Chapter Text
"So you're finally recognizing the wealth of my wisdom and experience as your senpai, Sawamura."
Kazuya wouldn't lie; he was terribly pleased Sawamura had approached him for a reason other than being the human equivalent of a net to catch his pitches. And judging by the blushing cheeks and averted eyes, the type of advice he was looking for wasn't the baseball kind. Intrigued, Kazuya pressed him for details. "Well, spit it out. Coach will notice we're gone soon."
Why Kazuya had let the loudmouth first year drag him all the way behind the equipment shed, in the middle of practice no less, was something he chose not to think about. Sawamura for once was hesitant, so unlike his usual straightforward self that it had Kazuya on edge. He waited with wary eyes hidden behind sports glasses as Sawamura gathered his thoughts.
"So Wakana asked me out," he finally blurted in a rush, letting the words spill from his mouth on an exhale.
Wakana... Wakana... The name sounded vaguely familiar. More than likely the short haired girl who sometimes came to their games, the one Kuramochi was gaga over. "Let me guess, Kuramochi is mad at you," Kazuya said.
"No! I mean, he will be. Probably. I haven't told him yet." Sawamura lapsed into silence.
Kazuya raised an eyebrow. "Then what's the problem?" And why had Sawamra come to him of all people?
"Well, I've never really— I don't have, y'know, any experience with girls, so I just thought..." Sawamura looked like he was already regretting saying anything to him, and it made Kazuya grin with glee. He didn’t have to say more than that, because Kazuya knew exactly what type of advice he was looking for. It seemed even Sawamura’s foolhardy confidence faltered in the face of the opposite sex.
"Why didn't you just say so, partner?" Kazuya drawled before letting out a braying laugh. He slung an arm around the pitcher’s shoulders; Sawamura was slowly packing on muscle, but still had the lean, lanky body of a first year.
Sawamura muttered something vaguely threatening under his breath about their proximity but Kazuya paid him no mind. "So," the catcher began. "Why not just ask Chris-senpai for advice?"
Sawamura sputtered, "I can't ask Chris-senpai about indecent stuff!"
Kazuya resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He’d figured it was something like that. God forbid Sawamura tarnish himself in Chris’s eyes by revealing he had hormones like everyone else. Sighing, Kazuya released the boy and stepped back to lean against the equipment shed, shielding himself from the sun in the sliver of shade cast by the roof ledge. "Well, what do you want to know?"
Sawamura offered a sheepish look. "Uh, everything?"
Kazuya snickered and shook his head, and just like that the boy’s expression changed to one of embarrassed outrage.
"Stop laughing, Miyuki Kazuya!"
He did, but the smirk on his lips lingered despite his best efforts. "That's Miyuki-senpai to you. I am older than you, you know."
"Yeah, yeah. Please advise me, senpai."
And how could Kazuya refuse when his rowdy kouhai has asked oh-so-nicely?
"Holding hands should be simple enough, even for an idiot like you—"
"Hey!"
"—so I guess the next thing would be kissing."
Kazuya lifted his head to gauge Sawamura's reaction and, as expected, he was staring down at his cleats looking somewhat constipated. Kazuya practically leered as he said, "Alright, let's start there." A pause and then, "If you can handle it."
It was far too easy to bait Sawamura. Kazuya had cast the line, now all he needed to do was wait for Sawamura to follow.
As expected, he immediately burst out, “I can handle it!”
Too easy, but the golden glow in his eyes suggested he’d be anything but. It got Kazuya’s blood pumping. The smile that spread across his face was all teeth.
“Well, kissing is sort of like pitching,” Kazuya said, hoping the metaphor would get through to Sawamura’s baseball crazed mind. “I can tell you how to hold the ball, but if you never throw you won’t improve.”
When Sawamura just stared at him with furrowed eyebrows, Kazuya sighed.
“I’m saying the only way to get good is to practice. Just telling you how isn’t going to help much.”
“Practice…” Sawamura repeated, looking skeptical.
Kazuya was about to say something else when Kuramochi cut in from a ways away, yelling, “Oi! Miyuki, Sawamura, what are you two doing? The coach is looking for you!”
Kazuya just waved him off and turned his attention back to Sawamura.
“After dinner, meet me in my room.”
And then Kazuya jogged away, leaving Sawamura to ruminate on his own.
After dinner, Eijun paced outside Miyuki’s dorm.
He’d just barely managed to choke down his third bowl of rice, stomach churning uneasily as Miyuki’s casual invitation repeated over and over again in his mind.
There’s no way he meant... Eijun shook his head, messy brown hair slipping into further disarray with the movement. No, that was impossible. Miyuki and him… practicing kissing? Together?
His cheeks felt hot just thinking about it. But two guys kissing… that was gross, right? Girls, on the other hand, were soft and they smelled nice and they had cute voices. Guys just didn’t have any of that.
So why did it feel like his stomach was trying to twist itself into a pretzel when he thought about Miyuki’s calloused hands, strong and steady from years of catching? Eijun immediately flapped an arm through the air, waving frantically as if he could physically dispel the thought.
“What are you doing?” Miyuki asked from where he was leaning against the door frame of his dorm. Eijun nearly leaped a foot in the air at the sound of his voice, whirling to see Miyuki’s trademark Cheshire grin.
“T-there was a mosquito!” He could tell Miyuki didn’t believe him, but mercifully the second year didn’t comment on it. Instead he stepped back into the room and raised his eyebrows.
“Coming in?” Miyuki’s tone was light and airy, but to Eijun it sounded like a challenge.
Steeling himself (for what, he wasn’t sure), Eijun stepped inside. The door shut behind him and suddenly they were alone. He couldn’t remember a time when they’d ever been alone together like this before, except for occasionally in the bullpen.
Eijun didn’t move from his spot near the door, hovering there like he might bolt at any minute. And the way Miyuki was looking at him, calm and collected and calculating through black-rimmed glasses, sort of made him want to.
The silence stretched between them until it was unbearable.
“Are we going to kiss?” Eijun blurted when he couldn’t take it anymore, flushed to the tips of his ears. Miyuki, the bastard, looked calm as ever as he regarded Eijun’s stiff posture. Then he began to laugh.
Eijun stormed over in a huff before his mind could catch up to his actions, seizing Miyuki by the collar of his shirt. “Stop messing with me, you damn tanuki!”
“We can,” Miyuki said, and Eijun blinked at him.
“Huh?”
“We can kiss.” Eijun’s grip on Miyuki’s collar slackened in shock. “To practice, of course.”
“O-oh, right. To practice,” Eijun’s voice had faltered, become small and nervous in a way it usually never did. His adam's apple bobbed as he tried to swallow down his nerves. And now he realized how close they were, how Miyuki really was good looking, the type of boy girls giggled and gossiped about. He dropped his hands from Miyuki’s shirt but didn’t move away. “This isn’t cheating, right?” Eijun's voice had dropped to an uncharacteristic whisper.
Not that him and Wakana were really an official thing yet, but they were sort of a thing.
“Of course not,” And Miyuki’s voice was so smooth it had warning bells going off in Eijun’s head. “I’m just teaching you, Sawamura,” Miyuki said as he placed his hands on Eijun’s shoulders. “That’s my job as your senpai.”
Eijun nodded for lack of anything better to say. His throat felt parched. There was a swarm of fragmented thoughts buzzing through his mind— this is so weird and is he really going to kiss me? and am I going to kiss him back? and it’s going to be gross for sure and Miyuki has long eyelashes, like a girl.
“First lesson,” Miyuki said, recapturing his attention. There was something about the sly expression on his face that made Eijun think maybe Miyuki could read minds, and he panicked, going completely rigid in the other’s hold. “Oi, pay attention, Sawamura. You want to be good at this don’t you?” And he did, he did because embarrassing himself in front of Wakana when he was supposed to take charge and be a man was worse than embarrassing himself in front of Miyuki, who laughed at him no matter what. Once some of Eijun’s tenseness ebbed and he nodded again, Miyuki continued. “Girls like to be manhandled a little, but not too much. Just enough to get their heart pounding.”
And Eijun stared and stared at Miyuki until his lips twisted into a scowl as a thought occurred to him. “You’re such a playboy,” he muttered. Should have known when Miyuki had a face like that and a tongue that dripped honeyed words one minute and spat razor-ed insults the next.
Miyuki had the audacity to grin, saying, “Girls throw themselves at me, Sawamura. Not the other way around.”
Eijun couldn’t even reply because it was true, because more than once the bullpen had been surrounded by a flock of fans calling out to him, because when Miyuki walked up to the batting box the shrieks of the audience grew profoundly higher in pitch. Eijun could see why Kuramochi begrudged having the catcher in his class.
Eijun didn’t stop scowling. “Whatever.” A stubborn pause, and then, “How much is too much?”
He could tell Miyuki was reveling in his sudden obedience, but he didn’t have time to dwell too much on the other's smug look because Miyuki was walking him backwards. Before Eijun registered what was happening he’d been cornered, trapped between the wall and the hardness of Miyuki’s chest. He’d never really noticed their height difference until now, until Miyuki had hands braced on either side of his head, muscled forearms caging him in.
Traitorously, his heart began to pound.
Miyuki leaned into him, their chests pressing together, and Miyuki was kind of heavy, firm and warm beneath his shirt. His breath stirred the hair around Eijun’s ear. “This is enough.”
Eijun tried to keep the tremor from his voice. “O-okay, got it.”
Miyuki leaned back so he could look at Sawamura, talking low into the small space between their mouths. “Look into her eyes for a moment,” he instructed, and honestly Eijun couldn’t have looked away if he’d wanted to. His eyes were wide in his face, petrified. “And then…”
Their noses brushed, breath mingling, and Eijun’s breath hitched. “A-and then?”
Miyuki’s only response was to press their lips together, slow and simple. It wasn’t quite as weird as Eijun had anticipated, but it didn’t necessarily feel good either. Miyuki's mouth was warm and soft, and his breath smelled of the bitter coffee he’d been drinking. It was enough to make Eijun curious.
Miyuki’s eyes were closed behind his glasses, thankfully, so he couldn’t see Eijun's flushed face. Eijun followed his lead, squeezing his eyes closed, trying to memorize the feeling of Miyuki’s lips, wondering if Wakana’s would feel the same.
Miyuki’s hand moved from his shoulder to his face, cupping it while stroking a thumb along the apple of his cheek, just below the delicate skin beneath his eye. He set the pace slow with the same ease he used to lead Eijun on the field. He was aggressive but not demanding, moving his lips over Eijun’s, taking his time, coaxing him to give in and become a pliant mess.
Eijun wasn’t sure when weird turned to good, but when Miyuki pulled away so they could breathe Eijun’s lips were tingling. His chest was rising and falling fast, and he’d chased Miyuki’s lips as he’d pulled back without thinking. His arms were still limp at his sides, because he didn’t know if he should touch Miyuki or if that’d be weird.
The quiet of the room was only punctuated by their labored breath, and finally Eijun broke it. “H-how was that?”
Miyuki stared at him for a minute, eyes gazing into Eijun’s lidded ones before pointedly dropping to his mouth. Miyuki grinned but it wasn’t as sharp, softened by the flush in his own cheeks. “Terrible, but that’s why we’re practicing.”
He leaned back in and Eijun closed his eyes in anticipation, but the sensation of lips didn’t come. Instead Miyuki’s voice was a ticklish whisper against his mouth. “Are you just going to stand there and make me do all the work, Sawamura?”
Eijun’s lashes fluttered and his eyes snapped back open, face hot with embarrassment and annoyance. “Shut up!” And then he raised his hands and curled them into Miyuki’s hair, half because that’s what he’d seen people do in movies and half because he wanted to know if Miyuki’s hair was as soft as it looked. It was, his fingers slipping through it with silky ease as Eijun pressed Miyuki’s mouth down against his own. This time he tried to mimic Miyuki’s movements, compensating for inexperience with enthusiasm and curiosity. All thoughts of Wakana had fled, and Eijun was consumed by the need to kiss Miyuki breathless, to find out what felt good.
Miyuki’s mouth was wet and hot as it slipped over his, and Eijun parted his lips for more. He tugged on Miyuki’s hair because it made a little moan vibrate in Miyuki's throat whenever he did, made the older boy press him further into the wall, pinning him there with his weight. And it was like there’d been something tightly wound inside that Eijun had never been aware of until Miyuki had begun to uncoil it with every swipe of his tongue and scrape of his teeth.
An addictive heat unfurled in his gut, and when Miyuki pressed a thigh between his legs Eijun heard himself groan, breathless and pitched against Miyuki’s lips. He felt Miyuki shudder in response, felt a tongue in his mouth, slippery but not unpleasant. He moaned again when Miyuki teased the roof of his mouth with his practiced tongue, and squirmed when the other’s hands slid along the boyish curves of his sides and settled heavy on his hips. His fingers toyed with the hem of Eijun's shirt but never quite slipped underneath. It was driving Eijun crazy. Honestly, he wasn’t even sure if he wanted that, but the thought of Miyuki’s calloused palms sliding over his skin made him shiver.
Eijun wasn’t sure how long they stayed there, pressed up against the wall kissing, the wet, smacking noise of their lips loud in Eijun’s ears. So bold and so reckless and yet so tentative, Miyuki’s hands never straying under clothes, Eijun only brave enough to drag a palm down Miyuki’s back and rest it against the dip of his spine. Eijun was pretty sure he could have spent the whole night like that, feeling Miyuki’s body heat, smelling his faint cologne, tasting his mouth and getting dizzier and dizzier as the minutes ticked by. But then Miyuki nudged his leg a little higher, and Eijun jerked with a whimper of surprise and oh, oh—
Oh shit.
Eijun pulled away, face red and inhales shaky and pants tighter than they had any right to be. He flattened his hands on Miyuki’s chest and straightened his arms, shoving him back. “I-I just realized I have to go,” he said, well aware that his lips were slick and swollen from kisses. His skin felt feverish, and all he wanted was to trade the stifling heat for cool night air.
He pushed past Miyuki and headed for the door, throwing it open and then slamming it shut behind him, leaving no time for Miyuki to do anything but watch him go.
Eijun lay in bed wide awake for a long time, recalling the shape of Miyuki’s mouth and eyeing the glowing screen of his cell phone where an unanswered message from Wakana waited, glaringly bright in the darkness. All around him the soft noises of Masuko and Kuramochi sleeping filled his ears, quiet snores and rustling sheets, slow even breathing. He knew at this rate he was going to be a wreck for morning practice, but every time he shut his eyes he got anxious.
Eijun rolled onto his side and brought his phone up to his face. It lit up as he swiped the password along the touch screen. His lockscreen faded and Wakana’s message sat just where he’d left it.
im coming to seidou sunday!! cant wait to see u
Eijun dropped his phone onto the mattress and tried to make sense of all the emotions roiling inside him. Wakana liked him, and Eijun had agreed to give it a try, but they weren’t official. At least Eijun didn’t think they were official, and Wakana knew Eijun well enough to realize he was still confused about the whole shift from friend to girlfriend. That in and of itself was enough to tie his stomach in knots, and just the thought of seeing her Sunday… Eijun turned onto his other side and took a deep breath.
And then there was Miyuki, and the thought of him brought a whole new flurry of emotions to the surface. Mostly embarrassment, mostly heat, mostly dread, but also something else. Something Eijun couldn’t quite remember having ever felt in the past.
And kissing Miyuki… it had felt nice. Okay, really nice. But that was just because he was an experienced kisser! That had nothing to do with Miyuki himself. Practice, that's all it was. It would change nothing when they saw each other tomorrow. Eijun would yell and bicker with him as always, and it wouldn’t be weird.
Finding some solace in that conclusion, Eijun finally let the heavy lids of his eyes settle closed. Only one thought drifted through his mind as sleep overcame him.
I’m going to need a lot more practice before Sunday.