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Isami throws his bag onto the hotel bed and sits down beside it as he listens to the shower run in the bathroom. He peels off his socks, runs a hand through his hair. They’d been at the beach the whole day, and he could see the slight hint of a tan forming where his button-up sleeve stopped.
Smith comes out a few minutes later just as Isami’s laying his sleeping clothes on the bed. “These towels are insane, they’re so soft.” He pulls it off his head and into his hand, approaching Isami and gesturing for him to feel.
Isami doesn’t mean to stare, he really doesn’t, but Smith’s bright blue Bravern underwear were calling to him like a Lima Victor flag combination. All of his American business was packed in there tighter than a subway train at rush hour. Bravern’s insignia, stretched over the curve of Smith’s dick, could have brought any ship in a 100-meter radius to port. It was certainly trying its hardest to reel in Isami’s.
The towel is thrust in front of him. He feels. Damn, that is soft.
“Is that what you’re wearing to bed?” Isami asks the towel, slowly, agonizingly slowly, working his eyes up Smith’s naked front to meet his face. He takes in the way Smith’s abdomen moves in and out, giving glimpses of the hard body beneath all that relaxed softness. The way errant drops of water roll across the swell of his chest, rounding every dip and curve. Smith moves the towel back up to his head, toweling behind his ears, and nods.
“I get hot,” he says, turning around and heading back into the bathroom. Isami follows along the curve of his spine with his eyes, the way his hips sway as he walks, and before he’s realized it his fingernails have clenched hard enough to pool a decent amount of the comforter into his hand.
He stands. He has to do something else, something to take his mind off of the pert… everything he’d just seen. They did the exact same training, ate the same damn rations – Smith having a body that looked like that was just criminally unfair.
Isami pulls off his shirt and pulls another one on, a clean one, nice and loose, perfect for sleeping. “You’ve worn that all day, isn’t it wet?” He asks with a swallow, back turned to the bathroom.
“It’s dry. It dried on the walk over.”
Isami rolls his eyes, and then without warning, all the panic sets in at once. My god, Isami, look at where you are! Smith’d been out in that speedo all day, but that was public. Jammed in the same hotel room and he was still in that? Waltzing around in it in private, like it was specifically on for Isami? That’s a sign isn’t it? A sex sign?
Were they gonna…? Now? Isami stands with his gym shorts pulled only up to his knees, then drops them and falls into an anxious pace.
Who was gonna be on top? Smith was a little taller than him, definitely broader, probably packing a monster. Him being on top would make sense, sure. But then Isami imagines himself straddled over him, holding Smith’s arms up above his head to expose that area he was always trying to hide. Smith’s red as a cherry all over, trying to cover his embarrassed face with his hands, and Isami’s trailing his hand across those plump pecs, down his dolphin-smooth abdomen, gripping a hand around the two liter between his legs and pumping that thing for all it’s worth. Feeling Smith’s insides shudder as Isami works his cock into him, so deliriously warm, pounding against the spot that would make him moan the loudest.
Bouncing underneath Isami, whimpering his name, hair totally disheveled and arms reaching out for him, begging Isami for another kiss. Yeah, that’d be nice.
It’d be nice...if Isami knew how to do any of it. He flops onto the bed, scrambling to the nightstand to grab his phone for a quick internet search. Smith comes out of the bathroom at last, a little drier, still just as naked. Isami stands at attention in a panic, sending his phone rocketing to the ground.
“Okay!” Smith starts with a clap of his hands, “bathroom’s all yourrrrrrrrr….” His words die on his lips as his eyes lock onto Isami’s lower half. Isami’s boner waves hello.
Shit.
Isami pulls his hands down to try to cover it, shifting awkwardly with his legs, before he eventually gives up and just holds his hands at his torso as if in prayer. A full three seconds pass before his brain synapses start firing again and he realizes that he should probably just put on his shorts. He scans the floor in a hurry, finds them, and pulls them on. They were still decently tented, but at least he was clothed.
“Nice underwear,” Smith says, pulling the comforter on his bed back and sliding in.
Oh, yeah. Isami remembers now. Underwear grabbed from the drawer without a second thought, pulled on almost without thinking. The one’s Bravern had made him several pairs of.
The ones adorned with Bravern’s enormous smirking face on both sides. Isami imagined that his dick at full mast was making Bravern’s expression look extra aggressive.
He grabs his phone off the ground and sits on the bed, eyes losing focus.
Smith coughs. “Like I said, the bathroom’s open if you… if you need it.” He shifts anxiously, bending to the other side of the bed to pull his tablet from his bag. He pulls it close to his face and turns it on, trying hard not to make eye contact. “I’ll just, uh… I’ve got some episodes I can watch.”
Isami excuses himself, shuts the bathroom door behind him, and stares down dejectedly at his crotch compass, now pointed true north. Well, whatever. He’s in here now, might as well shower.
He stands in there long enough, mentally recounting his daily training regimen, that the blood flow regulates and the nervous panic that’d been bouncing him around moments ago cools.
When he exits, the rest of the room is dark. He feels his way in, bumping into Smith’s bed corner, rounding around it and finally arriving at his own. He stands there, clean and clear-headed, and looks over at Smith’s blobby outline. A stray beam of moonlight peeks through the curtain, shooting across his face, rounding the curve of his cheek and coating a sliver of hair in a dreamy glow. Head tilted up, lips slightly parted, arms splayed out at his sides underneath the covers. Isami sighs and lowers himself onto his own bed.
Guess he’d gotten all worked up for nothing. Clearly they weren’t going anywhere further tonight. Isami gets himself nice and comfortable under the covers, and turns toward the window. He closes his eyes and attempts to sleep.
“Isami?”
UNLESS?!
Isami pauses for a brief moment, weighing what to say in between his fingers. He settles on, “I’m up, sorry if I woke you.”
“No, no, it’s okay.” The sound of shifting bedsheets, of a position changing. Then, quieter, “I’m cold…”
That’s what you get for wearing a speedo to sleep, Isami thinks. The thought is interrupted two seconds later by another thought breaking it in half, elbow dropping it off the top rope, and slinging it into the stands. One that climbs up the side and screams to the audience with both hands up, roaring, This is it!!! That’s a signal!
Isami lets another even longer pause pass between them, weighing his wanting to ask against his will to actually say it. He doesn’t turn around, just pulls up the blanket behind him, and mutters, “Get in.”
“Are you sure?” Smith asks. Isami hears the comforter on the other bed move, the sound of feet hitting the floor. His heart’s beating hard enough against his ribs to burst.
What if that was the wrong move? What if Smith just wanted him to turn down the aircon? What if he was only getting up to reach for the hotel phone and tell the front desk that he didn’t realize he’d been rooming with a pervert and could they please change the room immediately? Isami makes some kind of noise in response, something in between a hum, a grunt, and a squeak. This was exciting, it was embarrassing, and Isami felt like he’d started shaking harder than a chihuahua in the rain.
Then Smith is crawling into bed next to him, body heat against Isami’s back, not physically touching him but the centimeters of space in between them buzzing with all the force of an electrical fire. Every hair on Isami’s body was tensed, waiting for the next move.
Wait. Shit. If he was gonna top, that meant that the ball for the next move was in his court. He has no idea what to do. Facing Smith was probably a good idea, it’d be easier to kiss that way. Slowly, moving in quarters of fractions of centimeters as if to be almost imperceptible, he rolls onto his back. It takes forever. By the time his other shoulder hits the mattress Smith very well could have fallen asleep for real.
“Smith,” he says, mouth suddenly extremely dry. He waits until he hears a hum of acknowledgement, and continues, “I had fun today.” He begins his stone-grindingly slow turn to face him.
By the time he makes it there, he can see in that sliver of moonlight that Smith’s eyes are still open too, if tired, crinkled to match his gentle, easy smile. He breathes out. Isami breathes in.
“Me too,” Smith responds in a whisper, as if talking any louder would disturb the night time ambience.
Now this? Looking all cute and sleepy, on his side with his arms curled up just under his head, snuggling into the pillow? This isn’t fair either. You couldn’t be USDA Prime beefcake and all scrunched up and adorable. Most people barely even got one of those options.
Ball’s back in your court, Isami. At this point, just a kiss would be nice, but what was the best way of getting there? Things had been awkward between them ever since Bravern had shown up, but Smith had still crawled into Isami’s bed of his own free will. That meant there was a sliver of a chance, at least.
“Can I kiss you?” Isami asks, deciding to just go for it.
There it is. It’s out in the open. Isami briefly feels like he’s dying, watching as Smith’s eyes flit across his face. No going back now. Smith scoots closer, his eyes close, and Isami does the same.
It’s nice. Smith’s lips are softer than he was expecting, and his body wash smells like a tropical candle. He’s suddenly very aware of how naked Smith is under the covers just in front of him. Isami doesn’t know what to do with his hands.
He pulls away after what feels like a satisfactory amount of time has passed, only to be pulled back in with enough force that, as he comes up over Smith, both hands land on the sides of his head to keep their heads from bonking. Smith runs his hands along the base of Isami’s neck. He skirts along Isami’s lips with his tongue and it takes Isami by enough surprise that he’s opening his mouth to let him in without even thinking about it.
Oh, fuck, okay, Isami thinks calmly, not at all running through every possible breakdown of procedures for what steps to take next. In an effort to get more comfortable, he moves his hand right onto Smith’s chest, peeking out above the comforter. It’s a press and then damn, that’s soft and a squeeze, and Smith moans into Isami’s mouth as his hips buck up and his leg goes sliding along Isami’s side. Isami jolts at the touch, every centimeter of stimulation going straight down to his dick.
This was all happening very fast. Isami needed to lock in or the whole operation would be spinning sideways before he’d even have time to notice something had gone wrong.
This is training. Smith is just your training partner. The objective is to get him to cum. Easy enough. Isami just has to follow the signs, look for the targets to hit.
Isami’s train of thought momentarily whites out as they pull apart to breathe. Smith’s underneath him, wet hair all askew on the pillow, eyes dazed and breathing hard, arms still slung around Isami’s neck to hold him in place.
“Isami,” he starts, and Isami can’t think of another time that his own name sounded so alluring. Smith runs his hands down Isami’s front, a tingling trail of touch that starts in between his pecs, wraps around the curve of his hips, and ends with Smith’s fingertips dug underneath the lip of his shorts, pulling repeatedly. They stop for a moment, crest back around Isami’s sides, and Smith continues, “can you turn on the light?”
Isami leans over and does as he’s told. As soon as that warm ambient glow stretches across the two of them, Smith is sitting up to see him better, contented smile spread across his face. Isami scoots up with him, sitting on his legs at his side. Smith pulls up Isami’s shirt and his eyes rake over his entire body, starting from the top (Isami tries as naturally as he can to cover his nipples, feeling a bit embarrassed about them being seen without having reason to articulate why,) and working their way across every dip and curve, stopping very pointedly at his crotch.
Isami watches as Smith’s eyes drag up to meet his. “What?” Isami asks. Smith just squints into his smile.
“Can I see Bravern again?” Smith drops Isami’s shirt and pulls at his waistband again, pulling Isami forward more until he’s straddled over top of him. His ass backs into Smith’s erection in the process of getting situated, and the size of it pushes a gasp out of Isami’s mouth. He swallows thickly and sends a silent prayer of thanks that that thing was staying out of his ass. For tonight, anyway.
“I can take them all the way off, if you want,” Isami says, trying his best to match the low, seductive tone Smith was giving him, one that was shooting straight down his spine with every word. Still, he complies, pulling off his gym shorts and exposing the ridiculously stretched out Bravern underneath.
Smith rubs the sides of Isami’s thighs, guides him up so Isami’s crotch is about level with his face. “I’ll do it.” His breath makes Isami tingle, even through the fabric of the boxers.
He looks up as if to ask this okay? Isami puts his hands against the headboard and looks down. He didn’t see how doing this would get Smith any closer to climax, but it was what he wanted to do, and who was Isami to deny him that? Especially looking as hot as he did wedged between Isami’s legs, face completely flushed. Give him enough time, Isami could probably get by with just that mental image alone.
One of Smith’s hands curls around Isami’s cock to hold it in place, and the other rubs its palm against the tip. Isami involuntarily bucks forward, which makes Smith laugh, which would make Isami embarrassed all over again if he wasn’t so horny.
“Fuck, I’m sorr-- hah!” Isami starts, interrupted as Smith repeats the action. He’s laughing hard now, hands momentarily leaving Isami’s business to clutch at his own stomach as the laughter enters the silent period and Smith struggles to catch his breath.
Isami’s first thought, a little slow through the lust-induced fog clouding his brain, is oh no, what did I do?
Smith finds his breath long enough to squeeze out, “It looked like he--” more laughter, pointing to Bravern, “like he had a--” another fit of giggling, one that sends him leaning forward into Isami’s leg, “like he was holding in a sneeze!”
Isami sits himself back down against the swell of Smith’s crotch, his own dick still pointed straight out, momentarily forgotten and asking to be re-attended to. Something about how hard Smith was laughing and the whole absurdity of the situation makes him laugh too. For a couple minutes they’re both just there, laughing themselves sick over something they both knew was unbelievably stupid.
This is nice. Isami could be okay with just this, too.
Eventually Smith calms himself down enough to get properly horny, and Isami gets back into position. Smith starts over, wrapping his hands around Isami’s dick one more time.
“Are you sure you’re brave enough to wield the Burn Blade?” Isami asks, unable to stop himself.
“Don’t,” Smith answers, trying desperately to hold it in behind his tight-lipped grin.
Isami’s racking his brain trying to think of another one, to get that giddy smile back on Smith’s face, but his thoughts get fried as soon as Smith starts jerking him off. It’s an even, steady pace, kind of slow through the fabric, as his other hand gently fondles his balls. Smith breathes hot against it and everything falls away, leaving one word standing in the vacuum of Isami’s brain.
Please.
As if reading his mind Smith puts his lips against the fabric, kissing and tonguing at the tip. Isami bucks again, Smith’s hand on his shaft pulls him back, and it’s wild how good it feels. Isami runs his hands through that blond mop of hair, wanting to touch him, wanting so badly to be touched.
The boxers come down at last and Isami’s cock is in Smith’s mouth in earnest, bobbing back and forth, all wet heat and friction. Isami pulls his shirt into his mouth and practically folds into the headboard, hands still gripped into Smith’s hair as he starts to push himself deeper. Smith adjusts him with his hand, keeping Isami at just the right depth, just the right speed. When Isami chances a look back over his shoulder he sees his other hand is wrapped around his own dick, matching speed with each of Isami’s thrusts.
“Smith, I’m gonna…” Isami bucks forward again, which makes Smith moan, which vibrates along the entire length of him, pushing a gasp from his lips. “Fuck…”
The pleasure pools out from his cock as he comes. Most of it goes into Smith’s mouth until it catches in his throat, and he coughs, spilling it down his front. Isami moves himself so that Smith has room to clear out, still a little too fuzzy to fully put together what had happened.
“Shit, I’m sorry.” Isami puts a hand on his shoulder, listens as his breathing calms. Yet again his eyes keep gravitating to that bright blue speedo, now pulled down just enough to free his own Burn Blade. “Let me help.”
“Wait Isa-- ungh!” The second Isami lays a hand on him and strokes up a quarter of an inch Smith is already coming undone, cum pouring out of him in waves. Isami waits until he finishes, reveling in the way his face scrunches up, his mouth opens and closes, chin still soaked with fluid.
Isami reaches up, moves his bangs out of the way as his breathing levels out.
Mission accomplished.
He’s out of words to say. It’s late. Isami looks from Smith to the rest of the bed, now wet with sweat and bodily fluid, and makes his way to the bathroom to grab a towel. He could at least wipe himself off, get a towel for Smith to do the same, and then they could swap bedding.
He does himself and comes back out to the sound of Smith slumped in the same position he’d left him in, snoring loudly.
Isami just stands there and takes it in for a moment, watching the even rise and fall of Smith's chest. It'd been a long day, and then after all that (as great as it was) the exhaustion was starting to catch up to Isami too. He just towels Smith off, throws the bedding to the floor, and brings the other comforter over. He wraps himself around him, kisses him goodnight, and is asleep before his head hits the pillow.
Some pillow talk would have been nice, but the night had already gone beyond Isami's expectations. They could afford to try again another day.