Chapter Text
<You free? Can I come over?>
<No. Busy.>
Bachira frowned, grimacing at his cellphone, trying to resist the urge to stomp his foot in irritation like an overgrown child.
Another rejection text. What was that, rejection text number 9? He supposed it was better than the long stretches of no-answer at all that was so common to Rin Itoshi… but not much better. He’d spent more than a week now trying to get a text back from Rin. Which wasn’t necessarily Rin’s fault, not all the time. Long distance hookup coordination could be a logistics nightmare.
Meet me in Barcelona. I’ll drive out to Dresden, it’s halfway between where our teams are practicing. If you take a one hour bus, I can find a four hour train to Amsterdam.
That Bachira could accept (even though he’d noticed he was always the one who had to travel farther, do the heavier lifting on the logistics planning and using frequent flier miles). After all, they were both international soccer stars. Sometimes their stellar paths simply didn’t align. Their light didn’t cross. Their ships passed in the night.
Bachira didn’t get to have the daylights fucked out of him, and Rin continued living in his world where nothing but soccer existed. And that was the price they paid, for living their dreams.
But it was the off-season.
Rin was on break. Bachira was on break.
They both happened to be living in the same city for the next month. Only a short thirty minute drive away. Forty five, if you left during rush hour. Why was Rin ignoring him?
He’d always told Bachira there was no one else other than him. Not out of loyalty, oh no, Bachira would never mistake what they have for something special, no, of course not, how could he? More out of the convenience of it all. Rin didn’t like getting close to other people. He didn’t like pursuing new sexual opportunities, because he was too busy thinking of his last game, the passes he could be improving, the shots he missed. Sex with Bachira was just…an easy physical release, with no strings attached. A tradition almost, one they had practiced since they first met in Blue Lock, all those years ago, when they were just teenagers. Bachira was just familiar. Easy.
To seek out someone new would be… to quote a lazy albino striker they both knew quite well, a “hassle.”
But then why was he ignoring Bachira right now? It wasn’t like Bachira needed this relationship to be anything more than it was. He would’ve tried it, of course. He was a romantic at heart. And he’d always been a little weak at the knees for Rin Itoshi - who wasn’t?
Tall, dark-haired, handsome. Aloof and cold, just inviting you to crack him wide open, and let the warm gooey core slide out into your palms, leaking through your fingers. But he’d respected Rin’s wishes. His interests. The walls he erected around himself. He wasn’t going to chase after Rin like some lost puppy, desperate for a master to turn around and love him. He’d been happy with what they had, no matter how meager and maybe pathetic.
But this? This wouldn’t stand.
Bachira was young, sexy, and famous. He was a goddamn soccer superstar! If he wanted to have sex, then goddamnit, he was going to have sex. He didn’t need a damn Itoshi to get it. And screw Rin Itoshi anyway.
If he wanted to be like that, then fine. As if Bachira didn’t have millions of other options to entertain him. He wasn’t the same lonely kid he used to be! There were millions of fish in the sea, and he was an ace fisherman!
Rin could come crawling to him if he wanted him. Maybe Bachira would even entertain the idea of letting him in by the time he did.
Twenty minutes later, Bachira was at the nearest club, ordering three shots right out of the gate. The cute bartender winked at him as he turned to make him his drink, but the soccer star was looking out at the crowd, searching for harder game. The bartender could be his type, after a few shots, but he could do better. Specifically, he could find someone available quicker, since he knew the bartender would have to finish his shift. Sexier, maybe (no offense, guy, but you’re just cute - I’m looking for someone smoking). A little more debonair perhaps, in a suit or a fancy coat and expensive hat.
Bachira scanned multiple potential hookups, but none of them really urged him to get off his barstool and make some introductions. So he’d sighed, turning back in his seat, intending on drinking his shots, and lowering his inhibitions enough to settle for someone at least halfway attractive.
And then he froze, golden eyes wide, as he saw who’d just slouched down beside him, back bent, head tilted against his hand.
It was none other than Ryusei Shidou.
An old “friend” from his Blue Lock days.
And boy, did he look different.
His hair was still blond with bright pink highlights, but it was loose now, no longer so pointy and wild. It was long, tied back into a flirty little ponytail that shook as he tilted his head, just barely brushing the base of his neck. He still had his trademark “antennas,” but they were longer now, not quite as raised as before, looking less like antennas, and more like…well, bangs. He had a series of sharp, silver claw earrings all up and down his right earlobe, and a nose ring.
His fingernails were painted black, and Bachira could see the hint of a new tattoo on his throat, trailing down his collarbone. It was some kind of scaly tail. Could be a snake, but based on what he knew about Shidou, he suspected it was a dragon, and its head probably fell somewhere over his heart.
It was a surprising new look, but not too surprising. Mostly just surprising because Bachira was surprised to see him in general. After just a millisecond of looking at him, the midfielder was already accepting his new appearance, even approving of it. He looked kind of sexy. As punk as he did in Blue Lock, but better, more adult, more mature, his tastes more solidified and thought out.
He was wearing a ripped black shirt, which was missing the sleeves, showing off those toned dark arm muscles. Tight black jeans, with several pieces artfully torn out, red patches stitched over some of the tears. He was also wearing platform boots, which knocked against the bar counter as he crossed his legs, smiling at Bachira with all of his teeth bared. Every time he moved, he jangled, as his shoulders and legs were decorated by silver chains, which were clipped to his collar, his belt loops, and even strategic holes in his clothes. That collar was pretty sexy too. Very simple, basically just a black dog collar. But it had a word stitched into it in pink.
"Bang."
Funny.
Bachira smiled at it briefly, before turning back to the bar.
“Hey, tiny dancer,” Shidou said. “What’s up?”
Bachira blinked, facing forward, pushing back a dark strand of hair behind his ear. “Uh…nothing much. Just trying to get destroyed.”
His shots were placed in front of him, as if right on queue. Bachira held up a finger, and Shidou watched, amused, as he downed all three, one right after the other.
“Damn. You don’t waste any time, huh? I fuck with it,” Shidou said. “What’s the occasion?”
“The occasion is the person I wish I was with thinks he’s too good for me,” Bachira complained, the alcohol already hitting his small, easily inebriated body. “So I’m here to get hammered. In more ways than one. Ha ha.”
He laughed weakly, but it was a sad sound, more tired than playful.
“Damn. Sorry, little fellow,” Shidou said, slamming his long, dark fingers on the counter. “Oi! Next three shots are on me.”
“Hmmmm, you make a compelling argument,” Bachira sighed. “Alright. Let’s play truth or dare.”
Shidou grinned, spinning in his chair to face Bachira head on, his hands on his seat.
“That’s it? You’re not gonna ask me what I’m doing here? Why I somehow happen to be in the same club as you, after years of not seeing each other once? We haven’t spoken since Blue Lock.”
“Listen, Shidou, darling…” Bachira babbled. “But we weren’t really friends or nothing. I threatened to beat you once, and that was the extent of our interactions.”
“Well… still worth an inquiring question or two. Like, have I been in jail for the last three years…how is my soccer career… have I ever killed anyone… what stores have I been banned from…”
“Ok, ok,” the younger man said, closing his eyes, putting both hands on his temple, as if trying to concoct the perfect question. “Truth or dare, but you pick truth, and it’s your turn for…ten questions. Question one: What are you doing in this city?”
“Modeling gig,” Shidou said promptly. “I’m a hot commodity nowadays. Internationally famous. Rebel badboy who can’t be tied down or tamed. I’m modeling for ViperRansom’s punk line. Meeting a really cool heavy metal band out here. Gonna do some shows, maybe, to promote it.”
“Hmmm. Ok. Next question. Why this club specifically?”
“There were two clubs closer to my hotel, but this one had a better dancefloor, and when I get high as a kite, I like to dance,” Shidou said promptly.
Bachira got uncomfortably close to him for a moment, eyes wide - or at least, it would be uncomfortable if it was anyone but Shidou. Since it was Shidou, he just stared back, his eyes just as wide.
“Are you high?” he asked.
“Not yet.”
“How high are you trying to get?”
“Launched into the stratosphere, so I never have to come back down.”
“That’s the ozone layer. You’d come back down.”
“Not alive.”
Bachira snorted.
He’d forgotten about Shidou’s dark sense of humor. Did he kinda like it right now, or was he just drunk enough to find everything hilarious?
“Do you want to die?” he asked.
The blond smiled. “Every day, but in a good way.”
“The fuck does that mean?”
“It means I’m not trying to die or anything, but I’m not scared of it either. I’m living. I’m as alive as I can be, because I’m always thinking about death. Not afraid it’s coming, just around every corner. More like… I know it’s there, and there’s nothing in life to be afraid of, not when death will always be worse. That nothing void, where there’s just space and inertia and entropy and boredom. God, I can’t let myself live in that void before it’s even my time.”
Shidou downed one of Bachira’s shots as they were plopped on the table. The younger soccer pro smiled, amused and a little touched by what he’d said (maybe it was the booze…definitely the booze).
“Why do I understand that so well?” Bachira mused.
“Because you get it. You’ve always gotten it the way no one else in Blue Lock ever did,” Shidou sighed, his dark nails clinking gently against his glass, his wild hair falling onto the counter, as he bowed his head slightly. “We might not have been best friends as teenagers, but we ran on the same fuel. We were playing for the love of the game. For the freedom and the creativity and the goddamn pizzazz. Wasn’t about winning or losing, not really, just being spectacular. They didn’t get it, man.”
“No. No, they didn’t.” Bachira nodded, more inebriated now, as two more shots filtered into his system. “Shit, they were such a bunch of squares.”
“I fucking know.”
“God, they were always so dark and gloomy.”
“I know, right? Like lighten the fuck up.”
“Like you can be the best in the world without constantly threatening to kill everyone who’s just as good as you.”
“Right?!”
“And you can beat your brother without constantly talking down to your own teammates.”
“Undoubtedly.”
“You don’t have to make fun of my monster just because you’re too immature to see your own.”
“Dude. Yes.”
“And you can definitely fuck me, and still have your own goddamn life, without totally ignoring me,” Bachira said sourly, making an adorable irritable face, grimacing at Shidou as he swayed dangerously on his stool.
Shidou grabbed his shoulder, holding him upright.
“Ah. I bet I know who we’re talking about.”
Bachira pouted at him. “What gave it away?”
“Beating your brother.”
“Ah. You would know,” Bachira said. “How is that other Itoshi doing? The one I assume you’re dating or married to or whatever.”
“It’s casual,” Shidou said. “We don’t get to see each other that often, and he knows what I’m like. He gets me. He’s ok with me philandering. Wandering. Cruising.”
His eyes lingered on the place where they were connected, his fingers on Bachira’s shoulder, then his neck. Bachira didn’t push him away, merely snorting.
“Are you cruising right now?”
“Maybe.”
“Are you cruising me?”
“Maybe a little. Depends on if it’s working.”
Bachira bit his lip, closing one eye, staring hard at the light wobbling overhead, flickering and showering dust on him.
“Maybe it’s working,” he said. “Maybe it’s not.”
Shidou didn’t seem too bothered by that, simply raising a new glass.
“My turn is over, by the way,” he said. “Truth or dare, your turn.”
“Dare.”
“Pah. Typical. I dare you…to kiss that guy over there.”
He pointed. Bachira followed his finger, and scoffed.
“Easy.”
He slid off his stool, wobbling a little, and marched over to the man, who was tall, dark, and handsome…and quite taken aback as Bachira seized his shirt collar, and yanked him down to his level, laying a big, wet, sloppy kiss on his mouth. Shidou whistled as he returned, the man looking after him, stunned, his hand over his mouth, eyes shining with wonder.
“Think you just gave that guy a rude gay awakening.”
“Always do. You should’ve seen how straight Isagi was when we met,” Bachira said. “Alright. Next?”
“Well… truth or dare.”
“Dare.”
“Ok… I dare you to sit on my lap.”
Bachira laughed. “Easy.”
Although it turned out to not be so easy.
Clambering into someone’s lap when they’re sitting on a bar stool is a delicate task when sober. For Bachira, decidedly not sober, it might as well have been sending a rocket into space. Still, he managed it, with a lot of help from Shidou, who had to carefully angle them both, so he was sitting back, and Bachira was leaned up against the counter, elbows on either side of him, digging into the polished wood. The smaller man’s legs wrapped around Shidou’s waist to secure his position. Shidou felt nice beneath him.
Inside of him…er. Inside of his legs, anyway.
“Damn, your thighs are nice,” Shidou said, giving them a squeeze.
“Hm. So are yours.”
“Lots of soccer players have killer thighs, but you… little dribbler… yours are almost as good as Sae’s.”
“Ha! Well, I bet your dick’s almost as nice as Rin’s,” Bachira said back.
He thought Shidou might be offended by the way he dug his fingernails in, cutting crescent-moon indents into his upper thighs. But as he looked Shidou deeply in the eyes, face to face, chest to chest, their thick, alcoholic-smelling breaths intermingling, he only saw an amused, playful heat.
“You wanna find out?” he asked.
Bachira bit his lip, trying not to giggle, his entire body shaking with the effort.
“You’re kidding.”
“I wouldn’t have dared you to sit in my lap if I was joking.”
“Why me?”
“Because you’re hot and gay and we know each other.”
“Not well.”
“You’re hot and gay, what else do I need to know about you?”
“I don’t know. My favorite color?”
“Yellow.”
“Damn. Too easy… we’re not done with truth or dare.”
“Ok. Truth or dare?” Shidou asked, fingers tapping a melody out across Bachira’s skin, leaning in, to breathe in the flesh of his throat as if it was a fine cognac.
“Hm…truth.”
“Do you think I’m sexy?”
Bachira scoffed.
“Yeah, but that’s irrelevant. I find everyone sexy.”
“But sexy as in, I admire his physical form sexy, or I’d let him bend me over this counter sexy?”
“Neither. Both. Don’t know.”
“Ok. I suppose that’s sort of the truth… ok. Truth or dare?”
“Truth.”
"Did Rin Itoshi break your heart?”
Bachira stared into his vivid pink eyes, suddenly feeling a little less free and buzzed, and a little more sad and lonely. It was like every other face in the room became blurry, hazy, fading into a somber, existentialist matte painting. The lights had changed colors, going from a cool blue to a warmer, more friendly yellow.
And Shidou became something otherworldly and beautiful in that glimmering dark.
Pink and yellow go well together, Bachira thought.
“He did,” the shorter player whispered. Putting his thumb on Shidou’s chin. Stroking his bottom lip. “But I’m used to it. It’s all he’s been doing since we were seventeen.”
“Lame. Or lukewarm, as he’d say,” Shidou said. “You’re too good for that loser who never seems to appreciate just how special other people are.”
He was nuzzling into Bachira’s palm like an overly enthusiastic Labrador.
Bachira had always liked dogs.
“Do you mean that, or are you just trying to get into my pants?”
“Well, I’m obviously trying to get in your pants, but… Rin’s real good at soccer, and he’s pretty sexy. But to have so many hot people thirsting after him, and not to capitalize on a single one of them…well. That is loser behavior. And you, I mean… I remember all the times you’ve sent the cold cunt an absolutely perfect pass. The kind that gives me shivers…only for him to not say a word. Never appreciate it. Never acknowledge all the opportunities you give him… and you were the top number 5 in Blue Lock, the only midfielder who made it that high…and you can’t get a damn text back? Bunch of bullshit.”
Shidou’s hands had found their way around Bachira’s waist.
And his words had found their way around his heart.
He was right.
What was he doing, moping around here, drinking his sorrow away?
“Ha! You’re right,” Bachira slurred. “Shit. I was number 5, wasn’t I?”
“Damn right.”
“And I’m hot shit right now. I’m hotter shit than I was as a teenager.”
“And that wasn’t a low bar to clear.”
Damn that Itoshi!
Shidou was saying all the right things to him.
Although he was starting to slur too (but that was also sort of endearing).
He squirmed in Shidou’s lap, enjoying the feeling of those strong fingers on his legs. Sat up, and twisted a little, his spine swaying like a snake being hypnotized by a flute.
“Alright… ok… my turn,” Bachira gurgled. “Truth or dare?”
“Er…dare.”
“Ok… I dare you to take me home with you."
Bachira was feeling better than he’d felt in a long time. Part of it was the alcohol, although he was no stranger to it. When Isagi had chosen a team far, far away from his team and from home, he’d ingested enough to lay an Irish sailor flat on his back. When his team had advanced past the first round of the World Cup, he’d drank enough alcohol to drown an elephant. And when his team played a hard-fought, hard-won game, and wanted to go out for a celebratory pint, he of course was always game.
But he’d never felt like this.
Then again, he’d never had Shidou Ryusei shove his tongue down his throat either.
And that felt pretty good.
When they crossed the threshold of Shidou’s hotel room, they might as well have been glued together at the mouth. Both were rather sloppy, stinking of alcohol and sweat, but in their drunken state, it felt positively graceful, maybe even beautiful. Shidou kissed the way he played soccer: unrepentant, unyielding, and with pure need and desire over technique. He slammed Bachira against the wall like he owed him money, hands cupped around his skinny neck.
Bachira was similarly intense, left arm hooked around him, hand clutching at his lower back, fingers twisting in his ragged black shirt, while the other hung on for dear life at his muscular shoulder. He hooked his right leg over Shidou’s hip, and the taller man grunted into his mouth, seizing the meat of his thigh, supporting him.
He tasted so good. He felt amazing too. So broad and muscular…and his skin was so beautiful.
“Thanks, babe,” Shidou grunted into his neck. Apparently he’d said the last part aloud. “Fuck, you’re hot too. Your skin is so soft. Smells like fucking oranges.”
The shorter man giggled as Shidou’s nose tickled his neck, as if he was a dog trying to memorize his scent. He was sucking at Bachira’s throat, practically gnawing at the flesh, trying to speedrun a hickey.
“T-truth or dare,” the midfielder gasped, breathless and ticklish, cringing slightly, involuntarily, as Shidou stimulated a sensitive area of his neck.
“Dare,” Shidou slurred.
“Hm…I dare you…to p-pick me up.”
Bachira immediately felt himself leaving the ground as Shidou seized his other leg and lifted him bodily off the ground, slamming him into the wall again, to keep him airborne. Shidou huffed hot air into his face. He felt so warm. Or perhaps that was Bachira.
His heart was pumping too loudly in his ears, all of his blood like molten lava in his veins. Not helped by all of the alcohol, set alight by its heat, further fuel to an uncontrollable fire.
“Hmm… your turn.”
“Truth or dare.”
“I-I dare you… to coooome with me…to the bedroom.”
Bachira giggled in his face, their foreheads brushing, his dark hair mixing with Shidou’s blond.
“You can just carry me, silly.”
Seven seconds later, they were in Shidou’s bedroom.
And two seconds after that, they were in the bed, squirming and laughing.
“Oh god, you’re so hot,” Shidou groaned on top of him.
“Why thank you,” Bachira said. “I’ve always thought so.”
“No, I mean, you’re hot, but you’re also hot,” the blond groaned. “Like you have a fever.”
“It’s the alcohol,” Bachira said.
“No, it’s yoooooooou,” Shidou sang, drawing out the o like he was singing Mariah Carey’s “All I Want For Christmas Is You.” “You’re a ray of pure sunshine.”
“No, I’m not,” Bachira said. “That’s lukewarm. I’m the fucking sun.”
Shidou’s hands pinned Bachira to the mattress by the hips as he began to rub against him, chuckling into his chest.
“You’re a star, just like me,” Shidou purred, grinding against his crotch. “Let’s go supernova together.”
Bachira giggled. “You’re lucky I’m drunk, ‘cause otherwise, I’d call you crin- eurgh!”
Shidou interrupted his playful comment by kissing him again.
And when he was done, Bachira was breathless, feeling woozy from lack of oxygen. Light-headed, but exhilarated. Speeding down a mountainside, with no hope for survival, but reveling in the sensation of being alive.
“Where do you keep your lube, Shidou?”
Then, he burst out laughing as the man yanked off his boot, and extracted a small bottle from the heel of the right platform.
<Not busy anymore. Come over.>
Rin glared at his phone, his brow furrowed, a deeper frown than usual on his stoic Itoshi face. He’d been waiting for a text back for maybe forty minutes now. So much time had passed that he was starting to think that Bachira was just going to show up spontaneously any second now. But it was odd not hearing anything at all from him. Not even a cute kitty face emoji or a mischievous pair of eyes.
He scowled at the wall, tapping his fingers irritably against the marble countertop. He wasn’t often in this particular condominium. He didn’t like it any more or any less than his other property in Paris. It was a nice place, something of a studio apartment, with only one main room, except it was far more expensive than the average studio apartment. He eyed the kitchen, stuffed with expensive and unused appliances, the pearly white cabinets, pristine, spotless from the monthly cleanings that occurred whether he was in the city or not. The sunken living room, with two steps down, an electric fireplace in the center, surrounded by a navy blue u-shaped couch. All windows. Beautiful city skyline, everywhere he looked. Skyscrapers filled with lights like stars. His apartment was cool. Reserved. Decorated sparsely. He took great comfort in being in it, away from roving eyes and flashing cameras and the spotlight constantly directed on an international soccer star.
And yet.
Tonight, he’d never felt more alone. He picked up his phone again, unable to resist the urge to check his texts. Who the hell did Bachira think he was? He’d been begging to see Rin for months, and now that they could finally see each other, here he was, ignoring Rin’s invitation to come over. Sure, Rin had said no first. Sure, Bachira had probably given up, and maybe gone to sleep. Sure, Bachira had his own life, and his own hobbies and interests, and maybe he just got carried away. But that didn’t negate the fact that Rin felt like a good fuck.
And the facts were facts. Bachira wasn’t here, and it didn’t look like he was going to be here soon.
Rin tossed his phone on the flat navy couch, irritated. It wasn’t that Bachira was someone special to him. He wouldn’t call this dating. Or even friends with benefits. It was more like… Bachira was someone he knew well enough. Someone he…trusted. More or less. Someone who had seen him grow up, from an angry, bitter teenager to a… less angry, reasonably embittered adult. Someone who had refused to take his many no’s for an answer. Who had made it very easy to fall into a physical relationship with, because he would do just about anything for his attention.
And the best thing of all: he was easily available. He always made himself available, that was.
Rin supposed he was being a little meaner than he should be, and it mostly had to do with the fact that Bachira wasn’t answering his texts.
Bachira wasn’t so bad. He wasn’t just some warm body to Rin. He’d known him for a very long time; that didn’t mean nothing.
He was a talented soccer player. Rin respected his intense dribbling abilities and his on-field intelligence. He had received many brilliant passes from Bachira, from their teen years to their early club years, back when they played together on Re Al. He trusted Bachira on the field, and knew that if he needed a tight, highly technical pass, and Bachira wasn’t being held back by other idiotic members of their team or by particularly powerful enemies… then he could be relied upon.
And Rin…tolerated his annoying personality. Once he got used to it. Once he realized it was just a smokescreen for…
Rin’s scowl loosened, if only very slightly, and imperceptibly to the average eagle-eyed human observer.
Bachira was okay. He was an okay guy. Rin sort of…didn’t mind when he was around.
But why wasn’t he around?
Rin seized his phone, once again driven by an impulse to send a mean text, something a little sharper, to perhaps wake the little blond-highlights idiot up. But he had a message. It wasn’t from Bachira, but it was from someone he was much less conflicted about. Rin only had Shidou’s number because the prick had stolen his phone right out of his hand at a party, and punched it in, and Rin had never bothered to delete it. He had, however, changed the name from “The Explosion Demon,” to something more fitting: Little Dick Demon.
He was intending on deleting the conversation immediately, because who gave a shit what Shidou was texting him about.
But the format made him pause. It was a video attachment. Why on earth was Shidou sending him a video attachment? It looked extremely dark, but there was something light inside of it… what was that? Rin sighed, and decided that he might as well see what the moron had sent him, if only because he was incredibly bored, and he was still waiting on Bachira, and had nothing else planned, not after his business meeting went faster than he’d been expecting.
He clicked on the video. And regretted it as soon as the volume popped on.
Shidou lived by only two rules in life.
One: Chase after the things you want, even if you have to trample everything, living or dead, that gets in your way.
And two: when life gives you unusual opportunities, use them to the fullest.
And tonight, he’d followed both rules to get here.
And it was quite a pleasurable place to be.
Bachira was fun. He was sweet, both inside and outside of the bedroom, energetic and silly and endearing. Squirming in Shidou’s lap, just the right way, playful and sensual at the same time, wriggling against his cock as if he didn't mean to (but obviously he did, the little slut). Pulling his dick against his pretty pink lips, and smiling, his cute little kitten tongue darting out to lick at the slit. Trying to kiss every inch of skin he could find, but laughing instead, giggling at nothing, just overwhelmed by alcohol and affection. Nuzzling his ball sack, as if he liked what was probably a serviceable smell at best (Shidou was quite well groomed, thank you very much, but ball sacks weren't designed to smell like roses). He nibbled at Shidou’s nipples, and rubbed his ass against his thigh like a cat in heat. Even made noises like a little kitty. Purring and humming and shit.
(Shidou had always liked cats.)
And god it was all so…hot.
Maybe someone else might’ve found it annoying, how clingy and distracted Bachira was in bed. Constantly changing his attention and focus. Unable to linger anywhere for long.
But Shidou liked it.
He liked it a lot.
It might feel sloppy, but there was something attractive about wanton, sloppy sex. Like your partner needed you so badly, they didn't even know where to start.
And he liked Bachira’s body too.
Skinny, but muscular. A wiry little minx. Stronger than he looked. Pretty face, his nose as cute as a button, his round little cheeks rosy and easy to pinch. Lovely hair, longer than it was in Blue Lock, formerly tied into a ponytail that swung near his neck, but he’d pulled it out while they were kissing. Wonderful volume. Felt nice and heavy in his hands, even when loose.
Very flexible limbs too.
Bachira proved that when Shidou had first crawled on top of him, both of them as naked as the day they were born. He pulled his legs up to Shidou’s shoulders easily, smirking at how wide Shidou’s eyes went.
“O-Oh fuck,” Shidou slurred at the time. “Shit. That's hot.”
"I do yoga," Bachira said with a giggle.
He twisted beneath him, spine wiggling from side to side, hips shifting, letting out an exaggerated sigh. His hole was slick and leaking, pretty and pink, just like him, all dainty and flushed. All of him was pretty, though, like a little porcelain doll, his hair fanning out beneath him, the blond shining like a halo. So tiny and cute like a stuffed bumblebee. Shidou liked the feeling of being so much bigger than his partner. He could grab Bachira's hand, and completely cover it with his own. When he lay on top of him, he completely covered him too, like a thick, warm blanket. Although he knew Bachira was feisty, stronger than he looked, and not completely defenseless, it gave him a heady rush of confidence, self-satisfaction, to feel like he was in charge. Like he was the predator, and Bachira was the prey.
“How the fuck did Rin not drop everything to fuck this?” Shidou groaned as he pushed inside of Bachira’s asshole, his rhetorical question cut off by a low, unintelligible curse. The young man was boiling inside, just as he thought he would be. He also might not have prepped him enough; he could barely move. It felt like his dick was a lump of coal, and Bachira’s ass was turning it into a diamond.
But no matter. Bachira didn't seem to mind; in fact, he was clutching Shidou's back in excitement, his nails digging lines into his skin. Shidou’s mama didn’t raise a quitter. She didn’t raise him at all, in fact. She’d been the quitter, running out on him before his third birthday. But hey. Who cares about that?
Not Shidou, world famous soccer star and millionaire and total stud, currently fucking a hot, funny, equally as wealthy and talented brunet. A hot, funny, wealthy, talented brunet who sounded so fucking adorable underneath him. Squealing and gasping, as Shidou pushed in much deeper in this position than he ever would’ve in missionary.
(Bachira really was a beautiful butterfly, wasn’t he? Now it was time for Shidou to rip off his wings.)
He was noisy. Much noisier than Shidou’s normal partners. Than Sae, tight-lipped and as stoic as someone getting fucked up the ass could be. Shidou liked that too. Liked knowing Bachira was having the time of his life. Every time Shidou pressed in deep, he would gasp. He would let out adorable little whines of pleasure when Shidou hit his prostate head-on, something he was trying to do with consistency, but it was hard, when you were still very much drunk.
Bachira even whimpered once, and fuck, if that sound didn’t make him want to cum instantly. But he thought about this one time the ball was stolen from him by a midfielder from Britain, and it kept him from cumming right then and there.
“Do I feel good?” Bachira panted.
“You feel better than anything I’ve ever felt, baby.”
(Sorry, Sae, I don’t mean it, I’m just caught up in the moment… you’re at least equivalent.)
“Fuck Rin, right?”
“Yeah. Fuck Rin. I would’ve dropped my fucking laptop. My goddamn coffee. My fucking agent… to fuck you the second you texted me. I would’ve been in a fucking cab, on a fucking plane, on a damn scooter…anything it took…to get…to…this.”
Every word was punctuated by a thrust. And every thrust was interrupted by a new sound.
First a tight gasp. Then a wounded sigh. Then music to his ears.
An actual scream. Well. Not quite a scream. More like an elongated yelp.
But in Shidou’s intoxicated mind, it might as well have been a slasher movie final girl scream. And Bachira came thirty seconds later. All over his chest.
Then, before he even had time to really appreciate what had happened, the assertive little attacking midfielder had shoved him off of him, pushing him back, into his pillows. He blinked, not sure what was happening, but then his eyes had widened, as round as pennies, when Bachira crawled towards him, and bent down to lick his own ejaculate off of him. Lapping it right off his abs without hesitation, as if he enjoyed the taste of his own semen.
God, that was so hot. Degenerate. Rin really was missing out. Bachira was a little freak. The kind of freak that Shidou could spend more than just one night with, even. But he hadn’t given it any more thought than that. He’d been too busy. Fucking Bachira some more had taken precedence.
Now, penetrating him on his back had been fun. But now it seemed Bachira wanted to take charge. Shidou leaned back against the headboard, expecting Bachira to crawl in his lap, put his hands on his shoulders, and ride him like an Olympic gold medalist equestrian. But Bachira had surprised him (and there was nothing Shidou loved more than surprises).
He crawled up to Shidou, but rather than putting his legs on either side of him, he squeezed between his legs. Then, he turned around, presenting his muscular bottom to Shidou’s wide eyes. Bending forward a little, and arching his back, his strong back muscles flexing under his skin. He looked back slyly. Adorably.
His pale skin was all red and flushed. His cute, rosy, still drunk face was all round and soft and mischievous, like a trickster in a children’s storybook. His long dark hair was cascading down his neck, the blond highlights spread out across his spine.
“Nice view?” he teased.
Shidou couldn’t even answer him, and that was truly an accomplishment. Ryusei Shidou, at a loss for words. He was shocked into silence by the vision of Bachira in front of him. So slender and skinny and delicate, but so fucking strong at the same time. Flawless skin. Flawless muscles. The body of a top athlete, best in the world. Yet still vulnerable. Breakable.
(I'm going to shatter you into a million pieces, so I can put you back together again.)
He seized his hips, and pulled Bachira down, onto his lap and his prick, pushing himself inside of his sweltering, tight entrance without so much as a warning. The smaller man gasped, but didn’t protested, and then they were off to the races.
Shidou loved this position. It wasn't often he got a partner who was willing to do the old reverse cowgirl. Bachira did seem like the cowgirl sort, however. And he was good at it.
Good at impaling himself on Shidou's cock. Leaning back into him, hips bucking, spine arching with every rushed movement. Bucking against him like a wild horse, even though Shidou often slipped out of him by accident. But it was the thought that counted, and the striker was happy to re-direct his cock where it needed to be, so Bachira could keep splitting his lovely ass on his length. He loved the visual of this position too. The feeling of power and control. The satisfaction of seeing every part of the beautiful body he was inhabiting for the night.
The powerful, rounded thighs. The dense, athletic ass, bulging with muscle, not an ounce of fat. The gentle incline of his waist, and the hard planes of his abs. The place where they were connected. His own cock, penetrating the most vulnerable point of Bachira's body, making him see the stars and the moon and the universe above and below.
And the way he arched his back!
It was beautiful. Ethereal. Transcendent. Insert other pretentious art words, that all really just boiled down to, Shidou was so horny that he felt like only gods could understand the depths of his need, as carnal and mortal as they were.
Bachira looked so perfect like this. So angelic. Magnanimous. Even kind. So kind of him, to offer his body to the scrutiny of gods. It was enough to drive any penis owner insane. And this one in particular, because he loved strong thighs.
He loved a nicely shaped ass. Loved grabbing it with his long fingers. Loved feeling up that small waist of his, and using it to pull Bachira’s ass back faster, harder, allowing him to penetrate him even deeper than before. After that, he couldn’t resist. He sat up, his dick slipping out of the smaller man. Bachira moaned in disappointment, but his voice became muffled, as Shidou immediately shoved him forward, onto all fours, his face falling into the sheets.
And then there were no complaints coming out of Bachira’s mouth. Only groans of breathless pleasure.
As Shidou hammered into him again, leaning his full weight into him, giving him all of his force and power. Now he was fucking Bachira doggy style, and gods above. He did love doggy. Might be his favorite position. All variations of cowgirl were nice, but this really was the classic. Bachira looked good like this too. So good that Shidou had an idea. A wonderful idea, that only his drunken mind would entertain.
He hadn’t bothered to throw his pants off the bed. They were halfway under his pillow, halfway on the floor. He paused for a second, while still pressed inside of Bachira’s tight ass, and then he reached out for his phone, stuck in his left pocket, quick as a flash. He opened up the camera app, and hit record. Yes, that was a nice view. Good angle. The room was dimly lit, so it was a little fuzzy, but you could see just enough of Bachira's white skin to understand what you were seeing. Hear the slap slap slap of their skin, smacking together, peeling and unpeeling, slick and sticky and wet with sweat and semen.
“Oh fuck, you feel so good around me!" Shidou groaned, struggling to hold his phone steady as Bachira's insides jolted around him, the younger man clearly not expecting him to hit his prostate head on again. "Shit, I wanna put a baby in you so bad-”
Bachira spluttered with laughter, unable to stop himself, his shoulders shaking with mirth. The blond striker shook, eyes closing rapidly, trying not to cum again, as Bachira's insides tightened with amusement, vibrating from his giggles.
"You've gotta be kidding me - you're still on that?"
"Of course!" Shidou said promptly. "I'd rather die than outgrow my breeding kink!"
Bachira couldn't stop laughing. He stopped moving, no longer bearing backwards, impaling himself on Shidou’s dick. His arms shook with the strain of holding himself up off the bed. He turned his head, still giggling, to smirk at Shidou... only for his mouth to drop open with slight indignation.
“Shidou! How long have you been filming me?”
He squealed in delight as the blond striker slapped his left ass cheek with one hand, his right hand shaking with the phone he was currently holding up.
“How could I not?” Shidou said with a grin.
“Not cool,” Bachira said now, although he didn’t sound that angry, more amused. “You should always ask before filming.”
“But you’re into it, right?” Shidou said.
A filthy, guilty smile confirmed for him that yes, Bachira was.
“Yeah you are, you little freak,” the blond striker crowed, slapping his ass again, just to feel him jolt around his cock. “You’re so much fun, you know that, Bachira?”
“Hm…I don’t know if I’m that fun.”
“Ok, ok, let’s do it again…truth or dare,” Shidou said.
Bachira snorted, clearly amused by the fact that Shidou was inside of him, and still wanted to play games. “Ok…dare.”
“I dare you…to let me film you for just twenty seconds. Just twenty seconds, of whatever I want, and then I turn it off. And you have my word that it will never ever leave my phone. It’ll just be for me. For private times. When I’m feeling twink-less and lonely.”
“I’m not a twink.”
“Says the world’s cutest twink.”
“Oh, shut up.”
But Bachira, looking back at him, seemed amenable to his suggestion.
“Hm…hm. Ok. Fine. I accept your dare.”
Within two seconds of him saying that, Bachira was face down again, his voice muffled by sheets.
And Shidou was fucking him again. Pulling him up by the hips, and brutally slamming his cock in, as hard as he could. Judging by the muffled cries and the wanton way Bachira braced himself against the bed, so that Shidou could get in deeper, the little dancing bee must’ve liked it a lot. And then Shidou began recording.
Taking a nice, slightly shaky video of Bachira’s ass, jiggling with every thrust. His cute little cock, dangling and shaking with every blow. But even a beast as unstoppable and extraordinary as Shidou couldn’t go on forever. He had his limit, and this was it. Filming this sexy little soccer friend of his. Knowing he’d have this video forever. All for him. No one else. It had been too much, and besides.
Besides, this was perfect. Just as he felt his peak approaching, again, Shidou let go of his left hip and reached down. He seized Bachira’s cock just a little too tightly in his strong fingers. The smaller soccer player let out a whimper of pleasure and pain. He didn’t seem to mind how tightly Shidou was holding him, though, bucking his hips slightly, as if trying to fuck into Shidou’s hand.
Well, Shidou was nothing, if not accommodating (a true gentleman). He began to jerk Bachira off in tandem with his thrusts.
Hard. Fast. Rough. And maybe a little off rhythm. Shidou had never been good at maintaining a good rhythm. It was something the calm and coldly controlled Sae often complained about when they fucked.
But Bachira didn’t seem to mind. He didn’t mind at all. As Shidou finished inside of him, Bachira let out one last trailing cry, high-pitched and sweet.
And then his asshole, not quite as tight as it was at the beginning of the night, squeezed around him, overstimulating and almost painful. Shidou had gasped, overwhelmed by the sensation, feeling as if the shorter man was milking his cock with that fine midfielder ass of his. And then he’d pulled out. And he’d made sure to get an excellent shot of Bachira’s perfect, abused, gaping hole.
Puffy and red and swollen from the pounding it had just taken. Leaking with his fluid.
It was going into Shidou’s vault, and never coming out. He was ready to never share it with another soul. To take it to his grave (literally, he wanted to be buried with his phone, and all of its data).
But Bachira had sighed, falling over and collapsing on the bed, his pretty ass still leaking. Shidou had gotten off him, falling down next to him. They’d lay there, on their sides, facing each other like two girls at a slumber party, talking about boys they liked, their elbows digging into the sheets, heads balanced against their hands.
“Hey, Shidou?”
“Yeah?”
“Truth or dare?”
“Hm… dare.”
“I dare you to send that video to Rin. Right now.”
No hesitation. That sounded like an amazing idea to Shidou right now. A hilarious idea. He sent it without a single blink, then tossed his phone on the floor, not caring right now if Rin was awake and checking his texts.
“Hm…done, my liege. Now it’s my turn again…truth or dare.”
“Truth.”
“Would you have ever considered fucking me if Rin hadn’t rejected you first?”
Bachira sighed, turning over, on his back, his arms flopping back, loose and relaxed, no more tension in his shoulders anymore.
“Tonight? No. But some other night, if Rin wasn’t in the same city for once? Maybe. You would’ve had to try harder, though.”
“I still would’ve gotten you, I bet.”
“I’m sure. You’re very determined.”
“Thank you for noticing.”
“It’s an admirable quality.”
“Thank you. You have it too, you know. You have to, right? To put up with an Itoshi?”
Bachira laughed. They both fell onto their backs, so they were now laying side by side, as if staring up at the starry sky and not just the hideous popcorn ceiling.
“Hey… Shidou…”
“Yeah?”
“Truth or dare?”
“Truth.”
“Do you think Rin will ever love me the way I love him?”
Shidou froze. Tears welled in his eyes almost immediately. He was that kind of person. His emotions often overwhelmed him. He was a creature of instinct and impulse. His gut reactions dictated the pace of his life, and its trajectory. Being drunk didn't help, either. It made him hurt a little more than usual. Made him empathize more than ever with the young, beautiful man beside him. He could hear the sadness in Bachira’s voice. The pain he’d been hiding, with goofy laughter and silly jokes and affectionate cuddling.
He was hurt that Rin had taken so long to reply to him. That he’d then blown him off, when they hadn’t seen each other in ages. That he only ever saw Rin when the younger Itoshi wanted to fuck him. And that it felt like Rin only fucked him because he was easy to fuck.
Not because he was easy to love. To hold in your arms, and refuse to let go. No, it was because he was a convenient and easily accessed hole that Rin didn’t need to exert any effort to have. Something he took for granted. Something he could use just whenever he felt like it. At his own convenience.
“I don’t know, highlights,” Shidou said, his voice shaking, because he was still too drunk to worry about how he sounded to the other man. “But I do know… that you’re real fucking cool. And if someone like you loved me… I’d know I was the luckiest fucker in the world. But Rin doesn’t realize it, because he’s a goddamn idiot. I’ve always said this, remember, back in Blue Lock? He could never recognize how good other people are. He couldn’t ever acknowledge any of the great people around him, whether he was playing with them, or against them. He couldn’t…and still can’t see how lucky he is to have a guy like you. A wonderful guy like you. Sexy and strong and funny…and an amazing ass.”
He reached out, and wormed his hand under the younger man, lightly honking his right cheek. Bachira laughed, and then he laughed, and they laughed for far too long, at the stupid joke. It felt good to laugh though. Laugh like it was hysterical. Laugh like it was the end of the world, and they lay in the ruins of a great civilization, side by side, reminiscing about the glory of the old days as they succumbed to their mortality.
“Hey, Shidou…truth or dare.”
“I’m tired, Bachira, I don’t know…”
“Pick dare, ok. Just once more, alright?”
“Ok…dare.”
Bachira suddenly rolled over so that he was on top of Shidou again. They both stared at one another in the dim lighting. Completely naked. Covered in bruises. Exposed in every way a person could be exposed.
“I dare you to kiss me.”
Shidou smiled, all teeth. “That’s easy. Get down here, highlights.”
Bachira leaned down, and Shidou craned his neck upwards. When they kissed this time, it was short and sweet and simple. And it lasted just a split second.
Before Bachira collapsed with a groan, right on top of Shidou, completely passed out and spent. Shidou fell asleep with him, just as exhausted, his arms around his back.
Rin stopped the video after maybe seven agonizing, painfully angry seconds. He would’ve stopped it sooner, but he was transfixed. Infuriated beyond words. Enraged beyond belief. It had almost felt good. Like the good old days of Blue Lock, when he was so furious with everything, with Sae, the world, himself for not being stronger. Nostalgic, maybe. And in that lovely nostalgia, something Bachira had taught Rin about himself had sprung to life in his chest. It took hold of him, just like it sometimes did during a match. He didn’t even think about it.
He hurled his phone at the wall. And took a perverse pleasure in hearing it shatter, as it hit the plaster first, and then slammed into the tile below.