牛島 若利 Ushijima Wakatoshi (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
leftwinger) wrote2021-04-01 09:11 pm
leftwinger) wrote2021-04-01 09:11 pm
Entry tags:
Open post [ACTION]
For action/prose. For epistolary and texts, there's another post for that.
For action/prose. For epistolary and texts, there's another post for that.
[Sakusa's gifts tend to be simple and direct: air fresheners for homes that smell, trash bags for homes that have lots of trash, pocket hankies for everybody else. To have put so much effort and have it be warmly accepted (for once) makes his heart skip a beat. There's a brief smile of appreciation and excitement, offer out before he can think about it:] I can show you how to do that later.
[If he hadn't had a curl of attraction before, that would have certainly done it. Yet Sakusa composes himself. He's here for a purpose, after all. (He may or may not steal another glance at Ushijima's apron before moving to the kitchen, but it's all completely necessary.)
The kitchen is just as pristine as the living room, and Sakusa beelines for the sink to wash his hands before opening and closing various drawers and cabinets without warning. He grunts softly, some more fond than others, as he rifles through Ushijima's things, determined to know what kind of person Ushijima is by the state of his kitchen. Finding it well stocked and organized, Sakusa makes little fuss about following directions.
He'd spent hours memorizing different hayashi rice recipes since they'd texted about it, so he knows exactly what to pull out, even if Ushijima hadn't clustered the ingredients together in his fridge. Sakusa's process is both methodical and efficient, sorting ingredients by when they're called for and also by which ones need to be prepared and which only need to be measured. He slides all the ingredients that need to be washed to Ushijima.]
Wash these too. I need to grab my apron so I can help you prepare.
[Like Ushijima, Sakusa also has a cooking apron. It's different than his cleaning apron, naturally, but there is something a little special about this one. He silently leaves and returns within a minute, and takes to rummaging the cabinets for the small mixing bowls and measuring spoons, as though his kappougi trimmed with ruffles at the leaves and hem is perfectly normal.
He only interacts with Ushijima when it's time to prepare the meat, elbowing him away from the sink to wash his hands again before he opens the meat.]
Do you have a recipe in mind?
[If he hadn't had a curl of attraction before, that would have certainly done it. Yet Sakusa composes himself. He's here for a purpose, after all. (He may or may not steal another glance at Ushijima's apron before moving to the kitchen, but it's all completely necessary.)
The kitchen is just as pristine as the living room, and Sakusa beelines for the sink to wash his hands before opening and closing various drawers and cabinets without warning. He grunts softly, some more fond than others, as he rifles through Ushijima's things, determined to know what kind of person Ushijima is by the state of his kitchen. Finding it well stocked and organized, Sakusa makes little fuss about following directions.
He'd spent hours memorizing different hayashi rice recipes since they'd texted about it, so he knows exactly what to pull out, even if Ushijima hadn't clustered the ingredients together in his fridge. Sakusa's process is both methodical and efficient, sorting ingredients by when they're called for and also by which ones need to be prepared and which only need to be measured. He slides all the ingredients that need to be washed to Ushijima.]
Wash these too. I need to grab my apron so I can help you prepare.
[Like Ushijima, Sakusa also has a cooking apron. It's different than his cleaning apron, naturally, but there is something a little special about this one. He silently leaves and returns within a minute, and takes to rummaging the cabinets for the small mixing bowls and measuring spoons, as though his kappougi trimmed with ruffles at the leaves and hem is perfectly normal.
He only interacts with Ushijima when it's time to prepare the meat, elbowing him away from the sink to wash his hands again before he opens the meat.]
Do you have a recipe in mind?
Oh. I've never seen that movie.
[This is starting to kinda remind his mun of an old thread.]
But I think I understand what you mean, in a general sense. Everything is going so well.
[His head tilts, almost expectant, before he suddenly jerks and straightens himself up when the soft cotton of Sakusa's sock brushes up against his ankle. Their low-key game of footsie earlier aside, he hadn't expected this turn of events at all.
Steadying his knowing gaze on Sakusa, one of his thick eyebrows arches high up on his forehead; and after he takes in their surroundings, he adjusts his posture so he appears more relaxed...and lets his long legs spread beneath the table.]
I shouldn't be so trusting? Why not?
[
But I think I understand what you mean, in a general sense. Everything is going so well.
[His head tilts, almost expectant, before he suddenly jerks and straightens himself up when the soft cotton of Sakusa's sock brushes up against his ankle. Their low-key game of footsie earlier aside, he hadn't expected this turn of events at all.
Steadying his knowing gaze on Sakusa, one of his thick eyebrows arches high up on his forehead; and after he takes in their surroundings, he adjusts his posture so he appears more relaxed...and lets his long legs spread beneath the table.]
I shouldn't be so trusting? Why not?
[Sakusa raises a brow. After all, despite any complaints, Sakusa doesn't take action unless he approves or feels a risk is certain. Ushijima saying that everything is going well could be interpreted as surprise, which Sakusa will have none of. It only makes him want to retaliate stronger, a feeling compounded by Ushijima's startled reaction at his touch.]
I think you know why already. [He toes along the bone and muscle, nearly halfway up his calf, lifting the hem of his pant leg before pulling away.]
[That spidery-crawl of toes up along his leg is a silent challenge. There's no doubt about it. But rather than sit there and take it without responding, Wakatoshi waits until Sakusa starts to pull his foot away before he reaches beneath the table and cups his large hand around Sakusa's ankle. Smoothly, and without much fuss, he tugs the foot closer to him and lets it rest atop his thigh.]
...I fail to see why I shouldn't trust you, Kiyoomi. Or, rather, that I shouldn't be so trusting, as you say.
...I fail to see why I shouldn't trust you, Kiyoomi. Or, rather, that I shouldn't be so trusting, as you say.
Edited 2021-04-06 03:47 (UTC)
[That... That was unexpected. Sakusa's caught off guard enough that there's no resistance to Ushijima grabbing him by the ankle and guiding it to rest.
It takes a moment for the minutia of the situation to register, the only visual indicator being the immediate and four-degree pinched slant of Sakusa's brow. At this point, Sakusa realizes that Ushijima's not backing down and that...intrigues him. Finally taking the situation on as a challenge, Sakusa glances from side-to-side without moving his head, calculating the nearest tables and an idea of how loud they can be without garnering attention. At this point he relaxes and shifts his foot inward. There's a slight tension to his hold on Ushijima's hip, front seam of his sock barely resting along the zipper and leather belt.]
You're too trusting. Somebody might try to take advantage of that.
It takes a moment for the minutia of the situation to register, the only visual indicator being the immediate and four-degree pinched slant of Sakusa's brow. At this point, Sakusa realizes that Ushijima's not backing down and that...intrigues him. Finally taking the situation on as a challenge, Sakusa glances from side-to-side without moving his head, calculating the nearest tables and an idea of how loud they can be without garnering attention. At this point he relaxes and shifts his foot inward. There's a slight tension to his hold on Ushijima's hip, front seam of his sock barely resting along the zipper and leather belt.]
You're too trusting. Somebody might try to take advantage of that.
[Despite the kitchen's relatively small and cramped space with just one long-limbed athlete moving within, let alone two, Wakatoshi's able to easily maneuver his way around it without bumping into Sakusa or any of the cabinets. It's natural, like they've been doing this for years.
On his third cold-water rinse of the rice, he nods with affirmation toward Sakusa. And once the rice water runs clear -- and only then -- does he move on to washing the mushrooms and onions. Vigorously. After his parents' divorce, his grandmother was often around the home to help out, and he remembers distinctly how she'd bring in vegetables from the garden and how she'd wash them in the sink, meticulously, for what seemed like an eternity. The people that eat your food will be able to taste the love and care you put into it, so make sure to do it properly, Wakatoshi.
So here he is, washing root vegetables and making sure the bits of dirt and whatever else are cleaned off.
He's squeezing a lemon, bare-handed and with only minimal effort, into a bowl intended for the beef when Sakusa returns donning an apron. For some reason, he presumed Sakusa's own apron would be a simple and utilitarian one like his. The ruffles and, oh, everything else are completely unexpected. And before he realizes it, he's squeezed every bit of juice and seed out of the poor lemon.]
...
...yes.
[That's all he can manage right now.]
On his third cold-water rinse of the rice, he nods with affirmation toward Sakusa. And once the rice water runs clear -- and only then -- does he move on to washing the mushrooms and onions. Vigorously. After his parents' divorce, his grandmother was often around the home to help out, and he remembers distinctly how she'd bring in vegetables from the garden and how she'd wash them in the sink, meticulously, for what seemed like an eternity. The people that eat your food will be able to taste the love and care you put into it, so make sure to do it properly, Wakatoshi.
So here he is, washing root vegetables and making sure the bits of dirt and whatever else are cleaned off.
He's squeezing a lemon, bare-handed and with only minimal effort, into a bowl intended for the beef when Sakusa returns donning an apron. For some reason, he presumed Sakusa's own apron would be a simple and utilitarian one like his. The ruffles and, oh, everything else are completely unexpected. And before he realizes it, he's squeezed every bit of juice and seed out of the poor lemon.]
...
...yes.
[That's all he can manage right now.]
[How Wakatoshi's able to keep his voice even and his expression set into neutral (somewhat) is a testament to his own self-discipline. Sakusa's foot moves forward, as he had expected -- and hoped -- and all he has to show for it, aside from a slight shudder, is a very pointed and slow inhale-and-exhale.
He's wearing boxer-briefs tonight, which is both a curse and a blessing. If he chose boxers, no doubt Sakusa would already start to feel him hardening right away against the sole of that warm foot.
He shifts his hips a bit, the movement pushing his bulge against that foot, his gaze still leveled on him as if to counter Sakusa's challenge.]
Who in their right mind would try to take advantage of me?
He's wearing boxer-briefs tonight, which is both a curse and a blessing. If he chose boxers, no doubt Sakusa would already start to feel him hardening right away against the sole of that warm foot.
He shifts his hips a bit, the movement pushing his bulge against that foot, his gaze still leveled on him as if to counter Sakusa's challenge.]
Who in their right mind would try to take advantage of me?
[Sakusa had been open to cooking, just because it was with Ushijima. Most people weren't careful enough to rinse every speck of dirt off their own food, some not even knowing that rinsing the ingredients was an essential task. Sakusa nods approvingly of Ushijima's work, satisfied that he doesn't have to wrangle the vegetables out of Ushijima's hands and rinse them himself. Yet another reason Sakusa desired this man so.
Turning to his own task, he begins to assemble the measuring bowls and spoons.]
Okay, salt. How much?
[It's a simple question, so when there's no response, Sakusa casts a suspicious look to his boyfriend, and finally takes notice that.......the lemon is all ruined!]
Ugh, that needs to be redone. Here, give it to me.
[There are more important things than Ushijima's wide eyes or tightly-held fist. Namely, there are seeds in the bowl, and Sakusa knows for a fact that won't do. He disposes of the seeds and juice separately, and makes quick work of squeezing one of the spare lemons he brought into the bowl properly. Sakusa hands the bowl back, only to see that Ushijima's still staring. Sakusa's face remains neutral, eyebrows tilting into a confused pout instead of their usual glare.]
...What? I washed my hands already.
Turning to his own task, he begins to assemble the measuring bowls and spoons.]
Okay, salt. How much?
[It's a simple question, so when there's no response, Sakusa casts a suspicious look to his boyfriend, and finally takes notice that.......the lemon is all ruined!]
Ugh, that needs to be redone. Here, give it to me.
[There are more important things than Ushijima's wide eyes or tightly-held fist. Namely, there are seeds in the bowl, and Sakusa knows for a fact that won't do. He disposes of the seeds and juice separately, and makes quick work of squeezing one of the spare lemons he brought into the bowl properly. Sakusa hands the bowl back, only to see that Ushijima's still staring. Sakusa's face remains neutral, eyebrows tilting into a confused pout instead of their usual glare.]
...What? I washed my hands already.
[Oh. Right.
By the time Wakatoshi blinks back into reality, Sakusa's already fixed his mistake with the lemon and is handing it back to him. He shakes his head and, quietly, takes the bowl back and resumes -- or tries to resume -- his earlier work.]
...sorry, it's nothing. I was distracted.
[He's not lying.]
The recipe calls for a pinch of salt and pepper to the beef once it's cleaned and drained. Afterwards, we can cut the beef, and chop up the vegetables as well. Would you like to do that honor or would you prefer to get the rice started in the cooker?
[Shit, he's pouting. Rather than risk staring again, Wakatoshi looks down at the beef in the bowl, long and hard. He should rinse it, he knows, but his thoughts keep getting distracted by his pouting boyfriend in his ridiculously cute ruffled apron.]
By the time Wakatoshi blinks back into reality, Sakusa's already fixed his mistake with the lemon and is handing it back to him. He shakes his head and, quietly, takes the bowl back and resumes -- or tries to resume -- his earlier work.]
...sorry, it's nothing. I was distracted.
[He's not lying.]
The recipe calls for a pinch of salt and pepper to the beef once it's cleaned and drained. Afterwards, we can cut the beef, and chop up the vegetables as well. Would you like to do that honor or would you prefer to get the rice started in the cooker?
[Shit, he's pouting. Rather than risk staring again, Wakatoshi looks down at the beef in the bowl, long and hard. He should rinse it, he knows, but his thoughts keep getting distracted by his pouting boyfriend in his ridiculously cute ruffled apron.]
[Sakusa recognizes that shudder. He'd trained himself to memorize it ever since he saw it, naked and tangled up in his lover's body, the first time. So Ushijima could make expressions like this out of bed as well... Sakusa files that fact away, a tight, growing smirk barely tugging the edges of his lips upward as his foot delicately slots into place. At this angle, the arch of his heel perfectly rests on the bulge between Ushijima's thighs, which he experimentally pirouettes his heel into.
Sakusa reaches out for his wine and takes a sip, placing it back on a coaster with a motion that's slightly too stiff to be perfectly at ease.]
There are people out there who would like seeing how you squirm beneath them. I can think of a few.
Sakusa reaches out for his wine and takes a sip, placing it back on a coaster with a motion that's slightly too stiff to be perfectly at ease.]
There are people out there who would like seeing how you squirm beneath them. I can think of a few.
That's unlike you. You have to remain focused in the kitchen. It could be the difference between having five fingers or four.
[So he scolds, but...Sakusa cares. Ushijima is clearly in the middle of shaking off whatever has him acting strange, so he hovers over Ushijima's station as well, moving a bowl into place to catch the juice continuing to drip out of Ushijima's clenched fist. He also pulls out a cloth from his pocket and offers it to Ushijima. It has a ruffle that matches the apron along one edge.]
You're getting it everywhere. Use this.
['Use this,' Sakusa says, but he's the one patting Ushijima's hand dry with it, fingertips lingering just a second longer than strictly necessary. Once he's ensured Ushijima is capable of returning to his cooking duties again, Sakusa rinses his hands and turns back to the measuring bowls once again.]
I'll prepare the meat and vegetables. I like chopping stuff. It reminds me of spiking somehow.
[Maybe it's the repetitive motion or the forcefulness of it, but whatever the case, he likes it. He practically smiles while confiscating the onion and mushrooms, immediately setting to work. Sakusa starts with destemming the mushrooms and diligently slices them in even, steadfast motions. He knows his way around a knife, experienced hand ensuring the knife never slices too high and carefully resting his second knuckles against the flat blade so that he doesn't cut himself. He pauses after the mushrooms are cutting, pout back in full force as he watches Ushijima struggle with the meat and rice.]
Hmm. I expected you to be more competent.
[So he scolds, but...Sakusa cares. Ushijima is clearly in the middle of shaking off whatever has him acting strange, so he hovers over Ushijima's station as well, moving a bowl into place to catch the juice continuing to drip out of Ushijima's clenched fist. He also pulls out a cloth from his pocket and offers it to Ushijima. It has a ruffle that matches the apron along one edge.]
You're getting it everywhere. Use this.
['Use this,' Sakusa says, but he's the one patting Ushijima's hand dry with it, fingertips lingering just a second longer than strictly necessary. Once he's ensured Ushijima is capable of returning to his cooking duties again, Sakusa rinses his hands and turns back to the measuring bowls once again.]
I'll prepare the meat and vegetables. I like chopping stuff. It reminds me of spiking somehow.
[Maybe it's the repetitive motion or the forcefulness of it, but whatever the case, he likes it. He practically smiles while confiscating the onion and mushrooms, immediately setting to work. Sakusa starts with destemming the mushrooms and diligently slices them in even, steadfast motions. He knows his way around a knife, experienced hand ensuring the knife never slices too high and carefully resting his second knuckles against the flat blade so that he doesn't cut himself. He pauses after the mushrooms are cutting, pout back in full force as he watches Ushijima struggle with the meat and rice.]
Hmm. I expected you to be more competent.
[For his efforts, Sakusa is rewarded with, simply, a grunt. Which, in the grand scheme of things, is quite the response from someone who's usually unreadably quiet as Wakatoshi. Especially while out in public.
Sakusa digs in his heel, quite literally, and Wakatoshi's forced to shift around in his seat yet again. Once he's in a...less compromising position, he sneaks a hand down below, strokes his callused fingers up and down the line of Sakusa's foot, from root to tip, mirroring the same actions he would something else.]
Oh? Like who?
Sakusa digs in his heel, quite literally, and Wakatoshi's forced to shift around in his seat yet again. Once he's in a...less compromising position, he sneaks a hand down below, strokes his callused fingers up and down the line of Sakusa's foot, from root to tip, mirroring the same actions he would something else.]
Oh? Like who?
Apologies. I will try to be more careful.
[And now Sakusa's dabbing at his hand with a hanky. He's equal parts endeared and embarrassed. When his hand is clean and dry and not in danger of losing any phalanges, he folds the hanky, with the damp side in of course, and sets it on the counter far and away from everything else.
From there, he sets back to work: filling the rice cooker with the clean grains and just the right amount of water then adjusting the temperature and cook-time to the best settings. That's the easy part. Cutting the beef into evenly-sized pieces proves to be a different beast altogether, as it turns out the butcher mixed in fatty beef with the pricey wagyu pieces.]
What do you mean?
[Pointedly not looking in Sakusa's direction, as he can already tell he's doing that cute Pout again.
The cut pieces are placed into another clean bowl for later use.]
This is fine. I haven't cut myself or made too much of a mess, have I?
[And now Sakusa's dabbing at his hand with a hanky. He's equal parts endeared and embarrassed. When his hand is clean and dry and not in danger of losing any phalanges, he folds the hanky, with the damp side in of course, and sets it on the counter far and away from everything else.
From there, he sets back to work: filling the rice cooker with the clean grains and just the right amount of water then adjusting the temperature and cook-time to the best settings. That's the easy part. Cutting the beef into evenly-sized pieces proves to be a different beast altogether, as it turns out the butcher mixed in fatty beef with the pricey wagyu pieces.]
What do you mean?
[Pointedly not looking in Sakusa's direction, as he can already tell he's doing that cute Pout again.
The cut pieces are placed into another clean bowl for later use.]
This is fine. I haven't cut myself or made too much of a mess, have I?
[Sakusa is at one disadvantage, and that's inexperience. He's not used to being touched there, let alone fondled, and he barely manages to choke back a giggle from how it tickles. His foot twitches in Ushijima's lap, and while he quickly regains composure and double downs on petting Ushijima's bulge with his sole, his tight grimace makes it clear he's annoyed about losing higher ground. Maybe it's pettiness that drives him to say it. (Maybe it's jealousy.)]
Oikawa Tooru, probably.
[And this time his pointed stare is more than mere observation. A test, perhaps?]
Oikawa Tooru, probably.
[And this time his pointed stare is more than mere observation. A test, perhaps?]
The feeling I get in my hand is the same.
[Sakusa peels and minces the garlic next, saving the onion for last. He could manage the garlic with his eyes closed, so he steals a glance just to confirm how Ushijima is managing. He's still not looking at Sakusa...]
No, but... Are you feeling well?
[Not vocally, but Sakusa is truly becoming concerned. It's one thing for Ushijima to be off his game. It's another for Ushijima to act like a novice in his own kitchen.
Luckily for Ushijima, Sakusa starts on the onion. He turns on the kitchen fan before starting to cut, but a few tears still manage to pool through. Sakusa neither flinches nor blinks. He doesn't wipe his eyes either, since that would require washing his hands and he kind of needs them for this task. Now he's squinting and pouting. And sniffling.]
[Sakusa peels and minces the garlic next, saving the onion for last. He could manage the garlic with his eyes closed, so he steals a glance just to confirm how Ushijima is managing. He's still not looking at Sakusa...]
No, but... Are you feeling well?
[Not vocally, but Sakusa is truly becoming concerned. It's one thing for Ushijima to be off his game. It's another for Ushijima to act like a novice in his own kitchen.
Luckily for Ushijima, Sakusa starts on the onion. He turns on the kitchen fan before starting to cut, but a few tears still manage to pool through. Sakusa neither flinches nor blinks. He doesn't wipe his eyes either, since that would require washing his hands and he kind of needs them for this task. Now he's squinting and pouting. And sniffling.]
Probably.
[Repeated not to mock Sakusa, but to drive the point home that while it's a well-executed strategy -- and one that Wakatoshi's impressed by -- it doesn't gain him the advantage here. Still, the name makes his jaw tighten, and he's forced to reach for his own wineglass.]
Oikawa had numerous chances to try. And he failed. Every. Single. Time.
[Each beat a squeeze of his fingers around that twitching foot. His own cock's hardening in the bunched up fabric of his boxer briefs, the light pressure of Sakusa's foot against it making it feel, at once, better and worse.]
...anyone else?
[Repeated not to mock Sakusa, but to drive the point home that while it's a well-executed strategy -- and one that Wakatoshi's impressed by -- it doesn't gain him the advantage here. Still, the name makes his jaw tighten, and he's forced to reach for his own wineglass.]
Oikawa had numerous chances to try. And he failed. Every. Single. Time.
[Each beat a squeeze of his fingers around that twitching foot. His own cock's hardening in the bunched up fabric of his boxer briefs, the light pressure of Sakusa's foot against it making it feel, at once, better and worse.]
...anyone else?
I'm fine.
[He separates the fat from the meat on another chunk of beef. Not his cleanest slice. And that's when he sighs softly--]
You're distracting, Kiyoomi.
[It's true. And instead of making him worry even further or, worse, instead of lying to him, Wakatoshi deems it better to just tell the truth. It's what he's known for; it's what's expected of him, so why not?
And he's feeling a little better. Until he glances over at Sakusa and notices the sniffling and the pouting and the squinting, and god.]
...very distracting. I was not prepared for it. I apologize. I did not mean to cause any alarm.
[Wakatoshi, who has had his tongue deep in Sakusa's mouth and in his ass, is distracted by Sakusa in an apron cutting vegetables.]
[He separates the fat from the meat on another chunk of beef. Not his cleanest slice. And that's when he sighs softly--]
You're distracting, Kiyoomi.
[It's true. And instead of making him worry even further or, worse, instead of lying to him, Wakatoshi deems it better to just tell the truth. It's what he's known for; it's what's expected of him, so why not?
And he's feeling a little better. Until he glances over at Sakusa and notices the sniffling and the pouting and the squinting, and god.]
...very distracting. I was not prepared for it. I apologize. I did not mean to cause any alarm.
[Wakatoshi, who has had his tongue deep in Sakusa's mouth and in his ass, is distracted by Sakusa in an apron cutting vegetables.]
[If nothing else, Sakusa's observant. Ushijima admitting he's distracted is no surprise, anybody could tell that, but that behavior only started when...
...Oh. Sakusa's attention shifts to his arms, where the ruffled sleeves end just above his wrists, and then to the laced neckline on his chest. He's never thought anything of it before; if anything, some might say it's what a housewife might wear.]
My apron? Really?
[His stare would be more judgmental, but that's kind of hard to manage when his tear ducts are watery and red. He sniffs.]
...Oh. Sakusa's attention shifts to his arms, where the ruffled sleeves end just above his wrists, and then to the laced neckline on his chest. He's never thought anything of it before; if anything, some might say it's what a housewife might wear.]
My apron? Really?
[His stare would be more judgmental, but that's kind of hard to manage when his tear ducts are watery and red. He sniffs.]
[Not as much of a reaction as Sakusa had wanted, but he settles into place, gently toeing the zipper back and forth from base to button. His shoulders are still stiff as he eyes Ushijima calculatingly, looking for any sign of discomposure.]
Wakatsu Kiryuu. Bokuto Koutarou. Me.
[That last one is accompanied with planting his foot firmly along the protrusion. Feeling the entire outline makes his throat dry and hard to swallow. Sakusa's lips twitch back into a smirk, massaging the bulge more forcefully each time he reaches the belt.]
Wakatsu Kiryuu. Bokuto Koutarou. Me.
[That last one is accompanied with planting his foot firmly along the protrusion. Feeling the entire outline makes his throat dry and hard to swallow. Sakusa's lips twitch back into a smirk, massaging the bulge more forcefully each time he reaches the belt.]
It's cute. Very cute.
[As if that explains everything. To Wakatoshi, it does.]
Not just appearance-wise, though that's endearing as well. It's seeing you in something typically reserved for housewives and cute girls, yet knowing you're an athlete capable of rendering someone immobile with just a look...
[Gap moe is the term.
And the sniffling -- he can't handle it. It's too much. Wakatoshi finishes cutting the beef and, after rinsing his hands clean, he takes a fresh paper towel sheet and carefully -- carefully! -- nears Sakusa.]
Your eyes. Let me see.
[As if that explains everything. To Wakatoshi, it does.]
Not just appearance-wise, though that's endearing as well. It's seeing you in something typically reserved for housewives and cute girls, yet knowing you're an athlete capable of rendering someone immobile with just a look...
[Gap moe is the term.
And the sniffling -- he can't handle it. It's too much. Wakatoshi finishes cutting the beef and, after rinsing his hands clean, he takes a fresh paper towel sheet and carefully -- carefully! -- nears Sakusa.]
Your eyes. Let me see.
Those two, they can wish all they'd like. It doesn't mean it will ever come true.
[Sakusa smirks and his foot is effectively rubbing Wakatoshi's cock into a full-blown erection now -- it's only because it's Wakatoshi, and he's so accustomed to being stone-faced and quiet by default that he hasn't slumped back in his chair and loosened his tie with an obscene moan. He certainly understands the desire for it...
But rather than alarm the other diners and staff of what they're doing, Wakatoshi is more discreet. With just one hand, he blindly, unbuckles his belt and undoes the button and zipper of his trousers. There's too much pressure bunched up down there. He needs to breathe, even if means being a little less restrained.
By now, surely Sakusa can feel the entire outline of his erection.]
As for you.
[He sips at his wine again, voice hovering just above a growl.]
...you tell me.
[Sakusa smirks and his foot is effectively rubbing Wakatoshi's cock into a full-blown erection now -- it's only because it's Wakatoshi, and he's so accustomed to being stone-faced and quiet by default that he hasn't slumped back in his chair and loosened his tie with an obscene moan. He certainly understands the desire for it...
But rather than alarm the other diners and staff of what they're doing, Wakatoshi is more discreet. With just one hand, he blindly, unbuckles his belt and undoes the button and zipper of his trousers. There's too much pressure bunched up down there. He needs to breathe, even if means being a little less restrained.
By now, surely Sakusa can feel the entire outline of his erection.]
As for you.
[He sips at his wine again, voice hovering just above a growl.]
...you tell me.
I didn't choose it for its looks, you know. These types of aprons are best for cooking, and this one had the best reviews.
[Perhaps for other reasons, now that Sakusa thinks about it... Personally, Sakusa could understand the appeal had it just been left at cute. The apron was objectively cute, after all, even he had to admit. But knowing that Ushijima's riled up from seeing him specifically in the apron... That fills him with equal parts pride and self-consciousness. His face mirrors the conflict plainly, obvious pout and thick blush at odds with each other.
Maybe it was a little too cute for somebody like him... Back when he'd purchased it, he'd thought something similar, but by now it was such a regular fixture in his life that the style no longer registered as anything out of the ordinary. Tilting his chin toward his boyfriend gives Sakusa time to think, and it comes with the added bonus of cleaning his face, which he couldn't do with messy hands anyway.
Since becoming a pair with Ushijima, he's slowly warmed up to being touched in new ways, but his eyelids remain sensitive and every time he blinks at the gentle petting, it makes his lashes bat up and down. He's grown comfortable with being this close to Ushijima, even pressing closer while careful to keep his dirty hands away.]
Thank you.
[Sakusa remains close after Ushijima's patted his eyes dry, though there's no reason to maintain the closeness. His half-lidded, dark eyes look Ushijima directly in the eye for what has to be a minute too long to be comfortable.]
Is this some kind of fetish? You haven't been able to look at me this entire time. It's just an apron, so there's nothing strange about it if you look...
[Because maybe, just maybe, he wants to be looked at. Especially now that he knows Ushijima likes it. He shifts in place just enough that the lace bunches up, one of the ruffles fluttering.]
[Perhaps for other reasons, now that Sakusa thinks about it... Personally, Sakusa could understand the appeal had it just been left at cute. The apron was objectively cute, after all, even he had to admit. But knowing that Ushijima's riled up from seeing him specifically in the apron... That fills him with equal parts pride and self-consciousness. His face mirrors the conflict plainly, obvious pout and thick blush at odds with each other.
Maybe it was a little too cute for somebody like him... Back when he'd purchased it, he'd thought something similar, but by now it was such a regular fixture in his life that the style no longer registered as anything out of the ordinary. Tilting his chin toward his boyfriend gives Sakusa time to think, and it comes with the added bonus of cleaning his face, which he couldn't do with messy hands anyway.
Since becoming a pair with Ushijima, he's slowly warmed up to being touched in new ways, but his eyelids remain sensitive and every time he blinks at the gentle petting, it makes his lashes bat up and down. He's grown comfortable with being this close to Ushijima, even pressing closer while careful to keep his dirty hands away.]
Thank you.
[Sakusa remains close after Ushijima's patted his eyes dry, though there's no reason to maintain the closeness. His half-lidded, dark eyes look Ushijima directly in the eye for what has to be a minute too long to be comfortable.]
Is this some kind of fetish? You haven't been able to look at me this entire time. It's just an apron, so there's nothing strange about it if you look...
[Because maybe, just maybe, he wants to be looked at. Especially now that he knows Ushijima likes it. He shifts in place just enough that the lace bunches up, one of the ruffles fluttering.]
[The thing is, Ushijima's not even being cocky about it. It's a fact that he's as powerful as he claims, and he has all the confidence (unlike Kiryuu) without all the showboating (like Koutarou). And he recognizes Sakusa's power and talent not because they're dating but strictly because of his skill and talent.
It's overwhelmingly erotic to Sakusa.
He shifts in place, feeling his own arousal stir when Ushijima's unzipped pants allows his sock full access to the girth and size they'd been hiding. The ball of his foot brushes every inch that Sakusa's dutifully and fondly committed to memory, and, once his instep cups the head of what Sakusa knows to be a glorious cock, he begins stroking along the length properly.
Sakusa takes a settling breath before his own words turn him on too much. Both his hands had been visible on the table. One is gripping his fork hard enough to turn his knuckles white. The other slips beneath the tablecloth.]
It's no secret that I want to best you. Conquering Japan's number one ace and seeing him squirm beneath me... The others can want, but I'm the only one capable of managing it.
...However. I wouldn't take advantage of you. I want to take you down on equal footing.
It's overwhelmingly erotic to Sakusa.
He shifts in place, feeling his own arousal stir when Ushijima's unzipped pants allows his sock full access to the girth and size they'd been hiding. The ball of his foot brushes every inch that Sakusa's dutifully and fondly committed to memory, and, once his instep cups the head of what Sakusa knows to be a glorious cock, he begins stroking along the length properly.
Sakusa takes a settling breath before his own words turn him on too much. Both his hands had been visible on the table. One is gripping his fork hard enough to turn his knuckles white. The other slips beneath the tablecloth.]
It's no secret that I want to best you. Conquering Japan's number one ace and seeing him squirm beneath me... The others can want, but I'm the only one capable of managing it.
...However. I wouldn't take advantage of you. I want to take you down on equal footing.
[The adjustment and newfound pressure against his cock makes Wakatoshi switch from the wine to his ice water. With him so hot under the collar and so wound-up, yet unable to do much about it that won't attract much attention, it's a necessity at this point.
And despite this, and the patches of deep pink over his throat, nose, and cheeks, the spark of challenge does not leave Wakatoshi's eyes. The corner of his mouth quirks up into a slight smirk, his thick brows furrow just the slightest bit more.]
...you're always welcome to try.
[He moves his hips and spreads his thighs just enough to encourage his length further against Sakusa's foot. It's still not enough -- his cock still confined in those boxer-briefs, it'll never be enough -- and he knows this, but he's still willing to try. Wakatoshi is determined, if nothing else.
But fuck if it doesn't feel agonizingly good.
He thinks about removing the briefs altogether or, at the very least, opening the flap at the front and letting Sakusa figure the rest out. It's dark enough in the restaurant, they're secluded, and the tablecloth's doing a great job of hiding what they cannot show. They can get away with it...
And just as he's thinking about tugging down at the waistband, their waiter returns with two large trays of food. Their main course, and all the little side-dishes and everything that comes with. The portions are small but there's lots to go around, apparently, because it seems to take him an eternity to clear their table and set the plates neatly and accurately.
(Or maybe Wakatoshi's patience is running thing.)
When the waiter asks if there's any else they might need, Wakatoshi tells him to keep walking.]
Who knows when you'll get your next opportunity.
And despite this, and the patches of deep pink over his throat, nose, and cheeks, the spark of challenge does not leave Wakatoshi's eyes. The corner of his mouth quirks up into a slight smirk, his thick brows furrow just the slightest bit more.]
...you're always welcome to try.
[He moves his hips and spreads his thighs just enough to encourage his length further against Sakusa's foot. It's still not enough -- his cock still confined in those boxer-briefs, it'll never be enough -- and he knows this, but he's still willing to try. Wakatoshi is determined, if nothing else.
But fuck if it doesn't feel agonizingly good.
He thinks about removing the briefs altogether or, at the very least, opening the flap at the front and letting Sakusa figure the rest out. It's dark enough in the restaurant, they're secluded, and the tablecloth's doing a great job of hiding what they cannot show. They can get away with it...
And just as he's thinking about tugging down at the waistband, their waiter returns with two large trays of food. Their main course, and all the little side-dishes and everything that comes with. The portions are small but there's lots to go around, apparently, because it seems to take him an eternity to clear their table and set the plates neatly and accurately.
(Or maybe Wakatoshi's patience is running thing.)
When the waiter asks if there's any else they might need, Wakatoshi tells him to keep walking.]
Who knows when you'll get your next opportunity.
[Of course Sakusa will pick an apron for its practicality and reliability over any sort of visual appeal. Wakatoshi believes him. It doesn't change anything, though. Sakusa could have been dressed like an old school marm and Wakatoshi would have found it attractive -- especially when he's pouting and pink in the face and looking at him through tears clumped in those thick, black eyelashes.
The eyes dry and clean now, he moves to toss the towel into the trash, only to stop cold in his tracks by a knowing stare and the heat it makes creep up his throat.]
Fetish? No. That...would imply I would appreciate the apron more than the person wearing it. Or that anyone could wear it and I would be attracted to them, which is not the case.
[The lace is bunching up, the whisper of moving fabric capturing Wakatoshi's attention almost instantly. He breathes in, nice and deep, and steels himself.]
...It's you, Kiyoomi. I don't know what it is beyond just that, but you're making me want you. Perhaps you're not even aware of it, but it's true.
[A pause, as he breathes deep again, this time to ready himself for when he meets Sakusa's gaze head-on.]
Can you turn around for me, please?
The eyes dry and clean now, he moves to toss the towel into the trash, only to stop cold in his tracks by a knowing stare and the heat it makes creep up his throat.]
Fetish? No. That...would imply I would appreciate the apron more than the person wearing it. Or that anyone could wear it and I would be attracted to them, which is not the case.
[The lace is bunching up, the whisper of moving fabric capturing Wakatoshi's attention almost instantly. He breathes in, nice and deep, and steels himself.]
...It's you, Kiyoomi. I don't know what it is beyond just that, but you're making me want you. Perhaps you're not even aware of it, but it's true.
[A pause, as he breathes deep again, this time to ready himself for when he meets Sakusa's gaze head-on.]
Can you turn around for me, please?
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