Work Text:
It starts in their second year of high school. Just little touches, casual pats on the back and shoulder, smiles and eye contact. And this would all be perfectly normal, between regular teammates, except it’s Sena. And Jyuumonji.
At first, Sena thinks he’s just imagining things, the way he does sometimes (okay, a lot of the time). After all, he’s managed to come to terms with the fact that he: a) likes guys, and b) likes big guys. His obsession with Shin all through his first year wasn’t just about American football, it seems. So it’s very possible that he’s making too big a deal out of Jyuumonji no longer being an asshole to him.
When he brings it up with Monta, Monta just scratches his head and says something along the lines of “maybe he’s thinking up ways to kill you and dump the body where you’ll never ever be found”. Sena has nightmares that night.
What freaks him out even more than the nightmares, though, is that he still wakes up with a hard-on (like every other morning) and a newfound fear that he actually gets turned on by pain, albeit imaginary pain.
But when he gets knocked off his feet in practice that afternoon, his back slamming against the turf and his breath rushing out of him until his lungs are burning, he’s relieved by the fact that he’s not turned on at all. Also, ow.
“Shit!” Jyuumonji says, and picks him up. Sena can feel his feet dangling in the air for a second before they touch the ground again. “Shit, I’m sorry. I thought you’d dodge that, I didn’t mean to hit you.”
“It’s okay, was my fault,” Sena wheezes, trying to smile but probably making some horrible expression instead, judging by the wince on Jyuumonji’s face. He feels bad because it really was his fault, since he wasn’t looking where he should’ve been (Jyuumonji’s body as a whole) and was looking somewhere else (a rather specific part of Jyuumonji’s body, actually).
“Well... be careful,” Jyuumonji says, and ruffles his hair.
Sena can’t hold back a whimper at the touch of Jyuumonji’s hand, the brief caress of rough fingertips against his scalp, and he’s grateful that he has enough bruises on his body to justify that extremely embarrassing sound. Monta gives him a squinty-eyed look, which could mean anything from “I know what you’re thinking about and you are sick” to “I need a banana, and not in a homoerotic way”. Sena smiles weakly back at him.
After practice, Jyuumonji says a quick goodbye to Kuroki and Toganou before picking up Sena’s bag and tossing it over his shoulder with his own. “Ready to go?” he asks casually, as if he does this every day.
“Um,” Sena says. Discreetly, he pinches himself; this is how fantasies #1 to #7 start, and he just needs to double-check that he’s actually awake. “Yes? I guess so.”
Jyuumonji walks him home, and along the way they talk about American football and homework. Not surprisingly, Jyuumonji knows more about both than Sena.
As they get close to Sena’s house, he says, “You didn’t have to do this, you know. It really was my fault that I got hit.”
Jyuumonji winces again like he did earlier, as if remembering the crunch when his body collided with Sena’s, but then he shakes his head. “One has nothing to do with the other. But I am sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Sena insists, and wishes he could explain why he was distracted enough to get hit in the first place without sounding like a complete pervert.
They arrive at Sena’s house much sooner than he wants to, and he puts out his hand to take back his bag. Instead of passing it to him, Jyuumonji slides an arm around Sena’s ribs and pulls him in close, lowering his head so that his cheek brushes against Sena’s.
Sena freezes.
After a long, silent moment, in which Sena does an excellent imitation of a statue, Jyuumonji begins to pull away. This is when Sena finally unfreezes, and wraps both arms around Jyuumonji’s waist, probably a bit too tightly and desperately. He inhales deeply, thinking that if this is the only time this will ever happen, he wants to remember how it feels and smells and yes, tastes (Jyuumonji jumps a little when Sena’s tongue sneaks out and licks his neck, quick and greedy).
Eventually, Jyuumonji straightens up, although he keeps his arm wrapped around Sena. “Well, that went better than I expected.”
Sena refuses to look up, because he knows that his entire face is flaming quite unattractively at the moment. “That was r-really nice. Maybe we could do it again tomorrow?” he mumbles, half-hoping that Jyuumonji doesn’t hear in case this really is a one-time thing.
Jyuumonji does hear, though, and he laughs softly. “Okay, tomorrow.” He hands Sena his bag, ruffles his hair, and walks away, while Sena actually manages to catch the whimper this time before it escapes his throat.
So he wasn’t imagining things after all, and Monta was dead wrong, as usual.
He walks into the house and up to his bedroom without feeling a single step, the slightly salty taste of Jyuumonji’s skin still on his tongue.
He’s definitely not going to have nightmares tonight.