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Isagi can’t sleep.
He stares up at the wooden slats of the top bunk, hoping that the heat of his gaze will somehow stop that buzzsaw of a snore, but like he does with most things, Nagi doesn’t notice. Isagi lets out a heavy sigh and rolls onto his side, making sure to jostle the bed more than he usually would. He is thankful to have Nagi on his team, but he could do without some of his more annoying habits.
Now that he’s lying on his side, he stares faint outline of Barou’s broad shoulders as he sleeps in a similar position on the spare bed. Even in the dark, he can see his other teammate’s unstyled hair pooling against his pillow, and he looks far less imposing like this than he does on the field. Deep down, Isagi knows that Barou is just another player determined to win, which makes him just as human as the rest of them. He’s also thankful to have him on his team, but the way his ego threatens to set choke out everyone else sets his teeth on edge. They need to win, though, so he’ll put up with the pompous, bed-stealing bastard for as long as he has to in order to survive Blue Lock.
His sleepless mind shifts to other things as he absently continues to watch Barou sleep. While he has a team he’s happy with, he still wants to win Bachira back—and to show Itoshi Rin what he’s made of while doing it. A hypothetical soccer field fills his thoughts, setting the stage to run through every possible scenario he can imagine. He’s still figuring out his gifts and how to use them, but he’s determined to win.
His focus on that imaginary game is strong that he nearly misses the soft sound of movement coming from somewhere in the room. He immediately glances upwards, but Nagi is still dead to the world above him. Which means there’s only one other person who could be making those sounds, and he’s lying directly opposite him.
To the blind eye, Barou hasn’t moved. He’s still on his side, with his back facing Isagi and the rest of him hidden from view. But his sleep has grown oddly restless, with his legs jerking sporadically under the sheets as he shifts. Under his breath, he keeps muttering something that is too muffled to make out, no matter how hard he tries to listen. His initial curiosity doesn’t last long, though, because as Barou continues to move in his sleep, the possibility of drifting off becomes even more of an illusion for Isagi. He grits his teeth in annoyance, wishing there were more than one pillow on his bunk so he could lob it at his troublesome teammate. But before he finally gives into the quiet rage that simmers within him and does something that will definitely end with his ass getting kicked, Barou lets out a new sound—one that Isagi can’t unhear, even if he tries.
Barou moans.
Isagi freezes, blinking into the dark. Was that… He gets his answer when Barou makes the sound again—a whiny gasp, on edge and pleading. His legs twitch again with an urgency, and Isagi nearly chokes on his choke when he finally realizes what’s happening.
Barou is having a wet dream, and he has accidentally wound up with a front row seat to the show.
It had to happen sometime, he supposes. They are teenagers trapped together in a dystopian sports facility, fighting for their lives and their legacies. There isn’t a lot of alone time to be had in Blue Lock, which means certain…energies may become pent up over long periods of time. He usually jerks off in the shower when he can, just to avoid an embarrassing situation like the one he’s currently witnessing. Barou must not have planned for this, or maybe he thought he was above such human desires, and now his body has betrayed him.
The rustle of sheets grows louder as Barou’s spastic movements increase, and Isagi glances above him with faint concern. If Nagi woke up, he would never let their teammate live this down. Luckily, he’s still fast asleep, completely oblivious to what’s happening—and for that, Isagi is almost grateful. It’s hard enough as is to get those two to work together. He doesn’t need any more complications while they’re on the field together.
But now that he knows he’s the only one still awake, he’s faced with a dilemma, because Barou keeps making those goddamn sounds, and Isagi is only human. Even if he finds the bastard intolerable, there’s no way to tune out the faint gasps and moans that are coming from the other bed. If only he had his phone and earbuds he could end this suffering and finally fall asleep. But instead, he’s forced to listen to a one-sided sexual encounter, and no god he prays to can keep his own dick from getting hard. He does his best to ignore the pressure building down below. But when Barou rolls onto his back with his hair spilled across the pillow and his hips jerking slightly, he can’t help but reach down and palm himself through the thin material of his pajama pants, desperate for some relief.
He catches himself making some noises of his own as he watches the pillar of Barou’s throat flex every time he gasps for air, and even though he knows Nagi is sound asleep in the bunk above, some part of him is turned on by the thought of him waking up and catching both of them in the act. The room is too dark for him to really see much of anything, but he can make out the outline of tented sheets if he squints hard enough. His mouth goes dry at the thought of what Barou might look like under his clothes, and the pace of his hand increases as his imagination takes him places where he never thought he would go. Not with Barou, at least.
He can feel himself drawing closer and closer to the edge as Barou’s movements grow almost frenzied, and he has to bite the edge of his pillow to keep a shout from bursting out of him when he finally spills into his hand. The euphoria of coming quickly fades into annoyance at the stickiness of his pants, with just a hint of guilt at what he’s just done. But Barou is still in the throes of passion on the other side of the room, and before Isagi can really process any of what just happened, he lets out another needy sound—but instead of a moan, his pleading voice takes shape in a single word.
“Isagi.”
A chill runs down Isagi’s spine as his own name echoes in his ears, along with the punched-out sound that Barou makes before his body grows oddly still. He’d come, he realizes with a choked gasp. He’d come in his sleep, calling his name.
What. The. Fuck.
Apart from Nagi’s persistent snore, the room falls back into silence as Isagi lays there in shock. His mind spins, overwhelmed with information in a way that he’s never experienced before. Barou Shouei, King of the field and asshole extraordinaire, had had a wet dream about him, and he’d watched the whole damn thing.
He doesn’t sleep at all that night, and when Barou finally rolls out of bed the next morning, grimacing slightly at his crotch as he gets up, Isagi can’t make himself meet his eyes. There’s no telling what Barou will see in his face when he looks straight at him. Embarrassment? Guilt? Desire?
He already wanted him on his team, but now he wants him in an entirely different way.
***
Practice does not go well, and Isagi can’t decide which is more to blame—Barou’s terrible personality or his own distraction on the field.
“Get out of my way, jackass,” Barou grunts before shouldering him aside with a scowl. He scoops another bright orange training cone off the ground, then stacks it onto the pile he’s collecting, and Isagi tries (and fails) not to notice the way the muscles of his bare back ripple with the simple movement. He’d wanted to yell at Barou for stripping out of his scrimmage jersey within minutes of practice, but he somehow couldn’t get the words out. His mouth had been too dry.
“Somehow you’ve become even more of an idiot overnight,” Barou continues as he collects the final cone and walks toward the storage closet to put everything away. Of course his neat freak tendencies are still present on the field. Isagi finds himself wondering where else they might show up, then shakes his head. Barou is right—something did change overnight, but he sure as hell isn’t telling him about what happened. He’s done his best to block it out, but unfortunately, that’s been impossible. Even as he’d been running through the strenuous drills Barou ordered him and Nagi to complete, the sound of his other teammate moaning his name played over and over and over until he desperately needed a cold shower for reasons other than his sweat.
He'd hoped to escape to the showers as fast as possible when Barou finally finished running them into the ground. But Nagi is currently passed out on the pitch, snoring slightly where he collapsed after practice, and despite the ego that he’s trying to develop here in Blue Lock, Isagi still can’t make himself walk away from a mess that he helped make.
He grabs the agility hurdles that Barou had dragged out earlier and follows him into the closet. “I’m not an idiot,” he replies, even though enough time has passed that he should probably just let it be. His stubbornness won’t let him, though. “You’re just a prick.”
“No one asked you for your opinion, shithead.” The lightbulb above them is burnt out—Ego’s budget finally falling short, most likely—and shadows fall across Barou’s face as he raises his chin and sneers down at him. “And I didn’t ask for your help.”
“I don’t care.” The back of Isagi’s neck prickles with heat as he juts his own chin out and takes a step further into the closet, edging Barou backwards just slightly. “That’s what teammates do—they work together. You should try it sometime.”
Barou’s upper lip curls with a taunt as he leans down to Isagi’s eye level just to fuck with him. “I’d like to see you try to make me.”
His words are full of malice and derision, but Isagi can’t help himself as he suddenly grows aware of how close they are standing. His treacherous gaze drops to Barou’s mouth, and even in the dark, Barou notices. His eyes widen slightly with confusion that eventually shifts into disgust, but before he can react any further, Isagi decides to do something reckless while he has the chance. He drops the hurdles, which catches Barou off guard just long enough to shove him back against the wall. “You can’t just do your own thing,” he hisses, desperate to make a point just to distract his teammate from his slip-up. But as he registers the heat of Barou’s heaving chest against his hands and the murderous look in his crimson eyes, Isagi quickly realizes he’s made another mistake. He’s walked into the lion’s den, and now he’s going to be ripped to shreds.
“I do whatever the fuck I want,” Barou murmurs with his voice dangerously steady, and then all hell breaks loose.
The next few seconds are a blur of sharp elbows and curses, and Isagi tastes blood after Barou’s fist grazes his chin. Their tussle keeps knocking equipment off the shelves, but they are too busy trying to poke each other’s eyes out to care. But when Barou shoves him toward the open door, his foot catches on one of the discarded hurdles and knocks him even more off balance. He crashes against the wall, scrabbling for something to hold onto. His fingers wrap around the doorknob, but before he can steady himself, his momentum slams the door shut, sending a resounding clang throughout the area.
Shit.
He desperately jerks at the doorknob, trying to will the door back open, but it’s no use. It remains stuck, and so do they.
He punches the metal in frustration, then lets his head rest again the cool surface as he runs through yet another mental list of all their available options. They could yell for help, but Nagi is harder to wake than the dead, and even then—who knows if he would actually go through the effort of jailbreaking them. Neither of them have their phone, so they can’t call anyone to come get them out. As he quickly runs out of ideas, Isagi mentally curses whoever designed this goddamn facility…although he can’t really blame them for not anticipating this.
He should’ve just walked away instead of following Barou inside, but after last night, he still can’t quite think straight. Not with Barou around.
Isagi sighs, then turns around. The small space is even darker now, but he can still see Barou’s furious gaze through the shadows. “You absolute imbecile,” he grits out before pushing off the wall so he’s back in his face like he never left. “You trapped us in here.”
“Oh, like you weren’t equally a part of this,” Isagi retorts, trying to reclaim his personal space and horribly failing. He hadn’t realized how small the closet was until now, but with the scattered equipment across the floor, there isn’t much room to stand—or to escape the heat emanating from Barou’s body. “If you had just accepted my help we wouldn’t be here.”
“No, if you’d left me the fuck alone, we wouldn’t be here,” Barou corrects while stabbing a finger in his face. “Now we have to wait for fucking Nagi to notice we’re missing, which could take hours.”
There’s an odd current of emotions running through his words, buried deep beneath the anger. Isagi stares at him, struggling a little to place it before it finally hits him.
Barou is nervous.
“Are you claustrophobic?” he blurts out without thinking his words through. Barou’s sharp brows immediately draw together, and he internally winces. He needs to calm the wild beast, not piss him off. “It’s fine if you are, I was just—”
The rest of his words are cut off when Barou slams him back against the wall, knocking the air from his lungs. “I’m not scared of anything,” he hisses, and Isagi shivers at the feeling the heat of his breath on his neck. “You’re a dead man, Isagi Yoichi.”
The threat doesn’t surprise him. He knows his fate. But what he doesn’t expect is the brush of something against his thigh as Barou pins him to the wall—something hard and wanting.
Oh.
He halfway expects Barou to jerk away from him or punch his lights out the moment he makes uncertain eye contact, but to his surprise, Barou does neither. Instead, he looks just as confused as Isagi feels, and the wave of heat he can feel crawling up his teammate’s neck makes him reckless with his words once again. “I should’ve known there was a reason you’re always picking fights,” he says with a feral grin he usually only lets out in the heat of a game. “It turns you on, doesn’t it, King?”
“Don’t call me that,” Barou grits out, but he still doesn’t move away, which means that Isagi can feel his dick twitch slightly at the nickname. Interesting.
“It’s fine if that’s what gets you going.” He pushes, both with his words and with his thigh. He grinds slowly against the bulge in Barou’s shorts, relishing the way the corded muscles of his throat twitch as he stiffens at the intentional contact. “But if you really want us to win, you need to work this shit out off the field, not on it.”
“I don’t want us to win,” Barou mutters through tightly clenched teeth. His dark eyes shine with something dangerous, and Isagi’s breath catches slightly. “I want to win on my own.”
“Doesn’t matter—you need a team, Barou, and now you have one.” In a daring moment, he grips Barou’s hip with one hand, pulling him in closer. “So use us.”
Use me.
The unspoken words hang heavy between them, and the only other sound filling up the cramped space is their still uneven breathing. Barou’s brows are drawn together—in thought, not in anger—but he keeps their bodies pinned together as he presses Isagi’s back against the wall, trapping him even more than he already was. “Are you really so desperate to get me to behave that you’d offer to get me off?” His breath brushes hot against Isagi’s neck, making him shiver. “That’s pathetic, even for you.”
“Not pathetic,” he whispers back, and he digs his nails into the exposed skin of Barou’s hip to show him how much he means his next words. “Strategic.”
And if he’s being honest, this isn’t just for the team’s benefit. He wants this just as much as Barou does, even though the bastard still might not know what he actually wants from him. Luckily, Isagi is ready to provide whether or not he asks nicely.
He moves his leg between Barou’s slowly at first, with just enough pressure to tease, and the way his breath hitches in response tells him its working. He needs to treat Barou like he would a wild animal: cautious, with no sudden movements. So he continues to move his hips in a steady rhythm until Barou’s gaze is no longer sharp and his mouth falls open in shallow pants. Both of them are hard now, and Isagi wants more than just friction. He would free both of their cocks from the confines of their shorts and thrust them against each in his fist, but something tells him time is running short by the way their pace is quickly growing sloppy, so instead he dips his hand into the back of his teammate’s shorts. When he digs into the meat of his ass and presses his mouth to lick the curved line of his neck, Barou drops his head onto his shoulder and grunts, rutting against his thigh with growing urgency.
“You like that?” Isagi whispers before grazing the supple skin of his clavicle with careful teeth. Maybe leaving a mark will finally keep the bastard from stripping on the field. “You like it when it hurts?”
Barou doesn’t answer with words, because those seem beyond him at this point. Isagi wishes it weren’t so dark in this cramped closet so he could truly see just how undone he has become. But the needy whines coming from his teammate’s lips are enough to convince him that this is working—and that he should keep going.
He moves his lips lower, worshipping the well-built contours of Barou’s chest, and he grins to himself when Barou’s thrusts become even more frenzied. And when he swirls his tongue over one aroused nipple, the hand still in Barou’s shorts reaches further, ghosting one finger over his entrance just enough to make his whole body stiffen. “Do you like that too?” Isagi asks, pressing a little further to make it clear what he means.
“Yeah,” Barou breathes out, and then he’s coming to pieces, unable to keep his satisfied moans within.
When he slumps against him and presses them both further against the wall, Isagi holds him steady, determined to keep them standing despite his own shaking legs. He’s still on the brink, with white heat building at the small of his back, but before he can do anything about that need, a voice makes both of them freeze.
“Are you guys in the closet?” Through the muffled barrier of the door, Nagi sounds puzzled and sleepy—his usual self.
There’s a joke somewhere in there, but Isagi isn’t in a laughing mood. “We got locked in,” he manages to choke out as he feels Barou’s fingers dip into the waistband of his shorts, searching for something he desperately wants him to find. “Can you go get the key?”
“Uh-huh.” He doesn’t hear their other teammate move away. “I heard Barou grunting—did he hurt himself?”
Nagi’s concern is unusual, and any other time, Isagi would be proud of how far they’ve come as a team. But right now, he has other priorities, because Barou has dropped to his knees while looking up at him with something akin to reverence in his eyes. He wants to relish this moment, and Nagi is ruining it with his unwelcome presence. “He tripped on something and stubbed his toe.”
“Oh.” Nagi still doesn’t seem convinced, but he can practically hear his shrug in response. “I’ll go get that key now.”
“Take your time,” he gasps out when his shorts are dragged from his hips to his ankles. The warmth of unsteady breathing against his bare thigh makes him throb with want, and he carelessly slides his fingers into Barou’s hair, not caring if he ruins it. “So much for being a king,” he murmurs once he’s sure that Nagi is gone.
“I hate you,” Barou answers with a familiar animosity flaring to life in his darkened eyes.
“I know,” Isagi assures, even though he’d really rather Barou find a better use for his mouth than talking shit. “That’s why you want me.”