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There’s something tightly wound up like a spring about Kunigami Rensuke, and about the way he plays football. Something ready to explode at any moment.
He’s not really hard and not really not hard against where Shidou is sitting on him, half-scowling. Wound up, ready to blow; and then, well, they might wrestle or they might fistfight or they might fuck or he might leave, slamming the door behind him. It’s a roulette wheel that Shidou is poking at, at the end.
Or a bear.
Kunigami is quite handsome, but he thought that before—before, still a bit foggy around the edges, because he was so boring and Shidou is bored with a majority of the people that exist on this earth—too. Still, it’s different now; if only for the grim look and the dark circles and the wild hair. If only for the tight flex of muscle, ready to blow.
Tick, tick, boom.
Shidou frames his face in his hand. Kunigami tenses. Shidou wonders if Kunigami wonders about what would happen if anyone were to walk in on them. This is still Blue Lock, after all.
“You know,” he says, conversational, like there’s not Schrödinger’s boner poking him. “Past the initial annoyance of you cockblocking me on the pitch, I’m actually really happy you’re back!”
Kunigami grits his teeth. Shidou licks his lips, slow and purposeful.
“You’re beautiful,” he continues, brushing his thumbs along Kunigami’s cheekbones, watches how Kunigami’s Adam’s apple bobs. “And you’ve finally discarded being a fucking cuck, as well, haven’t you? Yay!”
Tick, tick, boom.
Kunigami slams them around with all that muscle—pulling a delighted yelp from Shidou’s mouth—hand curling around Shidou’s throat, teeth knocking to Shidou’s, and his lips and hands are searing, boiling hot. It manages to be a surprise, somehow.