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"What are you doing?"
Rin shoots upright, arms straightening to his sides. "Nothing."
Isagi arches a brow at him from the doorway, fingers drumming against the wood. "It's not nothing. You've been doing it all day."
"If you've been watching me all day, why are you asking?" Rin retorts snidely, shoving his hands into his pockets.
"Rin,"
"Yoichi."
His boyfriend goes quiet, but his silence eloquently continues the argument for him. Rin scowls at Isagi, for lack of any less incriminating target of ire.
And here he thought he’d played it off so well today.
He'd made it through their whole morning routine, the gym, a quick scrimmage, yoga, even did the laundry when they got back to his apartment, which always got out of hand when Isagi came to visit between the extra sets of workout clothes and changes of sheets. All of that without tearing anyone's head off, besides.
"It's nothing," Rin says, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. Another low pang of pain rolls through him and he grits his teeth, keeping in a wince. He hasn't had a period in months, but of course he has to have one while Isagi is here, because the universe never lets him have nice things. He grinds the heels of his palms into his thighs through the fabric of his sweats, trying to temper the ache. "I'm fine."
Isagi, also of course, clocks it from across the living room, and doesn’t let it be fine. "Are your thighs hurting? You keep rubbing them. You were stretching a lot between sets at the gym too, did you pull a muscle or something?"
"No." Rin huffs petulantly. But then Isagi is already walking over, and when he tilts those bright, assessing blue eyes up at him, Rin knows it’s a losing fight. "They're sore." He finally admits.
Isagi’s eyebrows go up. "Oh. Did I do that?"
"No. Shut up." Rin says flatly, hating how even at twenty his neck still heats the same lukewarm way it had when he was sixteen. He grits his teeth. "I started my period this morning. It's not the cramps that are the problem, my back and thighs have just been achy all day."
Isagi’s expression transforms, skepticism evaporating and leaving behind only a painfully attuned concern. "That sucks. I'm sorry. I didn't know that could happen, I thought it was just…"
He gestures vaguely to the general vicinity of Rin's middle. Rin snorts.
"Ha. I wish."
"Can I help at all?"
Rin waves him off, crossing his arms. "Don't worry about it. It's fine. I'll deal."
"It's not fine, and you're not dealing with it." Isagi tells him matter-of-factly. Rin bares his teeth but Isagi isn’t deterred, stepping up into Rin’s space and wrapping a warm hand around his wrist, tugging him towards the couch. "C'mon. I'll give you a massage."
"Ughhhh."
Isagi turns, staring pointedly between Rin and his black sectional. "Rin. Sit the fuck down. And take off your pants."
Even with half a mind to pick a fight for the point of it, Rin relents, and allows himself to be led across the living room. Far be it from him to tell Isagi no when he wants Rin to take off his clothes. And if the worst thing to come out of it is still feeling like shit, then there’s a sofa and a boyfriend Rin can take a nap with afterwards to make it up to him.
He sheds accordingly and settles on the couch, down to his boxer briefs and hoodie now. Isagi kneels on the ground and Rin watches him intently, tracking each movement as he nears, stomach fluttering in anticipation. Or perhaps that’s just another round of cramps, here to remind Rin of everything extremely unpleasant and very unsexy about this moment.
But Rin isn’t uncomfortable, not with any of this and certainly not Isagi. He mutters a teasing, "Fucking perv," when Isagi spreads his legs, claiming the space between them as easily as he always does.
“What?” Isagi blinks up at him innocently, rubbing circles with a thumb on the inside of Rin's thighs. "I'm just trying to do a nice thing for my boyfriend when he's not feeling good."
"You're just using this as an excuse to feel me up."
"That too."
Rin snorts. And Isagi grins, bringing his lips to the side of Rin's knee before sitting up properly.
"Man, you're feeling really tense. I can see why just stretching it out wasn't helping." He comments, pressing the tips of his fingers into the skin of Rin's upper thigh.
Almost on cue, Rin feels the muscles go rigid, another throb of discomfort lurching through his gut. "Nngh."
Isagi whispers an apology, and lays his hands flat against him, tilting his palms to sweep around the circumference of Rin’s thighs. Isagi’s hands aren’t small but Rin’s thighs fill them completely, the muscle spilling from his cupped fingers as he carefully touches, checking him over. Rin has always liked the way Isagi has to work to hold him, the thrill it elicits, watching him put in the effort to handle his body even when Rin doesn’t make it easy for him. And work Isagi does, positioning himself at eye-level with the couch and extending Rin’s right leg over his shoulder, resting the thigh against his chest and the edge of the cushion.
His eyes flick up to catch Rin’s, and Rin gives him a nod, curious to see how it’ll play out. Isagi sets hands to him again, warm on the back of his thigh as he begins to knead there. Starting with the hamstrings and working his way through each vastus, he's gentle but firm, shepherding the ache through the protesting muscles. His stomach clenching in queasy protest, Rin reminds himself to relax, to trust Isagi.
And slowly, surely, the discomfort lessens with each steady ministration of his hands, the pressure going from tense to pleasant as Rin starts to unwind, sinking into the couch.
Isagi was serious about this. Of course. He doesn’t do anything halfway.
And it’s no secret that Isagi Yoichi, Bastard München starting forward, former heart of Blue Lock and current arbiter of Rin’s, is a filthy thigh fetishist– he’d even admitted to it, pressed upon his answers one night before U-20 about that stupid questionnaire they’d all had to fill out at the start of Blue Lock. Rin wouldn’t fall for something as mediocre as peer pressure and had revealed nothing from his own questionnaire, but Isagi’s admission had put a few things into perspective for him. He definitely used it to his advantage in the months that followed, any edge he could gain, hoarded selfishly. Especially when it got Rin what he wanted too.
And, pathetic as it is, the only time Rin felt more comfortable in his body than on the pitch was when Isagi’s hands were on him.
Head tipped back against the sofa, Rin realizes he’d zoned out, only now vaguely registering as Isagi begins to massage his way up his sartorius. He rolls against a particularly sensitive spot, and a sound pries itself from Rin's throat, high and wavering.
“Ah!”
Immediately, those hands stop moving. "Oh, I liked the sound of that." Isagi's smirk is audible from the floor, and the heat is crawling back up Rin’s neck when he glances down between his legs, Isagi's elbow propped up on the sofa and chin resting on a fist. "That doing something for you?"
"Ugh, you're insufferable. Don't stop."
Isagi snickers, but returns to his task without any more lip.
He finishes up with right leg and switches sides, easing the first thigh gently off his shoulder and replacing it with the other. He goes about repeating the motions from before, but Rin catches how Isagi pays extra attention to his left leg, the pinpoint pressure of his thumbs as he works at the iliopsoas around his knee, the heel of his palm heavy and firm when he kneads it into the tender mass of Rin’s abductors. Rin hadn’t even realized until now, but they had felt extra sore today on the leg press.
It's always been his weaker side, no matter how much he trained it when he was a child, desperate to match his brother in all ways down to even the leg he favored in soccer. Even now as an adult he sometimes finds himself overexerting it, still trying to force its obedience– adding extra weights at the gym, or favoring it during a match. Rin doesn't think he's ever told Isagi that, but knowing him, it's probably something he just picked up on naturally, one of those things that Isagi knew about him without needing to ask.
Sinking into the feeling, Rin feels himself drowsing again, aware of Isagi’s touch and the comfortable plush of the couch and little else. He closes his eyes and gives himself over to it.
"Alright,” Rin says after some time, feeling warm and liquid and satisfied. “That's enough."
Isagi rubs his hand up Rin’s left thigh soothingly once more, and then pulls back. "Better?"
"Yeah."
"Good." Isagi says, leaning over and swiping a quick kiss from him before standing up. "You can ask me for help whenever you need it, you know. Especially for things like this. I don't mind."
Rin sighs, frustrated that even now his first instinct had been to brush it all off. Realistically, he knows this is something he is allowed to want, to have. But tell that to his inner lovesick sixteen-year-old, who would’ve suffered anything in silence if it’d meant Isagi kept thinking of him as a worthy rival. "Not like there's much you can do. Sometimes my body decides it wants to hurt. It'd be pathetic to ask after every tiny, lukewarm thing."
"Well, you can. I won't think less of you for it." Isagi brushes his fingers through Rin's bangs, the corner of his mouth ticking up. "Unless you want me to boss you around. Force you down, make you admit you need me–”
Rin knocks his hand away with a snort. "Pfft. in your dreams.”
Easing himself up, Rin stands, testing his legs before giving his shoulders and neck a quick roll. It's incredible how much better he feels– not just better, but good.
Isagi hands him his pants, and as Rin redresses, goes to sit on the couch himself.
“We’re going for another run.” Rin decides.
“What?! We just got home from the gym!” Isagi complains, slouching into the couch. He flings a hand at Rin, “And I just massaged your legs! You’re gonna overexert yourself all over again.”
“Chop chop.” Rin tells him, walking off to go put his running shoes on. “I feel fine. If you can’t keep up with me like this, what’s even the point, Lukewarm?”
He hears it when Isagi throws his head back against the wall, the thud and resounding sigh chasing him out of the room. And then the creak of footsteps when Isagi gets up to follow.
“You’re a beast.”
“Says the demon king himself.”