
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1967019.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      弱虫ペダル_|_Yowamushi_Pedal
  Relationship:
      Ishigaki_Koutarou/Midousuji_Akira
  Character:
      Midousuji_Akira, Ishigaki_Koutarou
  Additional Tags:
      Verbal_Humiliation, Masturbation
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-07-16 Words: 3367
****** Show Me That Side of You ******
by electrostatics
Summary
     Ishigaki goes to Midousuji's place to cook eel, and Midousuji notices
     the face Ishigaki makes when looking at him.
Notes
     For Ling!!! Thanks for all your wonderful art and how funny and nice
     you are! Huehuehue!
Ishigaki was about to go for a run when his phone rang with a message. Before
the year, he would have expected it from Mizuta or Yagamuchi, but their text
messages now came far and few between. Now, the only person who would regularly
text him was Midousuji.
Sure enough, when he checked his phone, it was Midousuji. Ishigaki-kun, come
over and help me cook eel.
Ishigaki sighed. He looked up at his ceiling, and then back down. He had come
over a couple of times before to help Midousuji with this or that--one time,
Midousuji had asked him to come over and watch this robot anime with him, for
"team morale purposes," and and Ishigaki had spent an incredibly uncomfortable
three hours sitting next to Midousuji in a darkened room with only the sounds
of the television to keep him company. If he said no, Midousuji would become
upset, or even maybe call Mizuta or Yamaguchi . . .
The idea of Midousuji enlisting anyone else for help made Ishigaki's stomach
turn. He texted back: Be there in 15. He changed out of his running clothes and
pulled on his school uniform, grabbing his bag, keys, and his wallet on the way
out. "I'm going to a friend's house, mom," he said, as he passed the kitchen,
"be back late."
"Be safe," she called back.
He made a noncommittal sound and hopped onto his bike. Midousuji's house wasn't
too far away by bike, but . . . geeze, why couldn't he just ask his relatives
to help him cook the eel? Were they out or something? Then again--Midousuji
didn't seem close to his relatives. They were living separately, after all,
and, at the back of his mind, where he didn't want to admit it, he looked
forward to these house calls that no one else received.
Ishigaki stopped in front of Midousuji's residence, locking his bike to the
tree in front with a chain lock, and knocked on the door. Midousuji opened the
door almost immediately, and Ishigaki almost jumped.
"Ishigaki-kun," Midousuji said. "You're finally here."
Ishigaki nodded, lips turning up into a smile. "Yeah," he said. "I'm here. You
said you wanted help cooking eel?" Midousuji stepped out of the doorway and
Ishigaki came inside, pulling his shoes off. Well, no answer was better than--
"Gross," Midosouji said suddenly. Ishigaki looked up, stepping back as he was
greeted with Midousuji's face just an inch away from his. "Why are you wearing
your school uniform again?" He reached out and picked at the shoulders of his
uniform and his sleeves. "Did you just come from there?"
"No," Ishigaki said, sidestepping him and heading toward the kitchen. "It was
just the easiest thing to put on." And besides, meeting up with Midousuji
always felt a little formal. It didn't feel right to come to Midousuji's
residence wearing a t-shirt and jeans. Midousuji . . . well.
The grilled eel package hadn't been opened yet. No pots and pans out. Ishigaki
looked over at Midousuji, who was studying him from the doorway of the kitchen.
"I'm going to make unagi-don," Ishigaki said. He turned the oven on and looked
in the cupboards for some sake while it preheated. "Give me about an hour and a
half."
"So long," Midousuji sighed.
"That's how long it takes to preheat the oven and wait for everything to cook,"
Ishigaki explained. "Otherwise, it won't be very good. Sorry." He pulled out
foil, a chopping board, and a knife. As he opened the package of eel, he asked,
"Do you mind if I make some too? I haven't had dinner yet."
There was silence. Ishigaki thought he had crossed the line. No, not a good
idea, what was he thinking, it was Midousuji's favorite food, after all, but
then, Midousuji said, "Okay."
Ishigaki's shoulders relaxed. He hadn't even remembered tensing them. He
started cutting the eel up.
More silence. Ishigaki didn't mind. It was soothing, even, and besides, after a
moment, he heard Midousuji shuffling around in the living room. Ishigaki didn't
pay it too much attention. Cooking was comforting, and even being around
Midousuji wasn't so bad. It was interesting to see how Midousuji lived. The
spartan lifestyle certainly reflected his singular focus on winning.
"Ishigaki-kun," Midousuji said, and Ishigaki looked over his shoulder with a
smile.
"Yes, Midousuji-kun?"
"You've been staring at the eel for five minutes without doing anything."
Midousuji narrowed his eyes. "What are you doing . . . It seems gross."
"Ah, sorry!" Ishigaki laughed: he hadn't realized he'd gotten that distracted.
"I'll finish this up. I know you're pretty hungry too, so please be patient."
He winked and flashed his best smile. "Just wait a bit!"
Midousuji made a displeased face, but Ishigaki turned back to the task at hand.
He hummed the whole time, half an ear listening to Midousuji shuffling in the
background, and finally his footsteps fading away. He was probably going to go
look at his bike.
"I'm done!" Ishigaki called, washing his hands. He stared at the two bowls of
unagi-don. He wasn't a professional chef, but personally, he thought they would
have passed as restaurant quality.
Midousuji slunk back into the room, eyes wide. Ishigaki handed him a bowl and
went to the dining room table. "Aren't you going to sit down?" he asked, when
Midousuji kept staring at him.
"Ishigaki-kun," Midousuji said, sitting down across from him, "thank you for
the meal."
His words sounded so sincere. Ishigaki laughed a little, suddenly embarrassed,
and felt his face heat. "Ah, no problem," he said. "It was fine, really. I
didn't have anything else to do." He started eating, staring at his bowl,
instead of up at Midousuji. He couldn't think of anything to say to Midousuji.
"Gross," Midousuji said, suddenly. Ishigaki gave it no attention. It was
probably something else, right? But even though he was thinking that, it was as
though suddenly, the atmosphere had changed. There was a strange pressure
coming from Midousuji, but Ishigaki didn't want to look up. Not yet.
When he was done, he looked up, and Midousuji was done as well, his bowl
completely empty. But Midousuji was staring right at him, eyes intense.
Ishigaki swallowed, surprised at himself for doing so. "Yes, Midousuji-kun?"
Ishigaki should have expected it. Midousuji being so nice, thanking him and
letting him make himself eel; he should have known that it wouldn't have lasted
that long. Something was bound to go wrong.
The look on his face--it felt like the look he would give those he had figured
out. Those whose weak spots he had discovered.
"The face you make," Midousuji said. "It's a gross face."
Ishigaki reached up and brushed a hand through his hair, flattening it back
against his head. "What face?"
"When you look at me."
Ishigaki didn't say anything. Did he have such a face? It was true that, of all
the people he knew, Midousuji was special amongst them. His values, his
talents, everything--they were a cut above the rest. But Ishigaki didn't know
that his expressions were that obvious.
"See. It's gross," Midousuji said. "It's really gross. You always have this
face when you come over."
Ishigaki stood up. He meant to clear the table of both of their dishes and
utensils, but then Midousuji stood up and grabbed a fistful of his uniform.
"Ishigaki-kun," Midousuji said. "You look gross. You're making me feel gross.
Come here."
"Eh, but the dishes--" Midousuji didn't let him finish. He yanked the bowl from
his hand and replaced it on the table. "Midousu--"
"Shut up," Midousuji said, pulling him toward his room, and Ishigaki had a
sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, his heart palpitating wildly in his
chest, a flush of heat running over his body. What was he expecting, what was
his body preparing for, he didn't know, but his hands started to sweat and
Midousuji looked back at him as they entered his room, his eyes narrowed as if
knowing.
"Ishigaki-kun." He sounded as though he were reprimanding him, and Ishigaki
felt a hot burst of shame. "What are you thinking about? You keep getting
distracted, all the time, when you're here." Midousuji shoved a little at
Ishigaki's chest.
"Nothing," Ishigaki said, his back hitting the wall. "I'm not--it's nothing."
But there it was, at the surface of his mind, the furtive fantasies he'd been
harboring, had woken up to in the middle of the night, had imagined when
accidentally catching a glance at Midousuji's back in the locker room: being
pinned down by that body, being pressed up against the wall, feeling
Midousuji's muscles working flush against him . . .
It was selfish and gross to think of Midousuji this way. Ishigaki felt his nape
grow hot under Midousuji's scrutinizing gaze. He needed to leave. "I think I
should go home," Ishigaki said. "Thanks for enjoying my food." That was all
this was. He had been asked over to cook. To demand or even expect something
more . . .
"You're hard," Midousuji said.
Ishigaki's limbs wouldn't move. Yes. He was hoping that Midousuji wouldn't
notice. "Sorry," he said. "I guess, I, uh . . ." He had no excuse. There was
nothing. He felt he deserved it, the embarrassment crawling over his skin.
Hadn't he always come over with such an ulterior motive, of getting close to
Midousuji, of being able to see him?
"Gross," Midousuji said. "Gross. Gross. You're so gross, Ishigaki-kun." To
Ishigaki's horror, instead of deterring him, Midousuji's insults were just--
they were making it worse. He was getting more and more turned on by his kouhai
calling him gross. Ishigaki's breaths came out in uneven puffs; his face felt
flushed. He needed to leave. Now. Before it got worse.
"I-shi-ga-ki-kun," Midousuji said. Ishigaki couldn't help but look up at his
eyes. His world suddenly felt narrow, just him and Midousuji in this room, the
growing feeling that he had been found out, that there was nothing but this
shame . . . "You like being called gross. Don't you?"
"N-no . . ." But even as he was saying it, he could feel his dick twitching; he
was going to have a stain in his boxers and pants. "Midousuji-kun, I, I think
it's time to leave--"
"You can't leave," Midousuji said. "If you leave now, you'll be distracted. And
you'll be distracted for our practice. And our races."
Ishigaki slid down onto his ass, his back pressed against the wall. His dick
was throbbing painfully against his uniform's pants. "Midousuji-kun, please, I
. . ."
Midousuji's long tongue slipped out from between his lips and licked his upper
lip. Ishigaki rocked back and forth uncomfortably. His uniform felt too tight,
the collar suffocating him.
Midousuji approached him. Ishigaki trembled, holding his arms across his chest.
What should he do? He didn't want Midousuji to--to touch him, not like that,
not because he didn't want to, but because, it was embarrassing, to be seen
like this, to have a kouhai see him in such a humiliating position.
"Ishigaki-kun," Midousuji said, looming over him, a thin but all the same
imposing silhouette. "Ishigaki-kun . . . you have so much trouble forgetting
things . . ."
Ishigaki was losing his control on his self-restraint. Midousuji was right
there, judging him, but he wasn't telling him to stop. He was insulting him,
but somehow, it felt--good, it felt like what he deserved. To be ridiculed.
After all, he'd abandoned his friends, turned them into basically soldiers, had
devoted himself to the proven ace, Midousuji. Midousuji wasn't the one they
should be afraid of, but maybe Ishigaki, who felt like filth through and
through.
"When you think about others." Midousuji said, and suddenly his hand was very
close, tilting Ishigaki's chin up, "you lose sight of victory. I can't have
that. These things are unnecessary."
"Midousuji-kun," Ishigaki said. "I'm sorry, I . . ."
Midousuji seemed to be waiting for his response. Ishigaki's mouth felt dry,
like sandpaper. What was Midousuji waiting for, what did he want Ishigaki to
do--but then, impulsively, he reached out, grabbing Midousuji's shirt, pulling
him down, crushing their lips together.
Midousuji didn't respond. Didn't move as Ishigaki licked at Midousji's lips.
Ishigaki didn't expect him to, but still--the reality of Midousuji responding
so coldly to him was like a slap in the face, and Ishigaki clutched at his
shirt desperately.
"Gross," Midousuji said, against his lips. "You're so gross." But suddenly his
tongue was inside Ishigaki's mouth, and Ishigaki moaned and trembled at the
same time, trying to create friction against his legs.
It wasn't enough.
"More," Ishigaki gasped. "Please."
"Gross, gross, gross," Midousuji mumbled, but he awkwardly put his hands on
Ishigaki's shoulders, pulling him up, pressing him against the wall. Ishigaki
tilted his head back and threw his arms around Midousuji's neck, his heart
pounding in his ears.
Midousuji put his thigh between Ishigaki's legs and Ishigaki moaned
pathetically, even to his own ears, and started grinding himself against
Midousuji.
Midousuji pulled away, licking his lips. His face was flushed and his breathing
was uneven. That was new. Ishigaki stared up at him, feeling dazed, grunting
when Midousuji stepped back from him completely.
"Just a zaku," Midousuji mumbled, "just a zaku," but then he looked at
Ishigaki, eyes intense and piercing. He walked over to his bed and sat down.
"Get over here, Ishigaki-kun. On your hands and knees. It's time for you to
show me what a good zaku you are."
Ishigaki only hesitated for a second. Yeah. He would. He crawled over, stopping
a couple feet in front of Midousuji.. "Midousuji-kun," he said, looking up at
him, and despite himself, and the situation, he smiled a little, "Thanks."
Midousuji just looked down at him, eyes unreadable. "Gross," he said, finally.
"You're so . . . gross. I'm doing this because you're so gross, you know."
"Yeah," Ishigaki said.
"Do what you do," Midousuji said, waving his hand vaguely, "when you. Get like
this."
"What?" Ishigaki didn't know if he understood him correctly. Was he asking him
to . . . was he asking him to jerk off? Right in front of him? Right now?
"Do it," Midousuji said, again.
Ishigaki licked his lips. His palms were slick with sweat. Should he really . .
. Was this . . . But when he looked at Midousuji, he felt like he couldn't say
no, and the shame burned inside of him as he realized that he wanted to do
this. He wanted to touch himself in front of Midousuji. God, he really was
disgusting.
Ishigaki undid the zipper to his pants, pulling his dick out from his boxers.
He couldn't look up at Midousuji. It was one thing to change in the club room,
but to actually be so, so--lewd was another. Ishigaki's hand shook a little,
but then he heard Midousuji moving, the bed creaking, and Ishigaki put a hand
on his dick, clenching his teeth. Why was this so hot to him? But even as he
was thinking that, he was spreading the precome around the head of his dick,
hissing between his teeth. His other hand was on his thigh, clenched into a
fist.
"What are you doing," Midousuji said. "Stop looking down. Look up."
Ishigaki's head felt heavy, but he looked up, catching Midousuji's eyes. His
heart was pounding against his ribcage, but even as the dread settled into his
stomach, his hand started moving up and down on his dick, squeezing tightly.
Midousuji's face--he couldn't tell what he was thinking. Was he enjoying this?
Was this just a power play? But he had asked Ishigaki to--to masturbate in
front of him, and, was watching him so intently, even if Ishigaki couldn't tell
if it was disgust or not, and Midousuji had never looked at him like this, with
his full attention, had never strayed his eyes away from the victory line.
Ishigaki felt like maybe this was the first time that Midousuji had really seen
him, had seen him as more than just someone who was not fit to be an ace--more
than just a foot soldier for an army.
Ishigaki's thighs shook, the hand on his dick stroking faster, and he closed
his eyes, bit his lip. He wanted to come with Midousuji watching him.
"Stop," Midousuji said, and Ishigaki opened his eyes with some struggle and
managed to take his hand off himself, whimpering as the air hit his dick. "It's
. . . dirty. Dirty and gross." He reached over to the bedside drawer and threw
a box of tissues in front of Ishigaki. "Don't get any on the floor."
Ishigaki panted, staring without comprehension at the tissues, and then back up
at Midousuji's face. "Okay, Midousuji-kun."
"Keep going," Midousuji said.
Ishigaki swallowed, his throat dry, and he started stroking himself again.
"You have the grossest look on your face." But his voice sounded flatter than
usual, maybe a bit confused, and Ishigaki licked his lips. Maybe Midousuji
wasn't at all unaffected. "Do you do this often, Ishigaki-kun? Do you?"
It seemed like an innocent question, but it was so--so dirty, and Ishigaki
moaned. "Y-yeah," he said. "I . . . do. Sometimes."
"Gross."
"Yeah," Ishigaki said. He could barely hear himself over the slick noises of
his hand on his cock. "Yeah."
"Gross. What do you think about, why does it feel so good?"
Had Midousuji never--? No, he must have, right? Ishigaki parted his lips to
respond, but then his mind wandered, he thought of Midousuji, at night,
touching himself--what did he think about? Was there someone he liked? Did he
like anyone, after all, or did he, perhaps, think of Ishigaki after he came
over to cook for him, to watch shows with him?
He knew it wasn't like that. Midousuji never looked away from victory. But
right now, Midousuji was looking at him, focusing only on him, and he could
pretend, just for a second . . .
Ishigaki closed his eyes tightly, bending over at the waist until his forehead
touched the ground, moaning pathetically as he came, his vision going white.
"Get up," Midousuji said.
Ishigaki groaned. "Hold on, please," he said, "I'm still . . . I'm still
recovering . . ." But he managed to put his other hand on the ground, levering
himself up. He looked down at his stomach and winced. He'd come and managed not
to get any on the ground, but his uniform, on the other hand . . .
"So gross," Midousuji muttered. "Gross . . . gross . . ."
Ishigaki didn't say anything. He just picked up some tissues from the box and
started to clean himself up the best he could. By the time he got home . . .
maybe his mom would be asleep and he wouldn't have to explain himself.
He tucked himself in and zipped up his pants. "Midousuji-kun," he said,
averting his gaze from him, "I think I should go home."
"Wash the dishes first," Midousuji said, standing up from his bed.
"Ah . . . all right." Ishigaki stood as well, holding some crumpled up tissues
in his hand. He walked back to the kitchen, throwing the tissues away in the
trash can, and washed his hands.
Midousuji stood behind him, watching over his shoulder. "Ishigaki-kun," he
said. "Come over tomorrow and cook again."
"Yeah, yeah." Ishigaki started washing the dishes. It seemed--so normal now.
Just washing the dishes after having jerked off in front of Midousuji's feet,
come all over his uniform. He'd have to wash it, too. He couldn't just go to
class wearing this . . .
Ishigaki nearly dropped the plate he was holding when he felt something warm
and wet touch his neck. "Mi-midousuji-kun!!"
"Salty," Midousuji said. "Tastes good."
Ishigaki flushed. "Mi-midousuji-kun."
"You're getting distracted again, Ishigaki-kun." Midousuji put his hands on
Ishigaki's shoulders and squeezed a bit too tightly. Ishigaki winced. "If you
don't focus, you won't win."
"Yeah," Ishigaki said. Midousuji's fingers gripped more tightly.
"Come over tomorrow," Midousuji said.
"I will," Ishigaki said.
"Show it to me again." Midousuji's voice was close to his ear, his breath warm.
He was squeezing so tightly, there were probably going to be bruises on
Ishigaki's shoulders later. "Your gross face."
Ishigaki shuddered. "All . . . all right," he said, and even to him, his own
voice sounded unsure, but on the inside, he felt himself looking forward to the
next day, when he could see Midousuji and his room again, and thought, I'm so
gross.
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