Slam Dunk Fan Fiction ❯ A Slow Storm Brews ❯ One-Shot

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: Yaoi, explicit m/m sex.

Archive: My website, FF.Net, SDfic ML and Shohoku Peacemaker by default. Others, please ask first.

Author's Notes: Happy MitKo/KoMit Day. Guess who the seme is. Smirk, smirk.

Disclaimer: Slam Dunk and related characters belong to Takehiko Inoue. The title comes from a song by an Australian band named My Friend the Chocolate Cake. No, really. I make no profit off this. Thinking of suing me? Two words: "blood" and "stone". Make the connection.

Dedication: To the Cabal, who kept me bent and depraved. Thanks, darlings. ^_~

It wasn't that Kogure wasn't attractive. For one thing, Kogure had better legs than most girls Mitsui had met. Smooth-skinned, slender but muscular, inviting any hot-blooded male to run his hands up their curvaceous length. And Mitsui was very much tempted.

The temptation made itself known with the unexpectedness of a hailstorm on a hot summer afternoon. Had he known it was coming, he might not have looked up to glance at Kogure that day in the locker room -- or, at the very least, he might have averted his eyes sooner.

He would have been happy for the longing to remain hidden.

No wish on his part, though, could take back the moment he became inexplicably fascinated by the graceful sweep of Kogure's collarbones. His eyes tracked their lines, arching up to shoulders he did not remember as being so broad. They were both shirtless, slightly damp from an after-training shower. Kogure's face was turned away to one side, and there was something in the stretch of his neck -- an unself-conscious exquisiteness -- that made Mitsui lick his lips.

He was hypnotized, he realized, when Kogure swivelled around and their gazes met with the sharp click of a joint locking into place. The air between them roiled, thick with words unspoken. Cotton warmed where his fingers were digging into a t-shirt, hanging uselessly from his hands. Kogure's eyes widened.

Then Sakuragi stomped noisily into the locker room, shattering the impasse, and Mitsui hurriedly pulled on his t-shirt. When he dared to look up again, Kogure was already gone. In the days that followed Kogure never said anything about the incident, never hinted at anything with his smiles and quiet laughter, but Mitsui knew that he knew. The knowledge whispered like echoes behind their conversation, yet still Mitsui refused to submit.

No, it wasn't that Kogure wasn't attractive. It was just that Mitsui knew giving in to the glitter of desire in Kogure's eyes would change him in ways he dared not contemplate. Kogure was nothing like the girls he'd bedded before. But Mitsui refused to think about exactly what made Kogure different, pushing the temptation to the back of his mind and throwing himself into basketball training.

"I'm not a homo," he said each night as he lay in bed, punching the mattress in emphasis. His sleep, though, was seduced by visions that gave lie to his words and he would wake up panting, aching for the feel of ghostly hair sliding through his fingers.

Mitsui usually did push-ups and sit-ups until he was too tired to think about soft brown eyes. Sometimes it even worked.

The longing waited, patient as a powder keg.

He was avoiding Kogure's eyes in the locker room, weeks later, when something small and round hit his left shoe with a tinny ping. Mitsui bent and picked it up without thinking, tossing the object in his hand.

It was a button from the school uniform. He blinked, confused, looking down to check his clothes. Though a few buttons were in danger of falling off, they were all still there.

"Ah, so that's where it went," said a warm male voice at his side.

Cold sweat broke out on Mitsui's forehead, but he forced himself to turn to Kogure with a blandly pleasant look and hold out the button. Kogure was smiling at him, serene and full of honest warmth. The second button on his jacket was missing, leaving only a frayed thread.

"Here," he offered, hoping Kogure would not touch him -- and afraid that Kogure would.

Kogure's hand closed his fingers over the button. "Keep it," Kogure said, just on this side of gentle. "A gift from me."

Mitsui stared, feeling stupid and awkward and nervous under Kogure's brown eyes. They did not twinkle or sparkle or did the hundred and one things he thought Kogure's would do -- when did he think that?

"I don't have anything to give you," he finally said.

A weight was lifted from his hand and he belatedly realized that Kogure had not let go of him, not until he finished speaking.

"I'm sure you'll think of something, Mitsui." Another smile, as dark and inviting as burgundy velvet. "Ja."

"Wait!" Mitsui's mental curses at his impulsive call stuttered to a halt as Kogure paused at the door and looked at him. He made himself toss the button in a studiously carefree gesture, before slipping it into his pocket. Grinning, he said, "I should at least buy you a drink."

"Thank you," Kogure laughed, leaning back and exposing the arch of his throat. "The cafe near your place, then?"

Mitsui's impression of the next hour was a blur of noise and colours and Kogure's scent, boy sweat and a discreet cologne. He must have had coffee, because he could taste the bittersweet milky taste of it lingering on his tongue, but what he remembered were Kogure's lips pouting around a plastic straw -- and his sudden, fierce jealousy.

Inevitably, as death follows life, he invited Kogure into his home. When the bedroom door closed behind them, Kogure turned to him and there was something in the tilt of his smile and they were falling like meteorites from the sky.

They landed on Mitsui's bed, fumbling touches made holy by pure need.

He thought Kogure's kisses would be sweet, as gentle as his dulcet voice. Kogure's lips were soft, true -- but his kisses were hot and hungry, devouring Mitsui's mouth and offering himself as a meal in return. His taste was all spice and wet warmth, tangy from the orange juice he'd had at the cafe. Kogure sighed, reaching up to stroke Mitsui's short black hair.

Mitsui groaned into the kiss, fisting the white shirt Kogure wore beneath his school jacket. He pressed himself against Kogure, as if pressure alone would meld their bodies into one. Buttons and threads tore in his hands, revealing the warm skin of Kogure's chest. He wasted no time in slipping his fingers inside the rips, feeling skin that was just a little less yielding than he was used to.

The unfamiliarity startled him, making him pull back. Kogure lay against the bed, breathing heavily, pinned under his body. His half-parted lips were bruised, and Kogure's brown eyes smiled wantonly up at Mitsui through a veil of lashes. Mitsui reached out to brush the fine hairs with the calloused tips of his fingers, feeling strangely clumsy as Kogure's eyelashes fluttered under his touch.

Kogure leaned up, sliding the hem of Mitsui's t-shirt up the other boy's stomach and easing his own shirt off his body with practiced nimbleness. Mitsui took the hint and, hesitating only a little, bared his upper body. His stomach fluttered as Kogure ran an appreciative hand on the contours of his chest, making him painfully aware of the fact that their groins were pressed firmly against each other.

"Lie back." Kogure rubbed his leg against Mitsui's thigh, gently pushing his would-be lover off him and unto the cool cotton sheets. He straddled Mitsui, slowly leaning down closer and closer, until his hair tickled Mitsui's cheek.

"Something you want, Kogure?" Mitsui teased, turning his head to lightly kiss Kogure's chin.

"I want to taste you," he whispered, the blood-raw need in his voice shocking Mitsui into a frozen silence. The sound of a zipper being undone and clothing pushed aside broke the quiet, but not Mitsui's stillness. Not until he felt Kogure slide down his body, the soft underside of his chin bumping against his erection.

The rough scratch of his nails against the sheets were unsaid words sublimated into action, jumbled arousal-fear-shock as his cock pressed past yielding lips and into the slick heat of Kogure's mouth. Mitsui gasped, embarrassingly high in his throat, tangling his fingers in Kogure's hair. Watching Kogure was unbearable, but he could not make himself look away -- not when his eyes were fixated on the elegant curve of Kogure's neck, juxtaposed against Kogure's reddened lips, stretched around his cock.

For a wild moment, when Kogure pulled back to flick an agile tongue against the head of his erection, Mitsui thought he would die -- at the ripe old age of seventeen. He'd had blow jobs before, but none had the surety and pure hunger of Kogure's touch. Mitsui's desperate pants made the corners of Kogure's eyes crinkle, a deep sound vibrating in his throat and straight into Mitsui's cock.

Too late, Mitsui tried to grit his teeth against the scream he half-feared and now knew was coming. His hands clenched fistfuls of Kogure's hair. For a blessed moment, as he fell into an engulfing tide, everything -- sounds, Kogure's pain, the thin walls -- everything was forgotten.

Mitsui swallowed thickly, his breathing heavy as he pressed the back of his hand against his tightly- closed eyes. He felt Kogure shift on the bed, settling his head on the pillow beside Mitsui. When he turned to look he saw Kogure smiling at him, brown eyes lustrous and flecked with desire. Kogure's erection throbbed against his thigh.

He felt ashamed that his first thought was apprehension: that he was expected to...

To return the favour.

No, damn it.

To suck Kogure's cock.

And Kogure must have read something in his expression, because the smile on Kogure's face slowly hardened into a flat line. The muscles in his jaw clenched into marble.

Mitsui had seen that look only once before, yearning and anger all in one -- and unspoken questions demanding no less than the answers he could barely even admit to himself. His fingers twitched. Fists had proven all too weak against the immovable will of Kogure.

He flicked a quick glance at the door before he could catch himself.

Kogure's eyes missed nothing. Something rippled in their depths, like the silver scales of a fish, before dark water stilled and froze. Eyelashes descended and rose, and Mitsui found himself staring at the pale cotton of his pillow as Kogure rolled over.

He gaped stupidly while Kogure stood, trying to salvage the torn shirt before giving it up as a lost cause. Kogure was halfway through buttoning his jacket before Mitsui could gather his scattered wits.

"What're you doing?" he demanded, sitting up.

"Leaving," Kogure answered curtly. He combed his hair with shaking fingers, head lowered.

Mitsui floundered out of bed with little of his usual grace, closing his hand around Kogure's wrist. "Why? Because I wouldn't-- wouldn't do that?"

It occured to him that he didn't really want to know the answer, not when the tremble of Kogure's lips reminded him exactly how good they felt against his. The seed of shame in him grew, hard roots stabbing through his throbbing heart.

The pain made him angry.

"You kissed me, Kogure. You started it," he said harshly. "You know I've never fucked a man before! Why're you so upset when I... don't know what to do? Unlike you--"

"Mitsui, shut up."

Stunned, he obeyed.

Kogure wrenched his arm away from Mitsui's grasp and made for the door, grabbing his bag and glasses. Hand on doorknob, he glared at the other boy.

"When you've decided to come out of hiding behind your excuses, find me. But not before." Kogure's smile was like a lacquered painting on polished wood. "Don't worry -- I'll be waiting."

The door closed.

Mitsui told himself it was okay. He told himself it was okay that Kogure unflinchingly met his guilty glances at practice, told himself it was okay that Kogure spoke to him with a quiet, distant courtesy. He even told himself it was okay to miss Kogure, because the addiction wasn't his fault and one day he would get over it.

The sun dimmed a little everyday, every day that Kogure wasn't there -- a ridiculous thought, because Kogure attended each training session. Mitsui watched Kogure from the corner of his eyes and studied every flex of Kogure's shoulderblades. He whispered to himself he wasn't aching and he didn't want to lick the bead of sweat from Kogure's thigh. No, he didn't want to trace the path of that salty water to Kogure's hip with his tongue and he didn't want kiss the bones just under Kogure's skin.

Mitsui thought of finding Tetsuo. He snorted. Tetsuo would probably laugh and call him a woman.

He closed his eyes, lying back on his bed and listening to the steady tick of the clock. If he didn't roll over to his side he wouldn't see Kogure's face against his pillow, ghostly eyes hurt and angry.

"I'm not gay," he said out loud, but the words sounded like a childish whine in his head. "I'm not fucking Kogure!"

The walls seemed to shy away from his voice, and it sank into endless emptiness. Mitsui flung an arm over his tightly-shut eyes, the violent motion jarring his bedside table. Pain shot up from his elbow, and he clenched his teeth.

Something fell to the floor.

Mitsui opened his eyes. It was Kogure's button. A surge of unthinking anger overwhelmed him and he grabbed the tiny object, missing it for the first few tries before finally pinching it between his fingers -- only to fling it through his open window, as hard as he could.

By the time the button landed on the street outside his home, Mitsui was gone.

His route was circuitous at best, but he found himself staring at Kogure's door. Kogure's parents, he knew, were away at Yokohama for the weekend -- he had heard Sakuragi joking about wild parties before Ayako's fan shut him up. There was no one in the house, then, except Kogure with his dark eyes and soft lips...

Mitsui made a fist, and punched the doorbell. His knuckles were still smarting when Kogure opened the door.

"Come in," Kogure said, his tone neutral. There was neither pleasure nor censure in his expression, which did not change even when Mitsui rudely shoved past him into the house.

"I hate you," Mitsui snarled.

Kogure's eyes cooled. "Is that all you want to say?"

"No, damn you!" he all but shouted, grabbing Kogure's shoulders. "I hate you. I was perfectly happy with who I was and being your friend again and now I'm miserable because I can't stop thinking about you--"

"I missed you," Kogure said softly.

Mitsui was swiftly silenced by the awful weight of Kogure's words, constricting his throat. The very desire he ran away from, rendered into knowledge by Kogure with a courage he was ashamed to find he did not possess. Mitsui abruptly realized that their faces were only inches apart, close enough to feel the warmth of Kogure's breath caressing his mouth.

"Have you done... this with other men before?" Mitsui asked hoarsely.

"Yes."

He hadn't expected the answer to hit him with the force of a bullet, spilling blood and bile. "So what makes me different from the rest?"

"I'm willing to risk everything to find out," Kogure answered, touching Mitsui's jaw lightly with the tips of his fingers. "Are you?"

There were old hurts in the question, memories as treacherous as a quicksand in the night, that Mitsui dared not touch. Slowly he raised his hand, cupping Kogure's fingers as gently as he would treat bruised skin.

"Kiss me?" he asked, the question new and ungainly on his tongue.

"Yes," Kogure breathed, tilting his head up. Their lips met, sweetly familiar and frighteningly uncertain. Arms cradled each other as close as possible, fingers exchanging sweat and scent.

Mitsui gradually ended the kiss, feeling the heat on Kogure's cheek with the backs of his fingers. Unwilling to break the connection altogether, he rested his forehead against Kogure's.

"I don't think I'm ready to, uh, go all the way yet," he admitted, knowing he was blushing and feeling like an idiot. "But, well, I'm willing to try this. Us."

Kogure pulled him into a tight hug, their first as something more than friends, and he felt Kogure's smile against his neck.

"We'll figure it out."

-owari-

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