Slam Dunk Fan Fiction ❯ Between Flesh and Air ❯ One-Shot

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: Yaoi. Explicit m/m sex. If you have a problem with Kogure actually having a fairly active libido, you might also want to skip this one.

Archive: My website, FF.Net and SDfic ML. Others, please ask first.

Disclaimer: Slam Dunk and related characters belong to Takehiko Inoue. I make no profit off this. Thinking of suing me? Two words: "blood" and "stone". Make the connection.

Author's Notes: I'd like to blame my LJ circle of fellow SD fans, but I'm afraid that this is the product of my twisted mind. ^_~ I will write something happy, one of these days. As in "far in the future." There ain't no sugar here, darling.

A special note of thanks goes out to Madiha and KawaiiChibiTomoyo for reviewing the first SD fic I posted to FF.Net; also the afore-mentioned LJ circle of fellow SD fans -- I love you.

If he'd known that a pair of socks could make so much difference, Mitsui would've ignored his newfound (Kogure-like) conscientiousness and left the dirty ball of cotton to mold in his locker over the weekend. But he wasn't a clairvoyant -- he was all too human and the taste of his blood reminded him of this, of desire and jealousy and hate and fucking pain as he stood outside the locker room and bit his knuckles.

The door was gaping open slightly, throwing a slash of light on the floor. The day had been hot and, with the ventilation system on the fritz, the locker room trapped enough heat to discourage even the most exhausted player from lingering. Mitsui could feel curls of humidity brushing his face, taunting his nostrils with the smell it carried like burrs on the fur of a cat.

God, the smell.

Kogure was kneeling, bent over a bench, bracing himself on his forearms. Behind him, ramming into Kogure so hard that the bench shook, was Rukawa. The Ice Man himself, his cock flushed redder than his face as it drove between the globes of Kogure's buttocks again and again. Flesh met flesh, slapping wetly, in perfect synchronisation with the heavy gasps.

Mitsui swallowed, unwillingly aroused, feeling blood-tainted saliva run down his throat. Kogure was clad only in a t-shirt, his shorts discarded along with his glasses. Without them his face seemed naked -- oh god don't think -- stripped of its usual good-humoured courteousness, twisted into a primal being. Kogure's mouth stretched open in a snarl, his eyes clenched shut as he shuddered and forcefully met Rukawa's thrusts, prompting Rukawa to ram even harder.

Sweat beaded on Kogure's forehead, collecting at the ends of his hair. He slipped one hand between his legs, stroking his erection, still holding on tightly to the bench. Droplets of salty water flew in splatters as he bowed his spine, throwing his head back. Some of the sweat landed on Rukawa's shirt in little dark spots -- but for his uniform pants and briefs bunching at his knees, Rukawa was fully dressed.

Irrationally, anger blazed in Mitsui at this, red-hot and tinged with ashes.

Rukawa fell forward, his palms landing with a loud smack on the wooden bench. His fingers clenched as he fucked Kogure thoroughly, nails cutting shallow grooves into the wood. Rukawa's blue eyes were darker than usual, focused inward with an intensity Mitsui had only seen on the basketball court. His lips were pressed together tightly, a hard slash on his frozen face.

The shapely lips parted moments later as Rukawa came, whispering four syllables that were not Kogure's name. But he did not stop moving, snapping his hips forward like an automaton until Kogure gave a low, desperate cry and slumped down onto the bench.

Rukawa pulled out immediately, grabbing a handful of paper towels before any of the trailing semen could spatter his pants. He sat back and rested his head against a locker, languidly wiping his now-flaccid cock before zipping up. His chest was still heaving, his breathing loud in the steamy room.

"I'm taking a shower," Kogure murmured, the muscles in his slender legs flexing as he shakily got to his feet. He stripped off his t-shirt, standing unself-consciously naked as he looked down at Rukawa. "Will you be all right?"

Mitsui tore his attention away from the mesmerising play of subtle curves under Kogure's skin in time to see Rukawa nod curtly and say, "I'll clean up."

"Get some rest." A pause. "Sakuragi was... very energetic today, wasn't he?"

"Annoying do'ahou."

Kogure stood with his back to him, but Mitsui was abruptly struck with the certainty that Kogure was smiling that sweet, gentle smile he'd seen countless times before. So very many times, and he never realised how deceptive they were.

No, not so much deceptive as simply disarming. Kogure's smiles were like sunlight reflecting off a lake, making it easy to forget that people drown in water.

Rukawa stayed on the floor well after Kogure headed for the showers, drawing his knees up. He wrapped his arms around his legs and, as Mitsui watched, rested his forehead against his knees. There was a slight tremble in his shoulders, his entire posture radiating some strong emotion Mitsui was sure Rukawa would never voluntarily reveal to anyone.

Mitsui took a step back, then another.

"Rukawa?" The voice nearly made him jump. Kogure, dripping wet and wrapped in a short towel, was walking back towards the lockers. "Rukawa, have you seen-- oh..."

Rukawa's hands fisted, twisting the cloth of his pants. Kogure dropped to his knees before Rukawa, enveloping the younger boy in a tight hug. Slowly, Rukawa unfolded, hesitantly returning the embrace. Neither spoke, comforting platitudes useless next to the touch of skin against skin. There was a familiarity to this gesture; in the sure touch of Kogure's fingers stroking Rukawa's hair, in the way Rukawa's head fitted into the crook of Kogure's shoulder.

His chest seizing up painfully, Mitsui backed away when Rukawa tilted his head and bit the soft, vulnerable skin of Kogure's neck. The last glimpse he had through the door was of Kogure unzipping Rukawa's pants, lowering his head gracefully to Rukawa's lap.

Mitsui walked, refusing to run, deliberately numb. He was far away from the gym before he allowed himself to vent the maelstrom of half-feared emotions within him, splinters embedding into his skin as he punched a lamp post. He wanted to scream.

That night, Mitsui masturbated to a fantasy of Kogure's hair brushing the insides of his thighs.

-owari-

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