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"What's your problem with me?” Kanji demands. “Everyone else has been cool, or at least tried to be, since they found out, but you... Do I disgust you that much?"
Yosuke raises and lowers a shoulder, not meeting his eyes. “I just... I can't stop thinking about it."
"Tch. Typical."
The little punk lifts his chin in defiance. “Easy for you to act all high and mighty,” he says. “But if it was one of us, Narukami or me, tell me you wouldn’t be feeling the exact same way. That it’d never occur to you that we might, you know –”
“What are you sayin’, Senpai?” The honorific just slips out, and Kanji tries not to wince. Great. Now he sounds like a girl in a manga, the one who keeps getting brushed off by the dumb upperclassman she likes. He glowers down at Yosuke, more pissed than ever.
Yosuke steps back, but his expression hardens. He lowers his head, his shoulders loose like he’s getting ready to take a swing. And he does. “You – you could be thinking dirty stuff about us!” he spits, and he might as well have punched Kanji in the gut, the accusing way he says it. “What am I supposed to do with that? You expect me to just ignore it?”
“What I think is none of your damn business,” Kanji snaps. “Or is it what you said on the camping trip, and you’re scared I’m gonna take it further than that?” He steps forward, cornering Yosuke, trapping him against the wall. “You wanna know if you’re safe around me?”
Yosuke narrows his eyes. “If you’d been in my place, tell me you wouldn’t have wondered.”
Kanji scowls down at him. “If I did, I woulda kept it to myself.” A thought strikes him, and he says, “You know, I bet you’d get pissed if one of the girls said that shit about you, and you’ve done plenty to make them nervous.” Yosuke goes dull red to the tips of his ears, like at least he has the decency to be ashamed of himself. “They’ve found a way to trust you, but you… Have I ever even as looked at you wrong, Senpai?” His voice comes out too raw, too needy, like another version of himself. Won’t someone, anyone, please… No, he can’t be thinkin’ like that, not now. He slams his palm into the wall by Yosuke’s head, making him flinch, and braces himself up, using the leverage to loom over him. “If I like guys, that means I can’t control myself, right? If you believe that, then tell me something.” He leans in even closer, partly to watch Yosuke squirm, mostly because if he tries to say this out loud, he’s not sure he’ll get all the way through it. “Just what’d you think I was gonna do, huh?” He hates the way he sounds, all low and insinuating. “Did you think I’d wait til you were asleep and try to cop a feel? That –” He falters, just once. “That I’m so hungry for cock I’d do things to you when I didn’t think you could stop me?”
Yosuke’s red-faced and panting like he just ran a mile, but still, he scoffs, smirking up into Kanji’s face. “Oh please, like I’d ever be able to stop you if you wanted it.” His eyes are blazing, challenging. “If I really thought that way, I’d be taking a risk being alone with you right now.”
“But you wouldn’t think a thing like that, is that what you’re sayin’? You telling me you ain’t scared?”
He expects more posturing, more stubborn crap, but Yosuke’s voice comes out strange, all soft and breathy. “If I was, what would you do about it?”
Suddenly, Kanji feels tired, all the way down to his bones. Maybe a little sick, too. “Forget it.” He drags a hand over his eyes, unable to look at Yosuke anymore. He doesn’t want to see whatever naked thing is in his face. Whatever this is, he wants nothing to do with it. “Who gives a fuck what you think, anyway.” He shoves Yosuke hard, sending him staggering, and heads for the door.
Yosuke leans back against the wall, breathing hard. Fuck! His knees are weak, and he’s shaking. His heart feels like it’s in his throat. “Fuck!” He squeezes his eyes shut. How close did he just come to getting caught? One step closer and Kanji would’ve felt it for sure. If he’d pinned Yosuke against the wall, determined to teach him a lesson…
He can’t take this much longer.
The second the door slams shut, Yosuke’s pants and boxers are down around his knees, freeing his flushed, full, straining cock. He moans and pulses his hips up against the empty air, needing friction, needing it now. It isn’t enough when he takes himself in hand, but fuck, it’s something. He gasps when he touches his heated skin. His cock feels like it doesn’t even belong to him, unruly and strange and hideously alive. When his fingers wrap around the head, it’s already slippery.
“Yeah,” he whispers as he starts to stroke himself. “Ohhh yeah…”
He tries not to focus on anything besides the welcome relief of his hand sliding down his shaft, but every time he closes his eyes, he pictures Kanji slamming him against the wall, twisting his arms behind his back, bringing his knee up, forcing his legs open… He lets out a little whine, thrusting up as his hand closes roughly over him. With his other hand, he jerks his head back, his fingers tangled in his hair, and god, does that feel good. He does it again, making his back arch, and then, on impulse, forces his fingers into his mouth. That’s good, too, maybe too good, and he hums around them, getting them all wet. All the time, he’s refusing to admit to himself that he could be thinking of sucking something else. He likes the way it feels, that’s all. It doesn’t have to mean anything.
And it doesn’t mean anything when he lets his hand drop from his mouth and slips it under his shirt, pinching and pulling his nipples, groping his own pecs, touching himself the way someone else might touch him. It doesn’t mean anything when he knocks his thighs apart, and the breathless tension inside him pulls tighter and tighter. It doesn’t matter that his fingers maybe brush his hole before he draws his hand away.
What matters is that Yosuke’s always been good at lying to himself.
He groans, pumping his cock harder and faster, not caring when he feels himself start to chafe. He’ll be sore after this, but that’s fine, he deserves it. He almost wants it to hurt. He’s moving recklessly, snapping his hips, fucking his fist with everything he’s got. His head rocks back, connecting with the wall, but the pain barely registers. It’s nothing to him, nothing compared to the slap-slap-slap of his hand on his dick, the slick of pre against his palm, the fevered urgency of his need. He’s reduced to mindless moaning, his head lolling on his neck, spit overflowing his lips, his breathing rough and wet and loud.
He grips himself hard around the base, hissing through his teeth. Shut up… just shut up! He stuffs the tail end of his shirt into his mouth, smothering the slutty, desperate noises issuing from him. A few sounds still make it through the cloth, struggling little choked-off whines. Pathetic.
Do I disgust you that much? Kanji’s words come back to him, and a harsh bawl of laughter gets caught in the makeshift gag. It’s all a bad joke. Like anything in the world could disgust Yosuke as much as he disgusts himself.
Scumbag. It’s his own voice, hard and harsh with disdain. His shadow self. No wonder you like such freaky shit. It's probably all you're good for.
Stop it… stop… But even as he thinks it, his resistance is crumbling. The pressure in his cock and balls is becoming unbearable, and he feels the pull of a familiar fantasy. He doesn’t want it, he doesn’t, he doesn’t…
But he needs to come. And if he doesn’t take care of it soon, that’ll be all he can think about.
Yosuke takes a struggling breath and slows the motion of his hand. His strokes get longer, more deliberate. With his other hand, he touches himself all over, his thighs and his chest and his ass, rough and careless, hungry and claiming, like someone groping at him in the dark. He moans into the gag, but his protests don’t mean anything now.
Closing his eyes, he gives himself over.
He’s half asleep when something changes in the tent. A rustling behind him, something moving. He hears the whine of the zipper on his sleeping bag as it’s pulled down, and a rush of cool night air raises goosebumps on his bare arms and the skin of his back where his shirt’s started to ride up. He tenses, hazy and confused. Someone’s getting into his sleeping bag with him. Someone big and warm and solid, someone who smells like cologne, old leather, and clean, honest sweat. They’re familiar, masculine smells, and Yosuke lowers his guard a little, despite himself. He doesn’t resist as he’s pulled back against a broad, muscular chest, too heavy and drowsy to move much, and anyway, it feels kinda nice. Strong arms wrap around him from behind, and the intruder shifts closer, letting out a low rumble of satisfaction as he settles in. Yosuke recognizes Kanji’s voice, and that makes him relax even more. Not some stranger, then, just Kanji. If he’s being honest, he kinda expected something like this.
The first time Yosuke had this fantasy, though, it almost didn’t go any further. Because, if Kanji was going to try something, why climb in with him when Yu was right there? Why would Kanji, or anyone, go for him if they could have Yu instead? Unless, he thought, unless Kanji respects Yu too much, and yeah, that seemed about right. If Kanji ever came on to Yu, it’d be in a shy, blushing, yearning way, and if Yu actually said yes, he’d probably drop to his knees in gratitude.
But Yosuke, well, that’s a different story. He’s never done anything to inspire that kind of loyalty. It’d be much easier to see him as an opportunity. Just a warm body with all the right parts, a thing to be used.
Nothing to stop a guy like Kanji from using him.
And Kanji is using him, breathing hot and heavy on the back of Yosuke’s neck and running his hands all over his body. Not like he’s got any particular direction in mind -- not yet, anyway -- just grasping for anything he can reach. Maybe this is how he gets his kicks, touching defenseless guys in their sleep. And Yosuke should yell for help or try to fight or something, but… But those big, rough hands feel so good. And Yosuke holds himself limp, like he’s still asleep. Like he doesn’t know. Like there’s nothing he can do about it.
Yosuke groans through the fabric in his mouth, his face screwed up with concentration. Come on, come on, come on…
In the tent, Kanji’s hands move over his chest, feeling him up, finding his nipples through his shirt. Making them hard. It’s humiliating – Yosuke feels his face burning as Kanji plays the thin, worn fabric over too-sensitive skin. No one’s ever touched him there before, and part of him wants to squirm away and preserve what little dignity he has left. But he can’t, not without drawing attention to the growing stiffness between his legs.
Kanji breathes into Yosuke’s ear, a string of meaningless, half-voiced words. He’s trying to put his hands everywhere at once, like his only regret if he gets caught will be leaving any part of Yosuke untouched. The little sounds he’s making… A groan, almost pained, and Yosuke feels something stir and twitch at the small of his back. He tries not to think about it, because if he thinks about it, he’s not sure he’ll be able to keep from pressing himself against it. It’s getting harder and harder to stay still. Kanji’s feeling around inside his shirt, his calloused fingertips on Yosuke’s skin, his mouth at Yosuke’s neck, spilling sighs and tiny dry-lipped, boyish kisses. His hips are moving jerkily, in starts and stops, like he’s trying to hold himself back. “Fuck,” he breathes, “oh, fuck.” He buries his face in Yosuke’s neck, grabs him around the waist and pulls him close, trapping his erection between them. Yosuke has to stifle a gasp. There’s no denying it now – held against him like that, he can feel all of it. It’s so big, just like he knew it would be. Kanji’s big all over.
“Feels good, Senpai,” he whispers, rubbing his cock up and down the curve of Yosuke’s spine. “You feel so good.” He’s stroking Yosuke’s sides, too, restlessly, pushing his shirt higher and higher until it’s tangled up under his arms. At some point, he managed to ease Yosuke’s pants partway down without him really noticing, and now he hooks his thumbs under the waistband and drags them down below his ass. Yosuke has to open his legs more just to keep them from sliding off. He’s still dressed, technically, but he feels so exposed, just his boxers doing anything to cover him, and those are riding dangerously low. Kanji’s moaning, sighing, sucking lightly on Yosuke’s neck. He pistons his hips, muttering curses against Yosuke’s collarbone, all the time still pawing at him, holding him against that massive chest, and if Yosuke ‘woke up’ now, if he struggled, Kanji would have no trouble at all restraining him. One of those big hands over his mouth, the arm wrapped around his waist pulling tight, Kanji’s knee up between his helpless legs… He’d be as vulnerable as a butterfly on a collector’s pin. Spread out like that, accessible and easy, Kanji would be able to do whatever he wanted. And of course Yosuke would fight it, but not really.
Yosuke’s hand is moving so fast it’s a blur. The wall is taking all his weight now – his legs are close to useless. He doesn’t think he could even slide down to sit on the floor without falling in a tangle of trembling limbs and wounded pride.
Kanji rolls partway over, taking Yosuke with him, curling inward and resettling his long legs. Instead of poking him in the back, Kanji’s hard-on is digging into the underside of Yosuke’s thigh. His sweats are pulled down far enough for him to feel the straining fabric of Kanji’s underwear. The cloth just where the head must be is clinging, warm and damp and sticky.
There’s a frozen moment when Kanji reaches for the waistband of Yosuke’s boxers, and then he’s stretching the elastic, lifting it carefully so it doesn't snag on Yosuke's dick. He slides them down, and Yosuke’s naked from his waist to his knees, a hot flush spreading all over him. With one hand, Kanji’s gripping his hip, keeping him angled the way he wants, keeping him still, while the other reaches between his legs from behind, stroking his thighs, fondling his sac, palming and squeezing his ass. Avoiding his erection. He’s deliberately denying Yosuke, or maybe he’s nervous yet, working up to it. Yosuke realizes he has no idea if Kanji’s even come close to touching another guy’s dick before. Yosuke might be his first.
It’s gotta be wrong, the way his skin heats up at the thought.
When Kanji finally does touch him, it’s with a soft, shuddering moan. “Mmm, Senpai…” His voice is husky, rumbling through his deep chest, and Yosuke can feel it down to his bones. Feel it inside him. “So fuckin’ hard for me.” His breath is hot on the shell of Yosuke’s ear. “God, I’d like you fuck you,” he says. “You’d be great in the sack, Senpai. Bet you’re just as tight as anything.” He lets go of Yosuke’s hip, groaning as he pulls his own underwear down.
Being wanted like that makes Yosuke feel lightheaded, his already-throbbing cock unbearably thick and full.
Kanji shifts position again, dragging Yosuke down into his lap. “You’d take it real good, too, wouldn’t you?” he murmurs as he pulls Yosuke flush against him. There’s no mistaking the hard, blunt pressure just inches from his hole. He’s practically sitting on Kanji’s cock. “Yeah, I bet you’re made for it.” Kanji takes hold of Yosuke’s ass and spreads his cheeks apart, grinds himself between them. He grunts and holds Yosuke tight to him, his hips moving erratically, thrusting his dripping cock between Yosuke’s thighs. “Oh fuck, I’m gonna – ” The thought of Kanji blowing his load all over both of them makes Yosuke shiver with revulsion and hot, sick need.
He’s so close, right there, right on the edge. He a chokes back a scream of frustration, biting down on his makeshift gag and savaging his cheek in the process. The taste of blood fills his mouth. His eyes sting as they well up. He’s still beating off furiously as the tears roll down his face.
He feels the slick head of Kanji’s cock pressed up against his hole, and he tries to hold his muscles loose, tries to keep breathing. Almost. Almost there. Don’t screw this up, just stay still, stay still, stay still…
The door bangs open.
“And another thing, Senpai –”
Yosuke freezes.