
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1237909.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Dangan_Ronpa
  Relationship:
      Ishimaru_Kiyotaka/Oowada_Mondo
  Character:
      Ishimaru_Kiyotaka, Oowada_Mondo
  Additional Tags:
      Plot_What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot, No_Plot/Plotless, Bathtubs, Interlude,
      Fluff, First_Kiss, First_Time, Inline_with_canon
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-03-01 Chapters: 2/2 Words: 6128
****** Once ******
by tastewithouttalent
Summary
     "Oowada splashes into the water before Ishimaru has entirely
     submerged; his entrance sends a wave of liquid up over the prefect’s
     face so he comes up spluttering." The follow-up to Ishimaru and
     Oowada's sauna competition.
***** Bath *****
Compared to the sauna, the heat of the bath is nearly cool. It soothes the
flush from Ishimaru’s skin -- he can see his arms returning from a worrying red
to their more normal pale tone, and when he leans back into the water his whole
body aches pleasantly. Oowada splashes into the water before Ishimaru has
entirely submerged; his entrance sends a wave of liquid up over the prefect’s
face so he comes up spluttering.
“Hey,” he protests weakly, but Oowada grins bright at him until Ishimaru laughs
instead and pushes the damp of his hair back from his forehead. Oowada’s own
hair is soaked flat down his neck and shoulders, longer than Ishimaru expected
it to be. The prefect laughs and reaches out to pull at the strands.
“You’ve got really nice hair.” The locks are dripping wet and wavy, curling
against Ishimaru’s fingers when he pulls at them. “Isn’t it hard to take care
of it?”
Oowada shrugs, reclining back against the side of the tub and bringing his arms
up to stretch out on the edge to hold himself up. He tips his head, grinning at
Ishimaru’s wide-eyed expression. “Sure. Still, ain’t it worth it for the final
effect?”
Ishimaru laughs and pulls at the end before letting go. “I like it down, but I
could never manage it myself. It would take a lot of effort to keep it under
control.”
“Damn straight.” Oowada slides off the edge, drops back to the water so his
hair fans out around him in a rippling wave. Ishimaru watches the shift of the
strands under the water until Oowada comes back up and drags the wet weight of
it back up. He stretches, looks sideways, and catches Ishimaru staring at him.
“Admiring?” He twists away so his half-covered shoulders are facing the other
boy. “You can keep touching it, if you want. It feels good to have someone else
playing with it ‘stead of just me trying to pull it up.”
Ishimaru smiles and comes forward, tucks one leg up against his chest so he can
thread his fingers through the other boy’s hair. The locks are heavy with
moisture and slowly dripping into the water below them; Oowada sighs in
pleasure and tips his head forward at the pull on his scalp. Ishimaru
continues, pressing water out of the other’s hair until it goes fluffy and
curls around his fingers.
They both go silent for a minute, until even the soft splash of water against
the sides of the bath subsides. It’s Oowada who speaks, eventually, without
moving to pull his hair free.
“‘S nice.” For a minute Ishimaru thinks the other is still talking about the
tug on his hair until Oowada clears his throat and continues. “Relaxing, I
mean. Having someone to trust.”
“I’d think this would be easier for you.” Ishimaru says. “I mean, danger is
something you’re used to, isn’t it?”
“Not on my own.” Oowada tips his head back to press his scalp harder against
Ishimaru’s touch. “Always had my gang with me, y’know? Could count on them more
than I could count on myself.” There’s a shadow there, under his words, but
Ishimaru doesn’t comment. “But in here…” He trails off.
“It’s the opposite for me,” Ishimaru offers in return. “I mean, there’s fewer
people here, but I didn’t have anyone out on the outside either. It was less
dangerous, though. It’s weird to think that I could die at any moment.”
“Least you got a brother out of it, right?” Oowada twists to toss a grin over
his shoulder at Ishimaru. “Ain’t that worth some danger?”
With Oowada smiling at him it seems like it might be worth it, for this moment
alone, and Ishimaru smiles back without having to think about it at all.
“Yeah, it is,” he says, but his voice twists odd and tight back in his throat
while his blood shivers under his skin. He chokes on his inhale and bursts into
a coughing fit, and when he comes back up Oowada is watching him with a raised
eyebrow.
“What the hell was that?” he asks. His voice is level but Ishimaru can see the
tension in the twist in his neck, muscle and tendon pulling tight under his
skin.
“What was what?” the prefect asks, though he can still feel an excess of heat
burning under his skin, radiating out from the texture against his fingers.
“You had a tone.” Oowada turns farther towards him, sets his palm flat between
them so he can lock out his elbow and brace himself against the bottom of the
bath. “C’mon, you heard it too.” His eyes drag down the other boy’s skin and
Ishimaru flushes painfully red even though he’s not got anything to hide.
“What?!” Ishimaru protests, rocking back. “What are you talking about, I --”
Oowada’s just watching him, not flinching back or hitting him or anything, and
when Ishimaru sputters to a stop he offers half-a-grin.
“You want me to spell it out for you? I thought you’d be kinda quicker with a
hint.”
“Uh. But.” Ishimaru is blushing in waves of heat, ripples of warm sweeping over
his cheeks as he tries to not meet Oowada’s eyes. “We’re...brothers?” It comes
out like far more of a question than he intends it to, and Oowada laughs over
the upswing at the end of the word.
“Not the way you were lookin’ at me. Be honest.” He leans in, eyebrow still
raised, until his shoulder bumps against Ishimaru’s skin. The other boy rocks
back and squeaks involuntarily, but he doesn’t blink and doesn’t look away from
the shadows of Oowada’s eyelashes against his cheek. “Come on, man. Is this new
for you like having a friend is?”
“I don’t --” Ishimaru starts, but Oowada heaves a gusty sigh and cuts him off.
“I’m just gonna say that’s a ‘yes,’ okay? Look, I got this. You trust me,
right?”
Ishimaru hesitates and Oowada talks over him. “Didja change your mind about
that in the last two minutes? You trust me to not kill you, that should be the
biggest thing, right?”
“Y -- yes,” Ishimaru stutters, and Oowada grins and reaches out to grab the
other’s shoulder.
“Good. Just relax, then, okay?”
Ishimaru can’t. He has to sneak up on relaxation at the best of times, and
right now it’s the last thing he can imagine achieving. Oowada doesn’t wait for
him to calm down or even take a deep breath; he leans in close, so close that
Ishimaru starts to pull back and choke, “Wait, what are you --” before Oowada’s
mouth closes over his.
Ishimaru freezes, stiff with panic and shock, and his brain flickers quiet for
a span of heartbeats. Oowada’s fingers on his arm squeeze tighter, then looser,
and then the other boy is pulling away and the hand against Ishimaru’s arm
lifts away. Ishimaru’s eyes focus on Oowada’s face; the other boy is watching
him, chin tipped down so he’s looking up through his eyelashes at the prefect’s
face.
“What…” Ishimaru says, the word coming slow and dragging to his tongue. Oowada
grins, his teeth catching the light so they shine brilliant white.
“Didja like it?”
“What?” Ishimaru is still processing the tingle of sensation against his mouth
and the flush of heat sweeping fast and hot under his skin, and it’s hard to
really take in the meaning of the other boy’s words.
“Did you like it?” Oowada hasn’t leaning back or raised his chin from its
forward lean. “Me kissing you. You could try it in the other direction, if you
want.”
“I don’t -- what? Why did you…?”
“You were looking at me like you wanted to lick me,” Oowada grins, and Ishimaru
chokes in shock and on the mental image that burns like fire in his veins. “Did
you just lose control of your face, or did you like that?”
“I...I was looking at you like that?” Ishimaru shakes his head and tries to
pull his thoughts together. “It was -- I liked it.” He pauses, thinks for a
moment, nods decisively. “Yes. I liked it.”
“Oh good,” Oowada smirks. “Me too.” He leans back and brings his arms back up
to rest on the edge of the pool. “C’mon, you owe me.”
“Huh?” Ishimaru sputters, but after a moment he swallows and comes in on his
knees, reaches out to balance himself against Oowada’s shoulder. The other
boy’s body is hot and shifts slightly under the pressure of Ishimaru’s hand,
and the distance to his mouth is much farther than he expects, but Oowada
doesn’t move or protest as Ishimaru comes forward, and after a breath of
hesitation Ishimaru lands his mouth against the other boy’s.
Oowada hums, and when he smiles his lips part and he slicks his tongue over
Ishimaru’s lips until the other boy opens his mouth and mirrors the motion.
Oowada leans in gently and Ishimaru’s grip on his shoulder goes tighter,
steadying his balance while his heart speeds under his skin. Fingers come up
against his ribcage and he jumps and topples sideways into the water, and he
can feel Oowada laugh against his mouth before their lips separate.
“You okay?” he asks, and Ishimaru takes a shaky breath.
“I’m not...sure.”
“You done that before?” Oowada asks. His hand is still against Ishimaru’s skin,
shifting idly so it pulls ripples of water in its wake below the surface.
“No,” he manages, honesty seeming the best choice in the situation. “I
thought...you’re supposed to kiss girls?”
“Don’t have to.” Oowada shrugs one-shouldered. “Unless you want to. And I want
to kiss you.”
“Okay,” Ishimaru says, for lack of anything more coherent, and they both lean
in towards each other until their mouths make contact again. Oowada’s hair
catches on Ishimaru’s collarbones, and the other boy’s hand locks down against
Ishimaru’s waist to hold him steady. After a moment Ishimaru gets his hands up
in some imitation of the other, seeks out handholds on Oowada’s hip and the
other boy’s neck, and Oowada chuckles against his mouth and pulls him in an
inch closer. Their legs are tangled together, Ishimaru’s weight is tipped oddly
forward on his knees so he’s just on the edge of falling, and Oowada’s tongue
is dragging hot over his and the other boy tastes foreign and the sensation is
oddly warm, hotter than the water around them, and when Ishimaru slides his
knee forward to catch his balance he comes in against Oowada’s chest, and
that’s the point he realizes he’s hard.
The blush comes hard on the heels of this epiphany, followed by a scrambling
rush to get backwards that totally defeats the goal, however impossible, of
keeping Oowada from noticing. The other boy is grinning at Ishimaru by the time
he can manage to look up and make eye contact, his eyebrows raised so high it
brings another wave of color to the prefect’s cheeks.
“Calm down,” Oowada says. He comes forward through the water, approaches until
he can reach out to grab the edge of the bath and pin Ishimaru where he is
between his arms. It feels like a cage and his arms are brushing Ishimaru’s
shoulders and the prefect can’t breathe properly and his erection is totally
failing to get itself under control. “Shit man, it’s kinda the goal, ain’t it?”
He leans in to kiss Ishimaru’s lower lip, and his hip comes in against the
other boy’s leg and Ishimaru can feel Oowada’s half-hard length against his
skin, and he makes an odd whimpering noise and rocks up against the resistance
without thinking.
Oowada groans, and presses down farther, and the self-consciousness freezing
Ishimaru in place melts under the sound coming from the other boy’s throat.
There’s another moan, and it’s not until Ishimaru’s mouth is against Oowada’s
again that he realizes that it came from his throat, and then Oowada moves his
arm and reaches down under the water to touch him, and Ishimaru presses up into
the contact and whimpers and forgets to be embarrassed.
It’s totally different to have Oowada’s hands against him instead of his own.
The other boy’s hands are bigger, and the calluses across his palms are strange
and unfamiliar, and he’s not stroking so much as exploring, sliding his fingers
surprisingly gently against whatever he can reach: Ishimaru’s erection, his
hip, his leg, sparking response everywhere he goes. The prefect isn’t touching
the other boy at all, at least not with his hands; he has a clinging, desperate
grip against the back of Oowada’s neck and the other boy’s shoulder, and he’s
rocking up against the other’s touch and pressing his leg against Oowada’s
length whenever he moves, but there’s no deliberation to his movements, just
instinct and want.
It’s fine while their movements remain random, but as Oowada finds a pattern
for his fingers Ishimaru catches the rhythm as well, and between them the
ripples across the water are distracting enough to pull the prefect’s attention
away until he goes still, self-awareness coming back into his overheated brain.
“This is --” He pauses. “This is really unsanitary.”
Oowada goes still and for a moment Ishimaru thinks he’s going to pull away.
Then the other boy barks a laugh and brings his head in to breathe out against
the prefect’s neck.
“That’s seriously what you’re thinking of?” he says, but he sound more amused
than irritated. “And it’s not. Yet.”
“Well,” Ishimaru says. Oowada closes his fingers around the prefect’s length
properly, pulls one smooth stroke up against him, and Ishimaru hisses and gasps
for air.
Ishimaru can hear the laughter in Oowada’s voice when he speaks again. “But
it’s gonna be, yeah?”
Ishimaru makes an effort to relax his grip. He even succeeds, although his
hands are shaking with adrenaline when he lets them go. “Yeah.”
Oowada hums -- Ishimaru can feel the sound through his skin -- and pulls away
from the prefect’s lingering fingers on his shoulder and hair. “Okay. Let’s go
back up to my room.”
“Yours?” Ishimaru stays without thinking. Oowada drags his hair back one-handed
and shoots him a grin.
“Yeah, mine. ‘Less you wanna jerk yourself off all alone? I promise it’ll be
more fun with me.”
Ishimaru flushes dark and Oowada grins and steps out of the water. Ishimaru’s
eyes drop to the other boy’s erection, standing out stiff from his body, and he
makes an involuntary whine in the back of his throat. If he weren’t already
blushing as hard as he can manage the wave of self-conscious heat would be
clear on his skin, and when Oowada glances at him and grins again he finds
reserves of embarrassment he has never before experienced.
“C’mon,” Oowada says, moving for his towel. Ishimaru climbs out in his wake
while the other boy’s back is turned, pointlessly self-aware in spite of the
lingering sensation of Oowada’s hands against him, and gets his own towel
wrapped around his hips while Oowada’s back is turned. That gets him another
sharp grin when Oowada turns back, but the other boy doesn’t say anything about
it, just jerks his head towards their clothes and says, “You feel like
waiting?”
Ishimaru doesn’t think he’s ever gotten dressed so quickly in his life.
***** Bed *****
Ishimaru refuses to take the lead when they leave the bath. He blushes and
fidgets like walking to the other boy’s room is a presumption after having
their hands all over each other. It’s silly but Oowada doesn’t bother with
teasing the prefect, just takes the lead down the hallway and lets Ishimaru
trail in his wake. For all that the other is hesitant to lead the way he is
quick to follow, so close on Oowada’s heels that he kicks him more than one
with those damn boots and the other boy can hear the prefect’s breath coming
fast with anticipation just over his shoulder.
Oowada doesn’t need to be rushed. He’s already going as fast as he can manage,
taking long strides so Ishimaru has to half-run every third step to keep up.
The hallways are deserted, everyone else obediently in their room, so there is
no one to see the way Oowada’s jeans are pulling tight in the front or the
crimson flush that is undoubtedly still across Ishimaru’s cheeks. And there is
no one to see when Oowada gets the door to his room open and they both tumble
inside, Ishimaru so close behind him that they pass through the door at once.
It’s not until the passage is shut behind them that the prefect seems to recall
some of his nervousness. He looks at Oowada and away, catching his hands on
each other in a motion that he would surely control if he were aware of it, and
edges backwards until his shoulders hit the wall. Oowada leans back and doesn’t
move, watches the other boy retreat and avoid his own gaze until he is forced
to examine the room in lieu of making eye contact.
“It’s almost the same as mine,” he says, pointlessly. They all saw Naegi’s room
after that first murder, and Monokuma declared that the rooms are identical, at
least between the boys. There’s not enough in the room itself to make it really
individual, although Oowada has a suspicion that Ishimaru’s bed is actually
made instead of a tangle of sheets like his own.
“Yeah?” he says, and steps forward. Ishimaru’s gaze jerks up to his face
instantly, as if Oowada is calling his name, mouth still open around whatever
he was going to saw. Oowada’s not even that close, really, but the prefect’s
scarlet eyes go wide with something that is part anticipation and part nerves,
and as the larger boy comes in close enough to touch Ishimaru follows his
movement. By the time Oowada is in the prefect’s personal space Ishimaru’s head
is tipped back to compensate for the extra inch or two of height Oowada has on
him. When he licks his lips Oowada is certain it’s unconscious, but the other
boy’s tongue catches on the heat-chapped skin of his mouth, and it’s very hard
to not pin him back against the wall.
Oowada resists, though. When he reaches out he’s touching, not shoving, and
when his hands come down on Ishimaru’s shoulders he can feel the worst of the
tension bleed out of the other boy’s body.
“Breathe,” he reminds him, and Ishimaru is just starting an inhale when Oowada
leans in and interrupts the reflex with his mouth against the other boy’s. His
lips are chapped, Oowada noticed that back in the bath too, and they catch
sticky on Oowada’s rather than sliding smooth against skin. Ishimaru’s hair is
cut very short along the back of his neck, it brushes soft over Oowada’s
fingers, and when the larger boy pulls gently the smaller comes in, takes a
half-step forward and reaches out to curl his fingers around the leather of
Oowada’s jacket to hold him close.
He’s a natural, Oowada thinks, and feels Ishimaru go stiff and panicked under
his hands and has to append, When he relaxes.
He pulls back just an inch, says, “Calm down,” and Ishimaru makes a strangled
sound of pure panic that has no indication of obeying the other boy’s command.
Oowada laughs, and pushes the prefect back against the wall as he didn’t
before, and panic flickers into shock in those red eyes for just a moment.
“Okay,” he says, maintaining his hold on the other boy’s shoulder. “Let’s try
distraction then,” and before Ishimaru has a chance to react Oowada’s on him
and against him, shoving the other boy back against the soundproof wall by the
force of his shoulders so his hands are free to curl around the back of the
other’s neck and the narrow diameter of his wrist. Ishimaru whimpers but it
sounds more like surprise than rejection so Oowada doesn’t pull back. He
crushes his mouth against the other boy’s and Ishimaru’s lips part without any
prompting at all; Oowada’s not sure if that’s deliberate or instinctive at this
point but he’s happy to accept the invitation, and when he slides his tongue
inside the other boy’s mouth Ishimaru sighs and opens his mouth wider.
Oowada’s fingers slide down against the collar of Ishimaru’s high jacket,
tracing out the lines of the other boy’s neck and shoulders under the crisp
fabric, and after a moment the prefect’s free hand comes up against the larger
boy’s chest and pushes against the sleeves of his leather jacket. Oowada lets
his hold on Ishimaru’s wrist go, angles his arm back so his jacket slides half-
off, and when he reaches out to return the favor and work Ishimaru’s jacket
open the other boy gasps like he’s been shocked and drops back against the wall
without being pushed. It’s easy to get the thing open, at least, so Oowada
barely has time to get impatient before his hands are sliding over the hard
lines of Ishimaru’s chest. The prefect is far thinner than Oowada himself,
narrower shoulders and leaner muscles, but he’s far more muscular than Oowada
originally gave him credit for, and he shivers under the other boy’s hands so
Oowada can feel the ripple run straight through the other’s body. He shifts his
feet to get one foot between Ishimaru’s -- it takes a light kick at the other’s
boots before he moves his feet apart at all -- and rocks his weight forward to
press his thigh against the other boy’s hips, and the prefect moans and rocks
forward so hard and so fast that his forehead hits Oowada’s shoulder with
bruising force.
“Woah,” Oowada protests, pushing back until Ishimaru’s shoulders are up against
the wall again and on the verge of laughter. “You okay?”
The prefect isn’t looking at him. His eyes are shut and Oowada’s thoughts stall
out briefly on how thick the other’s dark eyelashes are spread out across his
pale cheek, and his mouth is open so he can gasp for breath until Oowada comes
in to kiss against his parted lips. Ishimaru laughs into his mouth, and when
Oowada leans back the prefect’s eyes are open again and he’s more or less
looking at the other boy, although he’s rocking against the pressure of
Oowada’s leg and probably doesn’t realize it.
“No,” he says, and it takes Oowada a minute to piece together the question that
Ishimaru is answering. “I...I’ve never done this before. I’m not sure I’m --”
“You ain’t got any time to be not sure,” Oowada cuts him off. “I’ll stop if you
wanna stop. Should I stop?”
There is a pause, but it’s shorter than Oowada expects. Ishimaru’s eyes go
unfocused for a moment, just enough time for the larger boy to take a breath
and try to prepare himself for a refusal. Then the prefect shakes his head,
sharp; his eyes are still wide and his lip is trembling with nerves, but the
gesture is perfectly clear even before he says, “No, I don’t want you to stop,”
with a voice that doesn’t shake at all.
“Good choice,” Oowada grins, and steps back. “Get on the bed,” he says before
Ishimaru has time to do more than take a quick breath of protest.
The prefect moves without speaking, faster than Oowada expected, and he doesn’t
protest when the larger boy grabs his jacket and pulls it free as he goes by.
He drops to the edge of the bed, sits perfectly upright like he’s in a chair
and waiting further orders, and Oowada can’t bite back a laugh before he speaks
again.
“Take off your boots,” he manages, shedding his own coat and dropping it to the
floor along with Ishimaru’s. He’s a lot less careful about getting onto the bed
than Ishimaru was; Oowada just climbs on from the other side, only realizing
his own shoes are still on when they get tangled in the top sheet and he has to
pause to toe them off. Ishimaru is barely halfway down the front of one boot by
the time Oowada reaches him, his spine curved up to press visible against his
back as he fusses with the laces. Oowada comes in behind him, hooks one leg
around the other boy so his thigh is pressing hard against the prefect’s, and
kisses the raised edge in the center of Ishimaru’s back.
The smaller boy shudders until Oowada’s mouth but he doesn’t pull away, just
keeps tugging his shoes free while Oowada wiggles his hand in against bare
chest. He can feel Ishimaru’s breathing pressing against his ribcage, too fast
and arrhythmic with adrenaline, and when he smiles against the other’s skin
Ishimaru chokes on a breath that is almost a laugh.
“Your boots are stupid,” Oowada says, sliding his hand down to press against
the front of Ishimaru’s pants, and the prefect stutters on his response.
“I thi -- I think I agree with you.”
“‘S cause I’m right,” Oowada says. It’s a little difficult to handle the
buttons on the front of Ishimaru’s slacks one-handed, but this angle is
actually better than facing the other boy directly, and the prefect is
at least as distracted by what he’s doing as Oowada is slowed by the odd
position. Ishimaru keeps stumbling over his breathing, hissing on an inhale or
sighing an exhale, and he’s only just pulling his foot free from his first boot
by the time Oowada gets his fingers inside his pants.
“Oh,” Ishimaru says, his voice going high and panicked with strain. “I have -
- I still have one more to go.”
“Leave it,” Oowada suggests, kissing against Ishimaru’s back again. This time
he scrapes his teeth over the exposed skin and Ishimaru moans. Oowada can feel
the other boy’s cock go harder under his fingers, and when he grins and curls
his fingers into almost-a-grip on the other’s length Ishimaru whines in a range
Oowada didn’t think he could hit.
“I said leave it,” Oowada repeats, and Ishimaru shudders under his mouth.
“I can’t, I have to…” What the prefect has to do Oowada’s not sure, but he’s
fumbling with the laces on his second boot with speed if not any sort of grace,
and that’s good enough to earn him another minute of patience from the larger
boy.
Patience isn’t his strongest suit by any means, though, and his fingers keep
moving even though his mouth stays quiet. By the time Ishimaru gets his second
boot unlaced halfway, his hands are shaking so Oowada can feel the movement all
along his spine. The larger boy has his hand closed entirely around Ishimaru’s
length; he can’t quite find a rhythm with his wrist caught between the other
boy’s hip and chest, but the minimal movement he is managing is enough that he
thinks Ishimaru is in real danger of finishing before he even gets his boot
off.
Then the prefect moves, shifts his weight sharply to jerk his boot free, and
leans back against Oowada so he can lift his hips off the bed and wiggle free
of his pants. Whatever self-consciousness he had is gone, at least for the
moment. He twists so fast Oowada doesn’t have time to adjust; one moment he’s
got his mouth against the other boy’s skin and his hand sliding erratically
over his cock and the next Ishimaru is coming towards him, balanced shaky on
his knees on the mattress and reaching to catch his fall on Oowada’s shoulder.
They nearly go backwards together before the larger boy catches their weight
and goes sideways so they end up lying across the bed together. Ishimaru is
curving forward against him, fitting their hips and chests and legs together,
and when he rocks hard into the other boy Oowada’s not sure if it’s the
shameless desperation of the movement or the sensation against the front of his
jeans that makes him gasp.
Ishimaru blinks and Oowada can see the focus come back to his eyes for a
moment. The prefect blushes hard and hot all over his face and he starts to
cringe in embarrassment before Oowada gets his hand back around his length and
the shyness disappears in a breathless groan that goes straight to Oowada’s
cock.
“Fuck,” he laughs, sitting up and sliding down the bed so he can maneuver
himself between Ishimaru’s legs. The prefect is alternating between violent
blushing and unabashed gasping and Oowada’s not sure if he wants to jerk off to
Ishimaru’s reaction or laugh. Not that it matters at the moment, with the other
boy lying across his bed and Oowada kneeling between his legs. Oowada watches
Ishimaru’s face, strokes his hand up along the other boy’s length as he sees
focus coming back into the prefect’s eyes, and Ishimaru’s expression collapses
out of panic into pleasure like Oowada’s flicking a switch.
He does laugh at that, but that’s not enough to bring the prefect back into
self-consciousness, and as he finds a pattern to the movement of his hand
Ishimaru adjusts to match him, his breathing falling into the gaps of motion
and his hips rocking up to meet Oowada’s grip. It’s intoxicating to have the
other boy adjusting himself so entirely to Oowada’s actions, to say nothing of
the effect of seeing such uncontrolled want over the strait-laced prefect’s
face, of all people. Ishimaru’s not even speaking, at least not coherently;
he’s limiting himself to gasps and half-voiced moans, though those are loud
enough that Oowada’s glad for the soundproofing in the walls. He brings his
free hand to his mouth to lick his index finger; Ishimaru’s not looking at him,
the prefect’s eyes are fixed on the ceiling, so when Oowada brings his spit-
slick hand down to the other boy’s entrance the smaller boy jumps at the
contact, startled enough to come back to awareness for a moment.
“What are you --” he starts before Oowada talks over him.
“Just relax, okay?”
“But you’re --” Ishimaru burbles over him, his voice rising into confusion
before Oowada slides his finger inside the other boy and his words cut off into
a startled squeak.
“Relax,” he says again, because good fuck Ishimaru’s tight around his finger.
There’s a joke in there, enough to make him laugh sharp in spite of his
distraction, but the prefect is looking like he’s not sure if he’s intrigued or
scared and Oowada needs him to go in the right direction when he makes up his
mind. “You’ve never done this before.”
It’s not a question but Ishimaru still goes shocking red again and stutters in
flustered embarrassment as he tries to form a response. “No, of -- of course I
haven’t, why would I?”
“Cause it feels good,” Oowada offers with perfect sincerity, and curls his
finger to press gently inside the other boy. Ishimaru’s eyes go wide and
stunned and he manages to get out “Oh,” the word so low and soaked with
pleasure that Oowada grunts and shifts his weight so he can dig his cock
against his own ankle, just for the minimal friction it grants.
He can’t really move the hand inside Ishimaru very much, but it doesn’t take
much -- every time he so much as shifts the prefect groans with all the
resonant shock of newly-discovered sensation, and when Oowada starts to stroke
over his length again the other boy drops a hand over his mouth in a half-
thought effort to curb the wailing moan he makes. It doesn’t do much good, but
it doesn’t need to; Oowada’s heartrate is speeding with every sound from
Ishimaru’s throat. By the time he feels the other boy’s boy go tense as he
comes up on the edge of climax he’s grimacing at the lack of sensation against
his own erection, and it’s only the way Ishimaru arches up off the mattress
when he comes that gives him the focus to keep pumping his hand over the other
boy through the last ripples of his orgasm.
Ishimaru whimpers as Oowada draws his hand free, although the larger boy does
his best to go slow and carefully. Still, he only barely has his jeans open
when Ishimaru twists sideways and up into a sitting position, and the other boy
is reaching for him even though he blushes hard at the mess over his stomach
and harder when his fingers brush against Oowada’s length.
Oowada sighs at the long-anticipated pleasure of the other boy’s touch against
his cock and reaches out to rest his hand gently on Ishimaru’s hip. His mouth
fits in against the prefect’s collarbone even though their legs are a tangled
mess, and Ishimaru trembles in reaction.
“You okay?” Oowada asks. The other boy nods sharply into his shoulder before he
can form an answer, so Oowada is smiling before he hears Ishimaru’s voice.
“Yes.” There is a pause but Oowada can feel the tension of a question in the
other boy’s skin and stays quiet, shuts his eyes and waits while Ishimaru’s
fingers find a half-formed rhythm over his length.
“Did you -- how did you -- know that that felt good?”
Oowada laughs. “I have a different crowd than you do.” He pauses to consider.
“Or a crowd at all, I guess. People talk. I experimented.” He hesitates again
before he continues. “You can actually...well, I mean, with two guys, if you do
it right you can fuck each other that way.”
He is expecting a violent reaction from the other boy, though he’s not sure
what. Ishimaru pauses, his hand going still so Oowada has to bite back a demand
to keep going, for fuck’s sake, and takes a breath that shakes audibly to
Oowada’s ear.
Then he starts moving again, and Oowada breathes again in relief even before
the prefect says, “Can...could we?”
“Fuck,” Oowada blurts, his hand going tight against Ishimaru’s hip before he
can control the movement.
“We don’t have to --” Ishimaru backpedals and Oowada has to talk over him to be
heard.
“No, no, yes, yes we can try it, I’m just surprised you’re…” He clears his
throat and stops. “Yeah. I mean. You’re…” His mind offers up an image of
Ishimaru under him, starts to imagine what it would feel like to be inside the
other boy, how Ishimaru would feel inside him, and his sentence cuts off in a
high-pitched whine as he bucks up hard against the other boy’s hand around him.
“Fuck,” he gasps, and deliberately takes a careful breath and loosens his hold
on Ishimaru’s hip. The other boy is breathing hard too, he notices distantly,
but he sounds calm in comparison to Oowada’s own panting inhales. “You’re
really tight, we’d have to...have to work up to it. And we’d need something
more than spit but I -- I think that storeroom has anything, really.” Ishimaru
is moving his hand fast but not hard enough, maybe just from his own
preferences, Oowada doesn’t know and doesn’t care right now. “But...but yes,
yes we can try I -- fucking hell, Ishi, tighten your grip.”
He considers apologizing for being so abrupt but his blood is aching under his
skin, everything is drawing impossibly, agonizingly tight, and before he has a
chance to form the words Ishimaru’s fingers tighten against him and he draws up
once, twice, and everything floods away under the rush of pleasure that pours
into Oowada’s brain.
Ishimaru doesn’t stop moving while Oowada’s thoughts are whited out; as it
turns out the larger boy has to reach down to catch his wrist and hold it still
once the friction starts to leech into pain instead of pleasure.
“Okay, okay, enough,” he manages, but he’s smiling, and when he kisses against
the prefect’s shoulder Ishimaru relaxes, a tiny bit. Oowada lifts his head and
Ishimaru is staring at him, with his mouth marked with the imprint of his own
teeth and his cheeks flushed with adrenaline and embarrassment and pleasure all
together, and his eyes are so wide and so intense that Oowada leans in to kiss
him before he thinks about it. Ishimaru is still tense -- he doesn’t lean back
as much as Oowada expects him to, and he sucks in a breath of surprise against
the other boy’s mouth -- but his lips are soft, and his tongue is hot and slick
against Oowada’s, and when the larger boy pushes the prefect tips back to the
bed under him.
“Next time,” Oowada says as he pulls back, pleasure still echoing through his
veins and his lips tingling from the pressure of Ishimaru’s. “Next time, I
promise, okay?” Ishimaru blinks up at him, and when he smiles it bursts over
his whole face like a mask shattering apart.
“Okay,” he says, and Oowada leans back in to kiss him again.
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