. I pick up the bottle. “What's this? Red wine?”

 

“Yeah. It was a present from my parents. They snuck it in from their trip to America. Said to use it for a special occasion.”

 

“Well, can't find an occasion more special than this one, ne?” I pour for both of us as he glares at me. "A toast," I say, raising my glass, "to a leader who unerringly believes in the abilities of an overpowered, overweight car, no matter who the opponent is or what his chances of winning are."

He scowls at me. "Oi, I thought you were trying to make me feel better."

"Nope, that's the wine's job; I'm just here to pour."

"Hmmm." We both tilt our heads back and quickly drain our glasses. I jerk my head at the sharp flavor, cringing a moment later at the slight burning sensation in my throat and stomach. I exhale loudly, a sound of disgust and relief. "Ah, that's the stuff," he coughs.

"Aa. Another?" I pour each of us another glass, and we swallow. I groan again at the taste. So this is what red wine tastes like. It's strange, how something can be so bitter and so sweet at the same time. Again, we down another glass, and I feel the fire in my belly spread out ever so slightly. We have another. Then another. You wouldn't think this stuff would be so potent; my head was getting fuzzy after the third glass. I've never had anything other than sake.

"Tak-a-shi," I slur slightly. "What's the alcohol content of this stuff?"

"I dunno," he responds from the floor, where he's laying on his back. "Read the label.”

My vision is blurred. I can't read it. “Fuck it.” About now I notice the bottle's nearly empty. “Hey, it's almost gone.”

"Good,” he mumbles. “Doesn't taste so good now. I don't drink much."

I shrug. "Every now and then it's good to." I look at the bottle again and hold it up. “There's a bit left. Want it?”

“Nah.”

While I finish off the last mouthful, he moves to get up, nearly stumbling over himself in the process. I set the bottle down and go over to him. "Here, I hold my alcohol better than you," I tell him, lying through my teeth. I'm almost as smashed as him; I'm just used it more. I may only drink sake, but I tend to drink a lot of it.

"My room," he points. I nod and grab his arm, attempting to pull him up. Instead, we both topple over, and I find myself beneath him.

My pulse quickens. We've never been this close to each other before, and it's unnerving. "Nakazato," I prod him. "Come on, get off."

"Mmm. . ." He snuggles into my neck, exhaling hot air onto my sensitive skin. I shudder.

"H-Hey, wh-what are you doing?" I stutter, hoping he's not doing what I think he's doing.

"Shingo. . .you smell nice. . .like green tea leaves. . ."

"Takeshi, stop. You're drunk, you ass."

"No `m not," he mumbles, wrapping his arms around me. God, he feels so warm…

I feel my face flush and lift my hands to his shoulders to push him away. "Get off, Takeshi…"

"Mmm. . .Gladly." His voice is low, husky, full of. . .lust? My surprise is followed not by disgust, as I would have expected, but instead an onslaught of pleasurable sensations that cause me to moan loudly into his ear. He grunts in response. I feel him pawing at me, reaching under my sweatshirt, massaging every bit of smooth skin he comes into contact with, my stomach, my abs, my chest. . .He presses our crotches together, grinding into me. I can't speak; I can barely even think. So I do what any other guy in such a situation would do.

I get a hard-on.

No, wait, I'm supposed to punch him, right? But my arms won't move, and I can't help but be turned on; he's touching me gently, yet insistently, kissing my now exposed neck as if it was some sort of deity that every fiber of his being has submitted to and worships unconditionally. Ahhh, god, now he's reaching down…

I grab his head and bring his lips to mine. So soft, his wet tongue slides into my mouth and we kiss hard and long, continuing to grind against each other, little sounds escaping both of us. When we part, we're both panting heavily.

"See why I wanted to go to the bedroom?" he grins down at me.

"Yeah, definitely," I respond, and feel him grind into me again. He suddenly gets up and grabs my hand. "Come on."

We stumble down the hall, barely able to keep our hands off of each other. At one point, he throws me up against the door of the hall closet, pressing against me so hard I almost can't breathe. I don't protest though, as he's squeezing my ass so hard it actually feels good. He nibbles at my neck, my earlobe, sending waves of pleasure coursing through me. I feel his arousal through both of our pants. Then he's grabbing me again, pulling me into his room and pushing me onto the queen-sized bed in the middle of the room. He shuts the door, and for a minute we're in complete darkness, but a moment later I hear the flick of a lighter, and a small candle comes to life.

"Trying to be romantic?" I quip.

"Cocky bastard…" He sets the candle and the lighter on the headboard of the bed and climbs over to join me. "I just want to see you a little, that's all."

"Oh," I say quietly, and then he's looming over me, looking at me so serenely I wonder for a moment if this is real. But then his lips are on mine again and we're gripping each other so tightly that I don't even notice he's removing my sweatshirt until he tells me to sit up. I do so, and shiver at the sudden exposure. I don't have time to feel embarrassed, though, since Takeshi quickly strips off his own sweatshirt and pushes me back down.

Now, skin against skin, I realize just how hot we both are. I know our temperatures must be elevated a little by the wine, but that doesn't explain why it is that Takeshi seems like a raging fire, in need of kindling every moment, afraid of burning out. I don't think this in words; I feel it, just as I feel his hands running up and down and all over my body, and my own sliding across his smooth back, gripping his shoulders as he lowers his head to nuzzle into my chest.

He takes my right nipple into his mouth, and I groan unexpectedly; you wouldn't think I would be so sensitive, but he's got me so worked up. Now he's on the other one, sucking it, biting it, going back and forth, his hands busy between us. He's trying to undo the button on my pants, and with his enthusiasm, isn't doing very well.

I tell him to sit up, I'll do it. He does so, albeit reluctantly, setting himself on his knees. As I reach for the crotch of my pants, I suddenly begin to realize that my head is a little clearer, but I still want him. I marvel at this thought, and as I free my now throbbing erection from its confines, I'm a little more secure in the idea of doing this. . .with him.

Before he can push me down again, I reach for the button and zipper of his pants. He massages my shoulders as I do so, and I feel his gaze boring into me. A moment later I'm touching him, hot and firm, and am surprised at how different we are. He's a little bigger than me, but not quite as thick. My fingertips graze the head and feel the oh-so soft and silky skin I find there. A drop of clear fluid oozes from the hole in the middle.

Takeshi groans at what I'm doing, and one hand leaves my shoulder to push the meddlesome pants down his thighs a little. I get onto my own knees before him and do the same, my own pants feeling extra uncomfortable just now. I look up at him and a silent message passes between us: lose the clothing.

We do, and it feels so much better. I allow him to push me down on the bed, and he immediately attaches himself to my lips again, hungrily pushing his tongue into my mouth. He tastes of wine; it's sweet on his tongue, and I eagerly respond. I can't seem to get enough of him. I groan as he presses our naked bodies together, our nether regions hard and burning hot.

"I want to try something," he mumbles against my mouth.

"What is it?"

"I want to taste you…" I expect him to start sliding down my body but instead he tells me to sit up. I oblige, confused, and he starts to lie down. "Come here and turn around," he directs me. It dawns on me just what it is he wants to try and I flush again; jeez, I never even did that with girls, much less with me on top.

"Didn't know you were into the kinky stuff."

 

"It's not kinky. . .Come on, please?"

I sigh. While the moment has been a sobering one, his idea has done nothing to decrease my excitement; if anything, I'm even more turned on by the idea, even if I'm a little embarrassed. I straddle his stomach backwards, and back up.

"Little more. . ." I scoot back further. "More. . .there. . ." Immediately I feel his tongue on my member, and I gasp at the sensation. God, he's better than I thought…I lower my upper body to the "hard" problem before me and take hold of it. He jerks slightly underneath me.

I lick the head of his erection tentatively, unsure how to approach this. To my surprise, his skin tastes sweet, salty. . .Delicious. I take him into my mouth, nearly gagging in my efforts to get as much of him into my mouth as I can, and begin to move my head back and forth. He tastes so good, and the musky smell is so intoxicating. In the back of my mind I wonder how I'm doing, but only for a moment, because now he's kneading my buttocks, licking and sucking me as much as I am him.

My hands grip his thighs when I feel a new sensation; his tongue gently laves that special spot on my body that I've never let anyone touch. I squirm, and a muffled sound of protest issues from my throat. Now it's inside of me, swirling, pressing. . .goddd, so good…

A wet finger enters me. I jerk in discomfort and release him. "Hey!"

"What?"

"How come I have to be bottom?"

 

"'Cause my finger's in yours. Now shut up." His finger slides deeper inside me and I groan and take him back into my mouth again, sucking him harder. He moves it in and out of me, sucking on my neglected erection again. It's a mix of pain and pleasure that is absolutely addicting. He adds another finger. I release him from my mouth and let out a deep groan. "Takeshi, what are you…"

"Shhh…" he soothes me, and his fingers still. He kneads the skin on my rear again, and takes my cock back into his mouth; he's trying to distract me and it's working. I feel my body start to relax slightly, and I continue my work on him.

Soon, his fingers are moving again, scissoring into me, preparing me, I know. I still don't know at what point it was decided that I would be the one receiving, but at this point I don't really care. His digits probe deeper, and then he hits something, something, I don't know what, that makes me release him and cry out.

"Did that hurt?"

"No, no. . .Do it again." He brushes it again and I rock back against him. It's like a shock to my system, and I feel like I'm drowning in pleasure. Such a sensation. . .ahhh, he's doing it again, more and more, and this feeling it growing, getting bigger and bigger, swelling within me when he suddenly stops.

"Move off," he orders me. I frown, but obey. I know what's coming, and I want it, I need it. He pushes me forward and pulls himself to his knees. He grabs my hips and aligns himself to my entrance.

"Shit," I say breathlessly, "We need lube." He grunts and reaches behind him and I hear a cap open and the squish of something being squeezed out. "What are you using, hand lotion?" I ask in disbelief.

"Hey, it's all I got."

I raise an eyebrow, even though I know he can't see it. "I can guess why. Too many lonely nights, Takeshi?"

 

"You know what? You're going to pay for that." I hear him recap the bottle, followed by a hiss as he spreads the lotion over himself. For a moment, I'm afraid, even though I know he was only kidding with that comment. My lust has died down in the few moments that we haven't been fully concentrated on each other. But then his fingers are on me again, in me, and I back up against the invasion, gasping at how much smoother it is with the lotion. Then his hands are on my hips again and he's pushing into me, stretching me…"

"Ah, shit, it hurts…" I grimace and clutch at the bed. "It hurts. . .too soon…"

"It's okay. . .it'll go away…" I hear him say. He pushes further into me, and I feel my eyes pop out at the feeling of it. . .God, he feels so big. . .I'm holding my breath for seconds at a time, letting it out in little gasps, when he stills and strokes my back gently. "Relax…"

"Fuck, it hurts…"

"Just relax. . .it won't hurt if you don't tense so much." I take a few deep breaths and slowly, I allow myself to relax, to adjust to the feeling of being filled so completely. He's reaching so deep inside me, and it's such a foreign feeling that it scares me.

He starts moving again, and I forced myself to stay relaxed, even though I want to tense as he slides in an out of me. So strange. . .it's so electrifying, this feeling. . .he's pulsing inside me, throbbing in time with my own panting, and soon the sharpness of the pain begins to recede.

I strain to look back at him. His features are nearly invisible against the candlelight that shines from behind him, giving him and almost ethereal glow as he drives into me. His head is down, his half-lidded eyes are dark and intense, focused. . .and then it hits me.

"You're. . .you're not that drunk, are you?"

"Uhn. . .No, why?"

 

"…Bastard. You were faking it to get into my pants, weren't you?" I snort. “Date-rapist.”

 

"Hey, I don't hear you complaining." I'm about to respond when he gives me an extra hard thrust. I cry out in pleasure and clutch at the sheets again.

"See?”

 

“Shut up,” I snap at him, breathing heavily.

 

“Still hurt?" he asks, concern in his voice.

"No…" It doesn't. The pain is giving way to an inexplicable feeling, spreading through my whole body. Hot, hot, so unbearably hot. . .He starts moving again and I feel my limbs - and my groin - start to tingle with the promise of impending climax. "Nnnn. . .shit, Takeshi, I'm gonna any minute…"

"Shit, wait for me. . ." His pace increases, and I arch my back, trying to take in this whole feeling, so pleasurable, sucking me in as I suck him in deeper and deeper, and he's grunting loudly in time with his thrusts, when suddenly, the wave hits me, and I scream as I come hard, and any coherency left in my thoughts is completely gone.

Takeshi is only a second behind; his final hard thrust jars me, and then he's pouring into me, boiling hot, and I clench instinctively. He moves in and out of me slowly, savoring the sensation, and then he stops and collapses on my back, breathing hard.

As I come down from my high, the whole of everything that has happened his evening seems to hit me. Takeshi and I are on a bed; we've just had sex. I can feel the sweat on both our bodies, the stickiness underneath my stomach from the remnants of my orgasm. I feel myself still hard, yet softening, as he is softening just slightly inside me. My hair is damp and slick, stuck to my face, and I know we're both red in the face.

"Hey, Shingo? You know what?"

"What?"

"I take back what I said. You're not such a cocky bastard after all."

"Oh, shut up."

"Well, at least you're cocky with reason. *Damn*." He yawns and sits up, sliding out of me in the process. I wince. Shit, I'm gonna hurt tomorrow.

"Here, I'll get a towel." He gets up and stumbles to the door. He opens it clumsily, and disappears for a moment, but then he's back, towel in hand. He cleans himself off first before handing it to me. I look down at it, unsure for a moment about whether or not what we just did was a good thing. I reach down to wipe myself clean. I sigh. "Fuck."

"What?"

"I don't know. Just. . .fuck."

"Heh, we already did that," he laughs. Suddenly I feel the gentle press of lips on my forehead.

I look up at him, surprised at the intimate act. He gives me a little smile and sits down on the bed next to me.

"What was that for?"

He shrugs and takes the towel back once I'm finished, tossing it in a nearby hamper. We look at each other, and, suddenly nervous, look away.

"So. . ." I begin, scratching at the back of my head. "I guess we can't really say that stuff about not being close friends anymore, can we?"

He gives a little laugh. "Heh, of course we can."

I turn back to him and blink. "Huh?"

He's staring at me now with a softness I never knew he possessed. His normally coarse tone is low and gentle, and his tousled hair is falling into his eyes, giving him a boyish look. His words are sweet. "Well, now we're more than friends, aren't we?"

The smile I wear in response to his concern morphs into a smirk. "Yeah. . .we're teammates."

"Idiot. You know what I meant."

I grin. "I know."

We settle back into bed and draw the covers up. I yawn, finally tired out by the exhilaration of this shared experience. I feel Takeshi's hand seek out mine, and we clutch at one another. The candle on the headboard has burned low and we're in near complete darkness. The edges of my vision are starting to blur now and I know I'm going to fall asleep and I'm glad that I'm not alone. My eyes are starting to drift closed when I hear him speak.

"By the way, I take back all those times I called you a rat bastard, too."

I snort. "Yeah, considering you're the rat who played shitfaced to take advantage of me."

"Like you weren't enjoying yourself."

 

". . .I've had better."

"Please, don't flatter yourself. I know I'm better than your hand."

I smack him in the face with a pillow. "Shut up and go to sleep.” I grunt and settle back. “Idiot."

The last thing I remember before blackness overtakes me is the gentle pressure of his hand squeezing my own. And then I am gone.


---END---