
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4003507.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Akiyama-kun
  Relationship:
      Akiyama_Yuuji/Shiba_Daisuke
  Character:
      Akiyama_Yuuji, Shiba_Daisuke, Sano_Tomomi
  Additional Tags:
      i_am_hoping_i_got_all_of_those_names_right_+_im_sorry_if_i_didn't,
      Stalking, Homophobic_Language, Slurs, akiyama_and_shiba_engage_in_far
      more_public_sex_than_i_am_comfortable_with, Foot_Jobs, pretty_much_just
      content_warnings_for_all_the_shit_that_was_in_the_manga
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-05-25 Words: 5119
****** Things That Matter ******
by jtjenna_(pornographicpenguin)
Summary
     akiyama answers the door completely naked, come smeared over his
     stomach.
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
outside, the summer cicadas whine.  their noises flow in through the window,
cracked open to let in a humid summer breeze, a protestation of the heat, but
it does nothing to alleviate the denseness of the summer swelter.  it settles
into the air with a grim finality, each moment a lonely definite.  
akiyama shifts his legs.  sweat slicks the skin behind his knees.
brushing his ankles, the sheets sit crumpled at the foot of the bed.  neither
of them are cold, even in post-coital lethargy, fever sinking into their bones
and grazing over their foreheads and scalps.  last week akiyama's air
conditioning broke.  he has yet to call someone to fix it.
he watches at shiba as he sleeps.  listens.  the guy's loud even in
unconsciousness:  he twitches and jolts and sometimes he mutters things like
whining “no”s and groaning “yes”s and occasionally things like, “akiyama-kun,”
leaving his lips all desperate and small.  like the creaking, needy noises of
the cicadas outside.
akiyama twists the thick gold band around his ring finger.  he’s kind of
surprised he didn’t catch on to the idea earlier.
there’s a knock on the door.  it takes a second for akiyama to register the
sound, figure out where it’s coming from and what it is before he turns his
head into the mattress and decides to ignore it.  shiba snores disjointedly in
his ear.
a moment of pause.  the screen on the window rattles with a particularly rough
gust of wind.  the knocking comes again, more urgently this time.  with a sigh
that breezes weighty past his lips, akiyama continues to ignore it, letting his
eyes flutter closed.
“open up, you asshole!”  oh.  “it’s sano!”  as if akiyama wouldn’t have
recognized his voice from the first syllable.
akiyama still doesn’t get up.  he doesn’t particularly want to.  it’s hot out.
“i know you’re in there, dickwad!”  his fist thumps against the door with a
hollow sound, something metallic rattling inside it.  “open the goddamn door!”
oblivious next to him, shiba snores.  surprising.  akiyama thought he would’ve
woken up to bark, at the very least.
more pounding.  “i can see your lights on!”
akiyama sighs once again.  he’s not going to leave until akiyama answers the
door, is he?
he crawls out of bed, the sheets whispering their objections under his hands
and thighs as he does.  it’s been a long time since he’d gotten out of bed for
anyone other than shiba.
the rest of the flat extends out before him as a hot, sweaty confine.  kitchen
too small, hallways too short, not enough windows.  the carpet rasps against
his bare toes.  it’s only when he has his fingers clasped around the handle
that he realizes he hadn’t bothered to put on so much as a pair of shorts
before answering the door.
sano pounds on the door again.  it lands about five inches from akiyama’s ear.
 without an excessive amount of forethought, he figures that sano can deal with
it.
he answers the door completely naked, come smeared over his stomach.
to be fair, akiyama had actually forgotten about that last detail.  but akiyama
guesses from the expression on sano’s face that he hadn’t missed it.
“what?”
sano turns the color of a slightly overripe tomato.  red, but also kind of
sickly.  “um -- “ is the first thing he says, his hands forming cragged claw-
like shapes at the level of his neck.  he does not avert his gaze from
akiyama’s dick.
it takes a solid few seconds before sano manages to muster up some emotion
other than shock.  “what the hell, dude!?” he shouts.  he’s still staring at
akiyama’s dick.
akiyama smirks.
“you wake me up, this is what you get,” akiyama says, dispassionately.  “what
do you want?”
he isn’t in the habit of lying to himself:  he finds sano’s apparent emotional
trauma associated with watching him almost get fucked up the ass hilariously
funny.  dude can’t fucking get it up; how insecure do you have to be?
akiyama watches as a slow bead of sweat drips down sano’s forehead.  the semen
cached in his pubic hair is starting to dry.  leaning against the doorframe, it
occurs to akiyama as sano continues to stare blatantly at his dick that just
about anyone could walk by the open door, steps plodding along the cheap
linoleum, rims of their eyes parting over their eyeballs.  shock.  whatever.
 akiyama doesn’t close the door.
“whatever!  what the hell, you disgusting fucking fag!”
sano, looking a bit like a fresh bruise in a bright red apple, turns and
leaves, footfalls thudding angrily against the ground.  akiyama feels a drop of
sweat trail down the back of his neck.
“what’s going on…?”
from the hallway, shiba asks.  his mouth is turned down into an anxious frown.
 a weak gust of wind brushes akiyama’s ankles as the door at the end of the
hallway outside slams shut with a heavy metal clang!  briefly, he considers
simply leaving the door to his flat open.
“nothing.  go back to bed.”
shiba swallows, his lips forming a quivering line.  “i actually...have work, in
a half an hour.”
akiyama frowns.  he has to focus to keep his expression neutral.  suddenly the
beads of sweat on scalp, back of his neck, knees and crotch and thighs all seem
cold, tacky and itchy.  he desperately wants to be clean.  “okay,” he says.
 twisting the band of gold around his ring finger.  the summer is almost over.
 almost.  “go.”
“i don’t mean to -- it’s just, i already signed up for the hours, and -- “
“it’s fine.”  doesn’t matter.  he’ll just sleep anyways.
shiba closes his mouth.  his eyebrows form a wavering line, like a trembling
waterline.  “was that sano?”
akiyama pads over to the bathroom.  “yeah,” he says, then slams the door shut
behind him.
he really should have cleaned the come off himself earlier.


----
time passes.  sano’s odd, out-of-place visit flows out of his mind like water
down a stream:  things that don’t matter don’t matter.
things that do matter:  good food.
he isn’t entirely sure if he should call him and shiba eating out a ‘date’.
 they sit next to each other and when shiba gets too nervous, too caught up in
his own head, akiyama will nudge him under the table with his foot.  more often
he’ll plant a hand on shiba’s knee, his thumb teasing the inside of shiba’s
thigh.  he’ll make shiba order for the both of them, voice shaking, teeth
clacking, while he skates his fingers up the inside of shiba’s thigh, pressing
his thumb into the place where his leg folds into his crotch, avoiding shiba’s
dick with a calculated tenacity.
the waitress will smile at shiba.  akiyama will watch sweat sneak down his
neck.
akiyama won’t touch him until the food comes, pressing his palm into shiba’s
dick through the fabric of his clothes.  shiba still wears underwear.  akiyama
thinks it’s cute.  with one hand, akiyama will eat, calm as can be while the
other teases shiba under the table, tracing the outline of his dick through his
pants, pinching at the head.  shiba will come before akiyama’s even halfway
through with his dish.
and when they get home, shiba will fuck him hard into the mattress, hands
pulling at akiyama’s hair.  sometimes he’ll imagine it’s a punishment.  other
times he’ll think of it as a reward.
important:  school.  to a degree.
summer comes to a close.  akiyama’s realized that if shiba fails school,
akiyama has to deal with the consequences.  he shows up at school more often
than not.  drags himself out of bed in the morning.  he’s late, usually, but
he’s there.  
each morning before he heads to his own class, he’ll stop by shiba’s to wave.
 shiba’s smile when he does so could light up the whole building, probably.
he gets lectured more often than not when he’s late, interestingly enough.
 more so than when he just didn’t show up.  like because his teachers think
that because he’s put in some effort it’s horrendous that he isn’t putting in
as much as they want him to.
people are weird.
in the morning he lays in bed, swaddled in sheets and the tangles of his own
hair.  the heat of the sun, radiating off the concrete, through the glass panes
of the classroom’s windows, isn’t close to the same.  but there’s a door buried
in the bowels of the building.  it locks automatically, but during lunch
akiyama will prop it open with a rock, letting the breeze blow into the halls
of the school.
the first time they discover the spot, shiba leans against the wall and sighs,
wind ruffling the strands of his hair.  cut short. he looks like a well-behaved
high school boy, even when he fucks akiyama so hard he starts to scream.
akiyama throws his arms around shiba’s shoulders, burying his nose into the
curve of shiba’s neck.  the collar of his uniform tickles akiyama’s nose.
 shiba strokes his hair.
akiyama doesn’t care about what people say.  what they think.  he’s never been
in a place where he found himself able to.  (care, that is.)  but shiba does.
 he cares about the teacher’s lectures and the way the gazes of akiyama’s old
friends slide off of them like water off glass, sano’s the only one seeming to
stick.  wide-eyed and accusing.  some kind of terrified.
(life is weird.  akiyama takes it in stride.)
but out back behind the school, in akiyama’s apartment, all of that seems to
melt away from shiba.  with a big sigh.  akiyama breathes in the timid scent of
shiba’s deodorant.  his hand comes to rest on akiyama’s knee.
(when you have people around you that you really care about, that you want to
stay, life becomes a lot more complicated.  akiyama takes it in stride.)
thing that’s most important:  shiba.
if akiyama occasionally spots sano’s big brown eyes, a shock of hair worn
straw-like with bleach peeking out at the two of them from around the corner of
the building, he doesn’t say anything.
life is complicated enough as is.
things that don’t matter don’t matter.
---
akiyama fundamentally has no problem with being watched.
eyes on him when he enters a class halfway through instruction, curious gazes
as he pushes open the door to the boys’ bathroom, neighbors down the hall with
hawklike, judging looks that have only increased in number since shiba started
coming over.
he doesn’t mind.
sometimes he likes it.
when he friends used to peer over the dividers between urinals to comment about
the size of his dick, getting ice from down the hall in only his underwear,
sano at the door with akiyama’s own come on his stomach.  shiba standing
silently in the hallway, watching akiyama as he rifles through the fridge,
naked.
shiba scrabbling to cram his dick into akiyama, hot and sweaty and crying, four
sets of shocked, awkward shoes gathered around them.
but he’s not sure how he feels about the way sano watches him.
he lurks around corners, in the reflection of bathroom mirrors, the walk he and
shiba take home.  probably thinks he’s subtle, but akiyama can feel sano’s eyes
glued to the back of his head.  to the ring snug on his finger.
he’s looking for something.
shiba notices, too.
big-eyed and nervous, he notices.
akiyama doesn’t want to protect him; that’s not it.  shiba is soft and anxious,
but he’s more than capable of handling himself.  has all the courage, the
drive, to do whatever it is he wants.  akiyama tells shiba to ignore it, when
he finally gets around to asking.
he threads his arm around shiba’s waist, pressing his hand into shiba’s back
pocket.  things that matter don’t matter.
wait --
---
the back door to the school swings open to reveal akiyama and shiba’s spot with
a loud, obnoxious clang.  akiyama doesn’t bother to shove the rock between the
door and the frame, letting it close with a thunderous metallic click.
shiba isn’t there.
akiyama pulls his phone out of his pants pocket.  he doesn’t have contacts,
just knows the seven digits of shiba’s phone number by heart.
the little knobs in the concrete wall behind him dig into his back as the
dialtone rings and akiyama’s heart thuds.  out of sync.
shiba picks up with sniffle.
he’s sick.
he’s sorry for not calling, he slept right through his alarm.
akiyama hums into the phone.  “you home alone?”
“y-yeah?”
“i’m coming over.”
on the other end of the line, shiba stutters.  “y-you don’t need to do that,
stay in school, you should stay there -- “
“it’s not like there’s any point if you’re not here,” akiyama says, quietly.
 shiba falls silent; akiyama can perfectly picture the cowed look on his face.
 “i’d rather be with you.”
he says it plain, truthful, without that aching embellished honesty.  akiyama
just says it like it is.  
after a long silence shiba starts, “okay.”  and then, “but you might get sick,
it’s not -- “
akiyama tilts his head to the side, along the edge of the wall.  hair the
texture of straw peeks out from the other side of the dumpster.
“it’s whatever,” akiyama says.  “i’ll be there in twenty.”
he hands up the phone.  the call cuts off with a little click of noise, like
the popping of a pen.
“sano.”
the little bushel of straw jumps.  akiyama slouches against the wall.
slowly, sano emerges from behind the dumpster.  he looks guilty underneath all
the forced anger, pushed to the forefront of his expression in the form of a
scowl.  but his eyebrows are all wrong, something vulnerable sparking in his
gaze.  a cold line of sweat drips down his forehead.  akiyama would feel bad
for him, otherwise.  (but it doesn’t matter.)
sano crosses his arms, mouth turned downwards into a nervous pucker.  he’s seen
the same expression on shiba.
“d-do you take it up the ass?”
it’s accusatory, aggressive.  akiyama isn’t.  “yeah.”
sano physically recoils from him, giving akiyama a wide-eyed mortified look.
 afraid.  “do you -- what -- “  his adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he
swallows, but his speech dies in his throat.  shoulders sagging, lips curled
into a sneer, sano stares at the ground as he whispers, “fucking faggot.”
 quiet.  unsure.  
akiyama lets the word hang in the air for a long moment.  he should have told
shiba thirty minutes.
“sano,” he sighs, tone regulated and distant; things that don’t matter don’t
matter, “get your shit together.”
he slings his bag over his shoulder, brushes past sano -- only he grabs akiyama
by the elbow, turning devastated eyes on him.  “you like it?”
akiyama yanks his arm away.  “none of your damn business,” he says.
sano swallows, hands hanging limp by his sides.  “fuck you.”
his eyes are wide.  vulnerable.  the same color as hot chocolate.  he remembers
sano always used to drink his cold.
tomomi.  sano’s first name is tomomi.
small.  feminine.  angry.
he takes a deep breath.  “fuck off, sano.”
---
“akiyama-kun,” shiba says, his face buried under the covers up to his nose.
“yo,” akiyama says, tossing his bag at the foot of shiba’s desk.  shiba’s
cheeks are flushed, but akiyama can’t tell whether it’s just the blush he
perpetually has around akiyama or the fever.  (either way, it’s cute.)  “what’s
up?”
“feeling better,” shiba says.  the tips of his fingers poke out from beneath
the comforter, at level with his face.  “still sick though.”
akiyama grunts, comes to sit in the space between shiba’s hip and the edge of
his mattress.  heat radiates off of him and sinks deep into akiyama’s skin.
“how are you?” shiba asks.  “how was your day?”
bringing a knee up to the bed to rest his chin on, akiyama answers:  “fine.”
 he can feel the texture of the sheets through the thin material of his sock.
 “don’t ask me such boring questions.”
“s-sorry,” shiba stutters.  his eyes slide away, in the direction of the wall.
“‘s fine,” akiyama says, bending down to press a kiss to shiba’s forehead.
“a-ah, akiyama-kun!” shiba starts, and cringes away.  akiyama blinks.  “you’ll,
ah, you’ll get sick!”
“it’s your forehead.”  leaning down into shiba’s personal space.  breath
tickling his neck.  hot.  “your forehead isn’t gonna get me sick.”
“i -- well -- “  he’s beet red, squirming under the covers, eyes shimmering
with tears too light to shed.  almost the same face he makes when --
akiyama glances down.  “are you hard?”
his palm is pressed into the covers on the other side of shiba’s hips, caging
him between akiyama’s hand and the rest of his body.  a little tent halfway
between, pressing the comforter up into a little triangle.  akiyama lifts a
hand to stroke the shaft through the material.
“a-akiyama-kun!” shiba gasps.  nervous.  akiyama doesn’t get why, at this
point.
“what?”  he stands long enough to tug the covers up from under himself, pushing
them up over shiba’s hips.  he doesn’t have any lube on him, doesn’t think
shiba does either, but he can still --
“wait, akiyama-kun!”  shiba’s fingers in his hair.  holding his head in place.
 it send a jolt, hot and inexorable, down akiyama’s spine.  his fingers in
shiba’s waistband.  “y-you’ll get sick….”
“sucking your dick.”  it’s a statement, made to make shiba realize how
ridiculous the idea is.  but as he thinks about it he realizes he really
doesn’t know.
shiba nods.  he’s pushed himself up on one hand now, and akiyama can see that
his whole chest is flushed strawberry-red, bright and hot.  feverish.
akiyama sits up.  “okay,” he says, leaning back.  takes to his feet.  shiba
looks worried, sitting there with his boner peeking out of his underwear, band
pressing into his thighs, his balls.  “what about this?”  he sits back down at
the foot of the bed, one leg extended towards shiba’s crotch.  he peels of his
sock.  “like the first time?”
shiba nods.
akiyama snags the head of shiba’s dick in between his toes, careful of his
nails.  his own in his hand.
shiba presses a hand over his mouth, as if to hide the blush that spreads from
his cheeks down to his toes.
this, akiyama thinks.  he runs the ball of his foot against the length of
shiba’s dick, pressing it into his stomach.  this matters.
---
akiyama had forgotten one of the most important things on his list earlier:
 sleep.  sleep matters.
the warm embrace of unconsciousness, blankets pulled tight around him.  sweat
dripped down the back of his knee.  shiba’s breath ghosting across his cheek,
toes curling against akiyama’s shin.
sleep is better with shiba.
he throws an arm across shiba’s hips -- there’s semen cached on his stomach
(again), drying in the spaces between his toes.
he hopes shiba’s mom doesn’t walk in.  (he wouldn’t mind if shiba’s mom walked
in.)
beside him, shiba snores.  his nose is running.  outside, cicadas whine.
---
akiyama nudges shiba out of his sickly snooze with an elbow to the hip.  “wake
up.”
shiba’s eyes flutter open.  in between the moment it takes him to wake up and
to focus on akiyama’s face, his lips settle into an easy smile.  like coffee on
a cold winter morning.
the side of akiyama’s mouth tilts up.  “food,” he says, shoving a bowl towards
shiba.  then, “eat.”
as shiba sits up, the sheets tumble off him like water down a cliff.  he rubs
his eyes.  “thank you.”
akiyama hands him a pair of chopsticks.  shiba takes them with still-bleary
eyes.  akiyama once again sits on the edge of the bed, reaching out a hand to
ruffle shiba’s hair.  he’s cute.
shiba looks up at him from under his eyelashes, like a puppy desperate for
affection.
in his pocket, akiyama’s phone buzzes.
unidentified number:
14:51  can we talk?
15:03  i fucking HATE YOU
without a word, akiyama drops it back into his pocket.  he doesn’t text.
things that don’t matter.
he strokes shiba’s knee.
---
he leaves shiba’s about eight that night.
it’s dark by then, the lanes of shiba’s residential neighborhood under the
aegis of yellow-tinged streetlamps that hang every ten feet or so.  he messes
with his phone as he walks -- changing the language (Farsi), playing snake
(eating his own ass), typing out the first few digits of shiba’s number (851,
delete, 8512, delete).  doesn’t notice the footsteps synched to his, flashes of
bleach-blond hair in the dark glare off the screen of his phone.
“akiyama!”
he only stops, doesn’t turn around.  sano’s breath is loud as an industrial fan
behind him.
“look at me, you fucking -- !”  his voice catches in his throat.
akiyama flips his phone closed.  he doesn’t say anything.  doesn’t know what to
say.
“i want -- “  like shoving at a pair of locked doors, chain dangling in between
them.  not quite inside, but able to peek at it.  “fucking -- “  
footsteps getting closer.  akiyama leaves his back bare and slouched.
“fucking look at me you piece of shit!”
sano tugs at his shoulder -- how had he even gotten here, known akiyama was
here, this is shiba’s neighborhood and the edge of danger doesn’t register for
him until he’s staring straight into sano’s hot cocoa eyes, fear slashing like
a wound through his stomach with sano’s hand around the back of his neck and
sano’s hair tickling his neck and sano’s lips pressing into his --
what?
sano stumbles backwards, heels kicking at the concrete.  “fuck,” he says, and
akiyama’s bag is hitting the ground with a thud, mouth held slack.  “fuck!”
again, this time with a hand pressed over his mouth.  almost like he’s going to
be sick.
the sound of asphalt under his sneakers is the only thing that follows sano
into the dark of the night, disappearing into the treeline.
---
“he kissed you?” shiba asks, voice crackling over the phone.  bad reception in
akiyama’s house.
“yeah.”  the tv blares on in the background.
shiba makes a noise -- some kind of noise, quiet and mad and set somewhere deep
in his stomach.  it sounds almost like a ‘no’.  “you’re mine.”  it’s not
possessive, not dangerous.  nervous.  undertone of whine.  shiba.  “mine,” he
says again.
“yeah,” akiyama agrees.  he imagines how shiba’s arms would be draped around
his neck (if he were here), knees clenched around akiyama’s thighs, radiating
heat like his own contained sun.  he twists the band around his ring finger.
 “yeah.”
silence falls over the line.  just the crackle of shiba’s breath and the murmur
of the television.
“shiba?”
akiyama can hear the way he starts in his voice.  “yeah?!”
“stay over tomorrow night, okay?”
the rustle of covers from shiba’s end of the line.  “yeah,” he says.  “i will.”
the call ends with a click.  cicadas hum outside, like  last dying cry.  the
summer is coming to a close.
that night, akiyama lays in bed alone.
after a few minutes, he stands up, ambles to the front room, and slides the
deadbolt locked.
---

he doesn’t go to school the next day.

akiyama pulls the sheets over his head, his toes peeking out from the foot of
the bed.  he turns the lights off.

shiba comes and visits him after school, crawling into bed and wrapping his
arms around akiyama.  his shoulders, his hips, arms and arms and legs and legs,
his breath in akiyama's ear.  "you're mine," he whispers.  teeth against
akiyama's throat.  tears wetting his cheeks.

akiyama inhales.  "yeah," he says.

"akiyama-kun."  shiba pushes himself up on his elbows.  the loose material of
shiba's uniform shirt is he only thing that hangs between them.  "i wanna wreck
you."

it's high.  whining.  shiba's eyes are vulnerable and small.  it's not a
demand, but a question.

akiyama spreads his legs.

shiba digs his teeth into akiyama's throat, moans akiyama's name into his
shoulder, hands pressing into his sides.  possessive, but akiyama presses his
palms into the plane of shiba's back and it's all right.  it's all right.

"you're mine," shiba mutters.  "mine."

akiyama grunts.  teeth in his collarbone.  "yeah," he says.  then, "fuck me."

"O-okay," shiba says.

bare.  simple.  shiba gets what he has to say.  akiyama gets shiba.

the covers rustle as shiba reaches out of their little pocket of warmth and
into akiyama's bedside table.  for lube.  natural light, filtering in through
the windows, peeks in from around shiba's arm, his shoulder.  if akiyama
squints, it's almost like the light radiates out from shiba's skin.

slick fingers slide into him.  it's not much of a fight.

shiba preps him soft but fucks him hard and rough, dotting hickeys along the
column of his neck, whining, "akiyama-kun, akiyama-kun," with every intake of
breath, kissing his collar and chest and chin.  

without so much as a brush of fingers, akiyama comes three minutes before
shiba.

he pretends it's not embarrassing.  shiba kisses him on the forehead.

---

"akiyama, i'm sorry!"

a thud on the door.  shiba stirs beside him, lips pulled into a distasteful
expression even in his sleep.
pound pound pound.  the gears and bolts of the lock rattle, tinny and metallic,
from within the door.  “akiyama!”  shiba’s grip tightens around his waist, nose
nuzzled comfortably into the crook of akiyama’s hip.  akiyama cards his fingers
through shiba’s bangs.
“i know you’re here.”
it sounds like something out of a late-night horror movie, audio crackling in
the shitty speakers.  but it sends fear sputtering down his spine like no
horror movie ever has, low and dangerous and angry.  something in akiyama’s gut
stirs, something he hasn’t felt since his father caught him holding hands with
the boy who lived across the hall.  cold like dread, hot like terror.
how does sano know he’s here?
shiba’s eyes -- sleepy, honey brown, crack open.  thud thud thud.  “i just want
to talk!”
shiba’s brow furrows.  akiyama lets his hand fall back to the mattress.
 “what…?”  his nose brushes against akiyama’s hip.
he wishes sano would leave.
the desire hits him like a blow to the chest.  it sets his heart thumping hot
and frantic, at a pace too fast, expanding and contracting, stretching to press
against the insides of his ribs like the latex of a condom about to break, a
hairsbreadth away from popping a drop of sweat runs icy down his back --
shiba’s hands on his shoulders.  cheeks all red, hair sticking up at odd
angles.  “are you okay?”  nervous.
akiyama lays a hand over shiba’s.  “no problem.”
it’s awkward.  stilted.  shiba smiles bright enough to outdo the sun.
bang!  sano’s fist against the door sounds heavy as a brick.  “akiyama, you
dyke-ass -- sissy, come the fuck out!”
shiba swallows.  a drop of sweat runs unhindered down his forehead.  “do you,
uh, want me to get it?”
another thud.  like thunder.
“no,” akiyama says.  “no, i got it.”
the longer and longer akiyama lets him stick around, it seems, the more it is
of akiyama he ends up seeing.  akiyama thinks he’s okay with that.
he crawls out of bed, takes his time finding a pair of jeans to pull on.  sano
continues to shout, alternating things like, “open up, you fag!” with, “please,
i’m sorry.”  shiba shoots him worried looks from where he sits on the bed,
clutching the sheet around his hips.  he doesn’t put on a shirt, just goes
straight for the door, turns the doorknob without even thinking about it,
because he knows that if he does he’ll lose the nerve.
sano stands on the other side, shoulders hunched and face red and words
bubbling out of him like lava out of an active volcano.
“i’m sorry.”
akiyama stays cool.  ice cold.  sano is shorter than him.  akiyama glares down
his nose.
“i don’t know -- why -- i’m not gay.  i just -- ”  he tugs at the end of his
shirt.  “i had this dream, and i -- i don’t know!”  his voice rises in pitch
until his words come out more like a series of high-pitched little squeaks,
losing the ends of his words, stumbling over his syllables, teeth worrying at
the pink skin of his lower lip.
“a dream.”  akiyama says.  he doesn’t know whether it’s disbelieving or curious
or angry.
“we -- we were like these waiters in a club, except it was a sex club and we
were in...bunny...suits...”  akiyama watches as sano swallows, bringing his
hands up to either side of his head.  “and then...”  his eyes go unfocused for
a second.  for a second he looks kind of like an old man in an american action
movie having a flashback.
“sano,” akiyama says.  “i don’t want to hear about your weird sex dreams.”  
he goes ignored.  sano looks up at him with wide, horrified eyes.  “i’m a
fucking faggot.”
“yeah,” akiyama says.  “congratulations.”
he moves to shut the door, because he feels like that would be a pretty fitting
end to the conversation, but sano stumbles into the way.
“that ring, that’s from shiba, right?”
the gold band shines dull on akiyama’s ring finger, from where his hand is
poised to close the door.  he doesn’t answer.
sano swallows.  “will you go out with me?”
the question comes out quiet, fragile, hesitant.  from somewhere behind him, he
hears a little choking noise.  shiba must be watching.
“no,” akiyama says.  bored.  he images shiba digging his nails into the
drywall, biting his bottom lip, hair all cutely mussed --
instead he feels shiba’s arms wrapping around his waist, his chin against
akiyama’s shoulder.  he watches as sano meets his eyes, and though he can’t see
the expression on shiba’s face he hazards that his expression must be all
dominant and protective with just that slightest edge of scary.  judging from
sano’s expression.
“akiyama-kun is mine.”
something warm and comforting flows up in his chest.  something that makes the
worn-out latex of his exhausted heart feel like new again.
shiba matters so much.
“right,” sano says, looking mortified.  then, gaze fixed on the ground, “you’re
both fucking weird.”
akiyama grunts.  “sort your shit out, sano.”
“right,” sano says.
they bid him goodbye with barely a glance down the hallway.
afterwards, shiba fucks him up against the closed door.  akiyama moans louder
than sano had been yelling.
sano doesn’t matter.  
he could.  hunched shoulders, the long expanse of the apartment complex walls
stick in his mind for a couple days.  it remains to be seen.
what he does know is that when shiba fucks him against the door, jeans dangling
off one ankle, skin of his back riding up against the wood, it’s the best thing
he’s had in his life for a long time.  it’s the thing that matters the most.
stop his stalking, figure out what he wants.  sano will come around if he comes
around.
akiyama, meanwhile, with the back of his head up against the door, shiba’s
breath hot on his neck, and contentment tingling like lightning down his spine,
will just come.
End Notes
     please do not answer your door naked or jerk your boyfriend off in
     public. please do not be akiyama
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