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That smile.
Ayan is paralyzed by it.
He wasn’t expecting it and his defenses were down already: the breath knocked from his chest, his body supine on the mat beneath Akk’s, the overwhelming gym scent of stale sweat and floor cleaner making his head swim.
“You’re weak, Shortstop,” Akk says with that smile. There’s a dimple in his cheek, Ayan notices, a perfect little crescent echoing the curve of his mouth as he grins. His eyes sparkle, and for just a second Ayan realizes he’s seeing Akk with his defenses down too; Akk is just happy, living in the moment, gloating because Ayan couldn’t knock him down. The smile transforms him into someone so much softer, someone actually likable, and Ayan feels a little prick of guilt deep down for what he’s been doing to mess with this guy. Because who knew there was really a person underneath all of that circuitous logic and kowtowing to authority? He’s gotten flashes here and there, but right now…
Ayan lets out a breath and forces himself to look away from Akk’s blinding smile.
“Will you let me go?” he asks quietly, defeated.
“No.” Akk still has an arm curled around the back of Ayan’s neck, fingers gripping tightly to Ayan’s collar. And he’s still smiling, though it’s less brilliant now, something softer, more determined. Like he’s settling into himself somehow.
Ayan isn’t sure what to do all of a sudden — and he always knows what to do. Akk’s smile has thrown him for a loop. His pulse is racing, he feels nauseous, and he can’t stop looking at the expanse of skin revealed where Akk’s collar gapes open.
“I said, let me go.” Ayan is surprised to hear a tremble in his voice.
“If you want to be free, try to squirm free. If you can.” Akk has dropped into a whisper, his tone low and intimate, breath ghosting over Ayan’s face. There’s a challenge in his eyes, something excited in the way his cheeks are flushed. He smiles again, the softer smile that Ayan hastily files away into the back of his head to mull over in private.
And then Akk curls his arm tighter around the back of Ayan’s neck, pulling him up off the mat slightly. He probably meant to indicate his intent to keep Ayan pinned, but the way his gaze searches Ayan’s face — the unexpected question Ayan can suddenly see in his eyes — makes Ayan’s heart beat even faster.
To steady himself, Ayan reaches for the playbook he’s already used to set Akk on his heels. He lifts one hand as though he’s going to resume his grip on Akk’s collar. Instead, he slides his palm along Akk’s bare neck — hot, sweaty — then pushes his fingers into Akk’s hair, holding him, then using that hold as leverage to lift himself closer until their mouths are barely an inch or two apart.
Akk’s smile slips away. He grabs onto Ayan’s sleeve although his grip is uncertain. The question in his eyes blooms into something larger, something Ayan seems to remember plaguing him years ago, sleepless nights spent asking himself who he wanted to be and what he wanted the world to see suddenly crashing in on him like an avalanche. But Ayan answered that question for himself a long time ago — and it seems like Akk hasn’t even realized he’s asking yet.
“What’s wrong, Big Foot?” Ayan can use nicknames too. He flexes his fingers slightly against Akk’s scalp, knowing exactly the kind of tingling sensation he’s inflicting on the other boy’s nerves. “You’re tense,” he murmurs as he brings his other hand up to clasp the back of Akk’s neck, holding him close.
Akk is staring down at him as though frozen. He is tense, his neck muscles tight under Ayan’s curled hands, his expression straining to resolve back into what Ayan is starting to think of as Head Prefect Akk, all rigid lines and unforgiving eyes. Ayan is tempted to do something else to push him there, to put them both back into their familiar roles where Akk is determined not to see the truth and Ayan is happy to obscure it for him with half-truths of his own.
The problem is that when Ayan pulls himself even closer, blinking languidly, humming seductively, pursing his lips in invitation — Akk takes the bait in entirely the wrong way.
The back of Ayan’s head hits the mat once more as Akk surges forward and crushes their mouths together. The kiss shocks Ayan; not just because he was expecting Akk to panic and withdraw, not even because of the way Akk quickly transitions from something frantic and messy to something sweeter, but it shocks Ayan just how strongly he’s reacting to the kiss. The melding of their mouths feels right, if surprisingly uninhibited, like there’s a fire building between them, threatening to flare out of control. Ayan loses himself in sensation for a heady moment, his hands locked tight on the back of Akk’s neck to press them closer together.
And then Akk pulls back, gasping, his eyes wide and mouth wet.
“I didn’t mean to—” he starts, but Ayan cuts him off.
“Like hell you didn’t,” he growls. He fists his hand in Akk’s collar and drags him back into another kiss.
For just a second, Akk resists. There’s a voice screaming at Ayan somewhere in his head about taking things too far — but then Akk melts against him, this kiss even hotter than the first because now their chests are pressed together and their lips part so that their tongues can meet and it’s all so overwhelmingly good that Ayan wants to chase this feeling of closeness with Akk forever. Before he can register what he’s doing, he’s angling his hips so that his cock is pressed into Akk’s thigh. He duly swallows Akk’s startled gasp when he realizes what he’s feeling, and Ayan tries to remember that his friends said Akk is still a virgin.
He definitely doesn’t kiss like a virgin.
While Ayan tries to reconcile this knowledge with the way Akk is kissing him like he’s been waiting for the opportunity to do so for years, like their lives depend on it, like he’ll never get the chance to do so again and he wants to carry the memory with him forever, he almost misses Akk slipping his hand inside Ayan’s uniform to palm at his chest. But his hand is hot and when he brushes a thumb roughly over one of Ayan’s nipples, it’s Akk’s turn to absorb Ayan’s muffled gasp.
“Not so cocky now, are you?” Akk breathes against his ear a moment later.
Ayan turns his head to find Akk smiling again, and, oh, he could grow to hate that smile. It’s making his insides feel all scrambled and he can’t stop himself from bucking up against Akk’s leg again, seeking friction even though he smirks and tries to play it off like he’s teasing.
“I’m still plenty cocky,” he snarks. He slips a hand between their bodies and presses it over the tell-tale bulge in Akk’s pants. He tries to keep his eyes from widening at the feel of the other boy, just as hard as Ayan, definitely a bit bigger than Ayan — and he doesn’t have anything to complain about in that department. Instead he pretends he did it on purpose to accompany the fake-innocent voice he uses to say, “I guess you are too, Head Prefect.”
“Sh-shut up,” Akk stammers. He’s lost his smile again, and he closes his eyes as Ayan rubs his palm over his cock, feeling the whole length of him through the rough fabric of the uniform. Akk lets out a little groan, and then his eyes fly open as if the noise startled him out of whatever blissful place Ayan just sent him to. Ayan can see the panic in his gaze, can feel the way he’s tensing again, ready to run.
Ayan doesn’t want him to run anymore.
He takes advantage of Akk’s distraction and heaves himself up, throwing his weight against Akk and pushing him down onto the mat. Akk blows out a startled breath, but Ayan doesn’t give him time to recover. He pins him with a hand against his shoulder, leaning his weight there as he settles a knee on either side of Akk’s hips. He wants desperately to touch his own cock, to relieve some of the smoldering tension inside his belly, but he uses his hand on Akk instead, rubbing over the front of his pants again and ignoring the way his own cock is jerking in response.
“I thought you wanted me to throw you,” Ayan taunts as he closes his fingers around Akk, rubbing harder. “This is me being a good student.”
He knows he should shut up. He knows the more he pushes the flirting, the more likely it is that he’ll scare Akk off. But he can’t stop his automatic defense mechanism from taking the lead; he feels shaken to his core and this is the only way he can reconcile himself to what he’s doing.
“You talk too much,” Akk mumbles. He grabs Ayan’s shirt and yanks him down to merge their mouths again.
Ayan lets Akk kiss him for another frenzied minute because it’s too good not to succumb. Akk’s lips are like a drug; Ayan can already feel himself getting addicted. But he keeps his hand on Akk’s cock and gathers enough of his wits to whisper, “I think you like it when I talk.”
“Fuck… you…” Akk gasps, twisting as if he’s trying to get away even though all it does is press him closer to Ayan. He reaches up to fist both hands in Ayan’s shirt and Ayan waits for the inevitable punch to the face, but instead Akk bites back a moan and closes his eyes again. “More,” he breathes. “More. I want…” He trails off, pushing himself more insistently into Ayan’s hand.
“Okay,” Ayan breathes back. He flicks open the button of Akk’s fly and plunges his hand inside his pants. His eyes widen of their own accord this time, but at least Akk isn’t looking at him. “What the fuck, Akk, you were going commando this whole time? Isn’t that kind of dangerous?”
“Shut up,” Akk groans. When he finally looks at Ayan, his eyes are glazed over, like he’s lost somewhere far away.
“Ooh,” Ayan coos as he strokes Akk’s cock. It’s definitely bigger than Ayan’s, and his brain can’t quite process what to do with that information so he’s running off at the mouth instead. “Look at you. So hard for me. Just from a little judo match?”
“Shut up shut up shut up,” Akk mutters. “This isn’t happening.”
Ayan hums, moving his hand faster, precome slicking his fingers. “You mean you aren’t about to come all over my hand like some kind of—”
He cuts off in surprise as Akk does just that. He keeps his hand moving for a moment or two, staring as Akk shudders through the orgasm, his back arched and his mouth dropping open even though no sound comes out. Ayan wonders if he can do something next time to wrench more noise out of that pretty mouth, wonders if he can make Akk beg for it, moan for it, scream for it…
Next time?
He suddenly jerks his hand back and sits up. Or tries to sit up. Akk still has his hands twisted tight in the material of Ayan’s top. They rock awkwardly for a moment before Akk releases him, and they stare at each other, panting for breath, Ayan suddenly very aware of how hard he is still.
“You, uh…” Ayan starts awkwardly.
Akk bolts upright. His face is crimson as he tucks himself back into his pants and fastens his fly.
“This didn’t happen,” Akk hisses. He pushes Ayan back so he can get to his feet. The front of his uniform is a mess and so is Ayan’s hand, but Akk ignores them both. He straightens his top with a grimace, then shoots a glare at Ayan. “Practice is over,” he snaps before stalking off toward the locker room.
“It definitely is,” Ayan murmurs from his spot on the floor. He watches Akk go, heart thudding painfully in his chest. Then he glances down at his come covered hand.
“Sure is a lot of evidence for something that didn’t happen,” he observes to the empty gym. His mouth twists in a wry grin, but when he glances back at his hand — it’s clean.
Ayan blinks. Instead of kneeling, he’s back where he fell on the mat, Akk’s lying words echoing in his ears.
“I’m taking off. Just realized I’ve got something to do.”
Ayan’s heart is still beating crazily against his ribs, but he’s no longer hard, his lips aren’t tingling, and the only bit of Akk still on him is his sweat from when Ayan had his hand in his hair.
He sits up, watching Akk walk away from him with his shoulders hunched forward.
“Why do you slouch?” he yells after the other boy — just to silence the uncertain voices roaring in his own head.
~
Akk’s bedroom is suffocatingly hot. He flips the covers off his chest and struggles to sit up in bed, still a little breathless.
He’s grateful for the umpteenth time that he doesn’t have a roommate. This is becoming far too routine with him lately. Thinking about whatever interactions he had with Ayan that day becomes wondering what Ayan’s suggestions — both spoken and unspoken — might lead to, which seems to always result in Akk lying flat on his bed, trying to catch his breath.
Better here in the privacy of his room than on the mats in the gym though. There’s just something about the way Ayan looks at him…
“Why did you even volunteer to help him, Akk?” he mutters despairingly, staring at the mess on his hand.
It’s going to be yet another long night.