
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/11207478.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Saint_Seiya
  Relationship:
      Cygnus_Hyōga/Phoenix_Ikki
  Character:
      Cygnus_Hyōga, Phoenix_Ikki
  Additional Tags:
      Grinding, Frottage
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-06-15 Words: 2083
****** Nowhereland ******
by nightfever_(drfeels)
Summary
     Hyoga takes Ikki for a drive to the middle of nowhere, perhaps with
     different intentions than what Ikki thinks.
Notes
     Happy super super late Birthday, you Aries asshole.
Hyoga drives how he fights, nearly obeying the rules but also with a lack of
thought that becomes more apparent with each stop sign they “accidentally” blow
through.
Heat sticks the back of his arms to the faux leather seat covers, makes beads
of sweat run down the nape of his neck, sweat that cools into icy little
pinpoints that make his skin prickle when Hyoga rolls down the windows as they
hit 95 kmh. The wind begins to roar, so loud the radio ceases to provide any
entertainment and just further adds to the rush of garbled noise in Ikki’s
ears.
Hot, but the back of his neck makes him shiver and the rush of wind against his
upper arms brings out the gooseflesh. He doesn’t remember where they’re
driving, but Hyoga’s passed the Tokyo city limits long ago and kept going,
endlessly. Just packed up and off into forever, boxes and cloths in the trunk,
two water bottles rolling around in the back seat.
Ikki is beginning to question this entire idea. A drive. He’d thought Hyoga
meant something easy, maybe to the sea. It’s been at least thirty minutes in
the exact opposite direction of the sea. Maybe more. They’re heading out of the
city, where he knows there’s nothing. Nowhereland.
That’s what he’s always called it in his head.
It’s another thirty minutes before Hyoga’s duck-shaped keychain, a birthday
gift from Shun the past year, swings wildly against the ignition as Hyoga takes
a sharp left across two empty traffic lanes into a dusty industrial lot. It
looks like a power grid, but long-abandoned, with black, worn-out cables
swaying overhead in the breeze.
“This isn’t anywhere.”
“It’s not supposed to be.”
Hyoga rolls his eyes and digs one of the bottles of water off the floor.
Must’ve been the sharp left that catapulted it there. He uncaps it, takes
several long draughts. When he pulls back his lips are shining and wet and he
sighs and sinks deep into the driver’s seat.
“Are we…going to get back on the road?”
“No.”
He’s a little annoyed. More than a little. Hyoga had dragged him into the car
with the idea they were actually going somewhere, to do something.
This is nonsense. A waste of his time.
Hyoga’s never not wasting his time, really.
He peels his arms off the back of the seat and grabs the other water bottle off
the back floor. He curses this entire wasted day as he sucks half of it down.
Hyoga can’t drive, Hyoga can’t navigate, Hyoga doesn’t even want to navigate.
They could have both spent this time doing literally anything else, anything at
all.
Beads of sweat start to build up on his nape again. He glances in irritation at
Hyoga, who doesn’t even look touched by the heat. His bangs are still dry on
his forehead, the only place on his face gleaming and slick are his still-wet
lips. Even his cheeks don’t have the slightest heat flush to them. His lips do,
a garish streak in the center of his face.
Red, bright red.
Those eyes turn on him. The coldest thing in the heat, that bright blue color.
Looking at it makes him shiver. All the way from the crown of his head down to
the base of his spine. The gooseflesh rises again on his arms, the back of his
neck where the sweat drips. His heart begins to beat too fast. Instinct, this
is instinct. There’s something in those eyes.
Hyoga takes another sip of water, but his eyes don’t move.
“Stop that.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
Another sip.
“Yes you are, just start the damn car already and take us home.”
“No.”
Another sip.
“Why the hell not?”
“Because,” Hyoga says. “I wanted to spend time with you.”
The bottle is empty. He tosses it on the floor.
“We can do that at the house.”
He’s getting ready to smash his fist into the dashboard, kick the door off its
hinges, seize his cloth from the trunk and walk. He reaches for the handle.
Hyoga’s hand is reaching, too, he sees it from the corner of his eye. He
prepares himself for Hyoga to hit the lockpin so it stays shut, or to suddenly
shift into gear and hit the gas so Ikki smacks his head on the dash.
Hyoga’s hand lands on his thigh.
It’s burning hot, even through his jeans he can feel the hot pulse of Hyoga’s
blood in his fingertips.
“Ikki,” he says softly. “I didn’t know how else to get you to take me
seriously.”
“You can start by not trapping me in a car.”
“I just—“ he says, and for a second there’s a flash of the part of himself
Hyoga wants to desperately pretend doesn’t exist, the part that’s good at
second-guessing, soft and sweet. Those eyes waver. Not thick sheets of ice, but
the shimmering, wavering surface of a rockpool at high tide. “I wanted
somewhere where you couldn’t run away.”
“I don’t run away,” he says, even if he knows that’s not entirely true, but in
the sense of semantics, it is.
He’s not a coward.
His fingers dig deep into the meat of Ikki’s thigh and curl inward. It hurts.
Hyoga has a grip like iron and a gaze like steel, but his heart is soft and
malleable like gold. Golden boy. Just like his hair.
He leans in closer, and they lock gazes. “Don’t run away,” he says, and his
voice wavers for just a moment on that last syllable.
Ikki wants to say something biting, something about how he would never and how
Hyoga is the coward here, but he can’t. He can’t because Hyoga’s kissing him,
soft wet lips in bright red meet his own, chapped by heat and sun. He can’t
because Hyogas not a coward, cowards don’t kiss like this. Cowards don’t slide
their hands up his thighs and over his waistband of his jeans and under his
shirt.
Hyoga’s tongue dips between his lips and traces over his teeth and the soft
walls of his cheeks. He hears a click and suddenly the seat gives out under his
back and it’s reclining, he’s slowly falling backwards. Hyoga has one leg over
the console and then suddenly he pushes up and over and sits himself on Ikki’s
thighs and he can feel it. He can feel the blood pooling between his legs, and
something rising between Hyoga’s own, rubbing against him.
His hands are still burning as they slide up under Ikki’s t-shirt, into the
dips and curves of his muscles. Hyoga circles and tweaks at his nipple with
just two fingers, but it’s enough to make him gasp and there’s a twinge of pain
but also something more under it, something stronger. Hyoga does it again and
he gives a small jerk under him in the seat.
Hyoga has him pinned here, he realizes, he can do anything he likes, anything
at all.
He also realizes he’s more aroused at the idea of that than annoyed.
His own hands begin to move, and he drops the water bottle he’s long forgotten
he’s still been holding. Hyoga’s wearing a tight blue t-shirt that peels from
him like a second skin, and underneath is a study in anatomy. His muscles
ripple when his waist moves and shifts to get a more comfortable position on
Ikki’s lap. He undoes his button and zipper on his jeans once he’s done
shifting his waist, then reaches down for Ikki’s too. Ah, it’s tight, he didn’t
realize how tight it was until Hyoga frees that button from the hole and slides
the zipper down.
His hands come out from under Ikki’s shirt to steady the weight of his body.
They rest on either side of Ikki’s head, sticky against the faux leather seat
covers. His hips begin to shift and his head dips low and his breathing is loud
in Ikki’s ear, like the roar of the wind, but hot and the undercurrent noise of
the radio is Hyoga’s low moan and his skin prickles in an entirely different
way.
He realizes under the trembling and grinding of Hyoga’s hips he’s beginning to
wet through the front of his own underwear. Hyoga grinds with the full weight
of his body against a spot that’s entirely too raw and sensitive and his thighs
shake and he can feel Hyoga grin in his ear. He can’t see it, but he feels it,
he feels those shining red lips pull back into a thin, arrogant smile.
Now is not the time for arrogance.
He drags his hands down Hyoga’s sides to cup him from the back, takes control
of Hyoga’s grinding hips, presses them harder until nothing can get between
them except slick, hot sweat that forms as their stomachs press together.
Hyoga’s briefs have begun to ride down at the waistband and he feels the soft,
damp curls there as they rub against the lower part of his belly.
Hyoga grunts, raises his head and sits up to get better leverage. For the first
time since all of this, they lock gazes again. Hyoga’s cheeks are blooming red,
the flush of heat and arousal. His blonde hair glints in the late afternoon
sun, stuck to his forehead, and his whole body is covered in a gleaming sheen
of sweat.
He looks beautiful.
He’s never thought that before about Hyoga, or anyone, but now he finds himself
thinking it.
Beautiful. Golden boy.
Hyoga’s lips come down on his again. Together, they move, and the friction of
Hyoga’s hips against the head of his erection is sweet. It gets sweeter with
each rocking motion, there’s heat building in his guts and a boiling of his
blood.
He’s seen heaven. The state of Nirvana, so they call it. Shaka had let him fall
through there, once. Bliss, a white-hot light that obliterates the brain, that
is Nirvana, the easiest of the six worlds to fall from. One taste leaves you
drooling, unable to comprehend, unable to live again without striving for that
numbing pleasure. He’s seen Nirvana, and compared to this, that is nothing.
Compared to the way Hyoga rolls his hips against him, there is no other Nirvana
than this one, and no other Gods. There is just him and Hyoga in the passenger
seat of this old beat-up sedan, writhing together.
Sweetness and boiling heat numbs them both as first Ikki finds himself coming
under Hyoga’s rolling hips, and then a moment later Hyoga is next, thighs
trembling against Ikki’s stomach, hands losing all energy to hold himself up
anymore. He moans and arches his back and then collapses against Ikki, stomach
to stomach, both their underwear now sweat-soaked and sticky, but both of them
too satisfied to care.
Hyoga finally pushes himself off Ikki’s lap and swings his leg back over the
console. He rolls into the drivers’ seat, buttons up his jeans, turns his keys,
which are still stuck in the ignition. The radio starts to life again, turned
down to a volume at which it’s just background noise. He revs the engine.
“So,” he says, shifting the car into gear, “since we’re in the middle of
nowhere, should I head back home, or should we keep driving until we find
somewhere to spend the night?”
His throat is dry. He peels himself off the seat and grabs his water bottle
from where it landed on the floor, takes a gulp of water that’s now warm. Hyoga
hits him again with that gaze like steel, his grip like iron on the wheel. He
hands over what’s left of his water bottle, and Hyoga drains it in one swift
gulp. His lips shine again, but now they’re swollen. He licks over his own lips
with his tongue, finds them the same.
He buttons up his jeans, shifts uncomfortable in the sticky mess his underwear
has become. His back is soaked with sweat against the seat.
“You know,” he says to Hyoga.
Just that. Hyoga can’t make him say it. He won’t, he’s not a coward, but he’s
not going to play into this hand, either.
Hyoga smiles, and his gold hair shines in the slow-setting sun. He pulls out of
the lot and takes another sharp left onto the back road, farther away from the
city limits and the steel skyscrapers of Tokyo, on backroads full of nothing
and no-one.
Together, they head out further into nowhere.
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