WILD

I spent way too much time on this.

“Oh?” Miyuki lifts his other hand to his mouth in an exaggerated shock – eyes thin and smirk already threatening to surface. “I had no idea you were so interested.”  Miyuki couldn’t help the laughter that spilled out in small giggles. “All you had to do was ask.”

Though it’s Miyuki’s turn to suffer next. The butterflies in his stomach erupt in a flutter in one swift burst that ended as soon as it started. The pierce was enough to keep the brunette on edge – a what the fuck kind of edge, where the hell did that come from kind of edge. The hand on his thigh sends electricity through his leg he figured would have died out in his first year – it’s not that Miyuki particularly got a lot of action, but him and Kuramochi weren’t exactly strangers to close contact. It was hard to be, being in such a party atmosphere. And being on a boys baseball team. But acting a couple? The onlookers catching sight of them knew from just a glance how that seemed to be going.

He didn’t jump (he wouldn’t allow it) but the contact gave him a quick jolt. Miyuki continued to wear that same smile, corners of his lip twitching from their upwards position. An attempt to look casual and not all encompassed by the hand on him.

(Though whenever his eyes did wander, they’d always find their place back at the twitching fingers at his knee. The brunette has to wonder if he’d only imagined those fingers move just a touch higher.)

But despite the new distraction Kuramochi had kindly invited, It wasn’t enough to make the other simply not notice the whitening of once tan knuckles on his leg. Or face. They had gone from barely believable to Miyuki holding Kuramochi hostage, and were seconds from getting called out – Miyuki knew this much.

He had considered this next line of action as an absolute backup: with himself initiating as bad as it is, anyone overhearing could and would assume the worst. The six words that you overheard at any frat party, the line that confirmed or destroyed an individuals plans for the rest of the night. It was a last resort, but Kuramochi was already tanking – and Miyuki was left to take matters into his own hands. What a deadbeat boyfriend.

The catcher raised himself from their seat, ignoring the fleeting warmth of the others hand. Turning back to face the other male, brown eyes darted to the other bodies around them, swallowed any hesitation and met eyes with the shortstop. Speaking out in his most casual tone of voice, he said:

Kuramochi feels his heart hitch. He pans through various different initial reactions and emotions; eyes wide, he wants-- needs to look around and see who had found interest in their conversation. Then comes the realisation and the faint shrivelling. His leg that was once nervously tapping grinds to a halt, and he takes refuge with his own hands; lacing fingers rigidly together. Then the final reaction he decides upon - a brief glance sideways, before eyes narrow at the male posing the question, with a look that pierces the comfort zone miles deep.

It occurs to him: he can’t say he’s void of all care for what others think, but his vision shifts and oh god, he’s playing a fucking game, isn’t he? The shortstop pulls himself up from his position, he keeps his eyes glued to Miyuki’s. There’s an almost uncomfortable pause, but Kuramochi doesn’t let it get that far. two can play at this, right? The hardened expression is wiped away in an instant; replaced with a pout and a passing glance as he shrugs, muttering something along the lines of agreement. He feels the heat of gazes on his back. It’s fucking hot in that place, he notes. He’s uncomfortable and wants to get OUT - Miyuki’s dropped them in it, and they leave together, and Kuramochi buries hands in his pockets and counts to 10 in his head.

It’s pretty silent on the way; Kuramochi isn’t giving much away. He leans on the wall beside Miyuki’s door as he routes around for the key, and there’s a groan uttered from his lips. “Nice one, genius. Loved that touch of confidence, too. Did I tell you I love playing these shitty games of ‘who can get the most uncomfortable first’? Because I fucking hate it.” It’s not a spiteful remark in reality. He really is thankful - not to Miyuki, no, he’d never admit that, but the heat has started to evaporate and he can feel muscles relaxing once again. Still, a role of the eyes as he slumps down onto the catcher’s bed, shuffling and resting head against the wall. 

                     The idea was fucked to begin with.

It was all Kuramochi’s fault, probably. How they had landed into this situation was beyond him, but the shortstop was never quite victorious in the dating department (as his previous pining for a certain Wakana seemed to prove) and was amenable to teasing by the upperclassmen. It wasn’t as if Miyuki was getting lucky either, his school days wrapped up in studies and practice. Apparently, the teasing had gotten too much. Their “bachelor” lives becoming a running gag amongst the group until it finally just slips. Miyuki can barely remember who said it first.

“I’m seeing someone, actually.”

The faces that surround them erupt in questions, and it’s not until Miyuki and Kuramochi share a stress filled look that someone jumps to a very wrong conclusion. One they can’t undo if they tried.

 It leads to where they are now, hands laced, fumbling and awkward as they keep the facade up for the familiar faces that near them. The act had begun and both of them decided they should play it out for at least a bit – as if they had a choice. Miyuki would rather hold Kuramochi’s sweaty hand then have them become the laughing stock amongst the entire campus.

 He speaks with a sweetly fake smile, voice loud enough just so the other can hear him. “You’re squeezing my hand, dear. Ease up on the force.” He wriggles his fingers stuck in his alleged boyfriend’s iron grip. He sucks at it, naturally, Miyuki figures the last thing Kuramochi held intimately was a baseball. But there’s a sensation of their hands being locked together that he can’t quite grasp, his fingertips burning as they dangle atop the others hand. It was uncomfortable and weird and Miyuki was sure to avoid it for as long as possible.  

“We aren’t convincing anyone.” He takes note, eyes darting to others in the room. He tacks on a shitty laugh. “No wonder you were single for so long.”

head spinning, the floor’s nothing but wave after wave beneath him and it doesn’t help that the way kuramochi kisses him wrecks any semblance of foundation in his knees.  golden eyes half-lidded, miyuki has his arms temporarily laced around the other’s neck, long fingers unable to stop from desperately exploring hair, throat, the planes of his chest ( did kuramochi even grown a little broader?  the very possibility of it makes him swell with something needy inside ).  he’s melting, he swears he is and it’s terrifying to be able to let go like this, but this is exactly what he needs.  kuramochi is exactly what he wants.

hands impatient and half-grinning, he’s pulling at the hem of the other’s shirt.  “take this off, youichi,” he groans, words mumbled into the warm mouth.  miyuki’s far too occupied with trying to figure out how to take off his own shirt - a task subsequently deemed much more difficult than it actually looks after drinking himself into a tizzy.  does he know what he’s getting himself into?  no, but does that mean he wants to stop so soon either?  definitely not.  miyuki’s sighing into his mouth, kisses sloppy and tongue against tongue.  “i’m,” kiss, “not,” kiss, “letting,” kiss, “you,” kiss, “go.”  not this time, not ever again.  maybe tomorrow, but for tonight, he’s all his.