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1.
This is not one of those games. The tournament has been decided for weeks, and this is the worst kind of dead rubber – one between an excellent team (although as semi-coach, Kiyo may be somewhat biased) and one scampering along at the bottom of the table. There are big hits and great balls, but rarely within the same 15-20 minute span of play.
It’s still the best game Kiyo has ever, ever been to.
“Wow, he’s amazing!” Ino yells over the rising cheer of the crowd as Takei swings his bat hard and sends the ball soaring high over the far boundary. Kiyo grins back, barely able to hear his boyfriend over Kubo and Kogure’s roars. Ino has never been to a baseball game before, and his eyes are shining bright with the intoxicating thrill that comes from experiencing the awesomeness of live sport for the first time.
Kiyo’s grin widens as Ino claps his hands gleefully when the next ball scurries through the batter and thuds into the keeper’s mitt. Ino is so, so cute.
He’s allowed to think Ino is cute, isn’t he? That’s ok now, right? You are allowed to think your boyfriend is cute without it being creepy or wrong, right?
Ino tries to say something else, but the crowd has been revitalised by the brief flurry of quality. Kiyo misses what Ino says even though he is hypnotised by the curl of his mouth as he forms the soundless words.
“What?” Kiyo mouths back. “I can’t hear you!”
Ino scoots over, suddenly so close that their thighs are touching and Kiyo’s whole field of vision is dominated by warm eyes and a sunny smile. Kiyo fights down a blush as Ino cups his hands around Kiyo’s ear and speaks just to him.
“Thank you for inviting me, this is really fun.”
Kiyo’s eyes briefly drift closed before snapping back open again self-consciously. He can feel Ino’s smile against his earlobe, feel the warmth of his breath.
“A-anytime.”
2.
He just has to somehow find the words to ask.
Kiyo lazily gets to his feet as the train approaches his stop. Ino nervously shadows him, standing up as well.
“I thought maybe we could go to the movies this weekend.” On one hand, Ino’s rather proud that he manages to get the words out at all, especially with Kiyo watching him with those dark, curious eyes that have a habit of rendering Ino speechless at the best of times. On the other hand, his comment is so rushed together into a jumble of syllables that it would require a crowbar to formally separate them back into actual words. “Just ... uh. The two of us.”
Oh, man. Please don’t let that have sounded as pathetic as it did in Ino’s head. Just the two of us. Just the two of us? Who even says things like that, other than desperate school girls who are trying to make a romance out of the most platonic of friendships?
(Ino has never been hit on by a girl, desperate or otherwise, so he is maybe drawing this knowledge from what he has seen in dramas)
Kiyo’s eyes widen slightly. Ino’s heart drops down into his stomach, where it is immediately eaten away by the mutant butterflies that have taken up residency there. He’s screwed up, and Kiyo is never-
“Yeah, that sounds great.” Kiyo’s gaze drops briefly to his feet before flicking back across to Ino. “I’d like that.”
Uh. Ha. Sounds great. Sounds great.
Except ... what exactly is he supposed to say now that Kiyo has accepted?
They stand there awkwardly as the train rumbles to a stop. There is a sudden shift in Kiyo’s gaze as the train doors swoosh open, and yep. There it is. That word-stealing look that renders Ino absolutely useless.
Kiyo hesitates for just a moment, and the moment is almost – thankfully? Ino has no idea what is going through his own head right now - lost. Then Kiyo is stepping in towards Ino, regardless of the fact that there are just so many ways this could go wrong. Maybe somebody will walk in on them, or there will be someone on the platform, or maybe Kiyo will think that he’s being too forward, or too slutty, or too-
It’s a light, feather-touch of a kiss, not really a kiss at all. Really just a friendly goodbye via mouths.
When Kiyo backtracks after the not-kiss, his boyfriend looks like a building has been dropped on him. Ino thinks that is wholly unfair considering that this is all Kiyo’s fault.
“Have a good day.”
“You too.”
3.
Kiyo comes out to his friends first, although it’s not so much coming out as ‘caught with his tongue down Ino’s throat’, and how exactly do you explain that without defaulting to aliens made me do it? They already know, because they are a lot less dense than he is, and besides. Ino is kind of cool and they clearly make each other happy.
Coming out to the important people in their lives is a lot easier than either of them expects it to be. It makes the odd stares they sometimes get when they walk a little too close to each other or laugh a little too loud that much more bearable.
Kiyo comes out to his parents last, one morning before school. Ino knows it is going to be fine because it has to be fine, but he doesn’t dare breathe when the train pulls into Kiyo’s station. And it’s fine, totally, absolutely fine, right up until the moment Kiyo boards, his face screwed up in a stormy grimace that sinks all of Ino’s hopes in one giant hurricane of a blow.
“Not good?” Ino asks, trying to keep his tone casual even as his heart clenches painfully. There are a thousand wildebeests stomping down on his chest right now, and Ino secretly thinks that’s a little bit of overkill. One or two would have certainly sufficed.
“Terrible,” Kiyo says sourly, slumping down on the bench beside Ino. “They’re totally fine with me being gay, that’s not the problem at all.”
Ino’s world greys around the corners, and he drops his gaze down to the floor.
“It’s me.”
Of course it is. Ino gulps down a breath, and it hurts. Hurts to swallow, hurts to breathe, hurts to think.
“Oh, no. They’re perfectly happy that I’m seeing you.” Kiyo’s gaze is darkly jealous as Ino dares to peek over at him. “They just want to make sure I don’t screw up too badly – which apparently I am sure to do – and make a mess of things.” Kiyo voice goes mockingly high-pitched as he continues. “You’re never going to find somebody as cute as that boy, make sure you treat him like a pri~ince.”
The chortle starts at the back of Ino’s throat, but all attempts to keep it there fail miserably.
“It’s not funny,” Kiyo protests, but a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “They’re driving me insane, and it has only been one day.” He shakes his head violently. “I’m going to have to move out.”
4.
Kiyo screws up, and the world ends.
It has been three days, four hours, and twenty-two minutes since Kiyo and Ino met up with two of Kiyo’s university friends. Three days, four hours and twenty-one minutes since they sat down for drinks. Three days, four hours and twenty minutes since Kiyo introduced Ino as a ‘friend.’
Friend.
Not boyfriend.
Not partner.
Not someone special or important or his.
Friend.
It has been three days, four hours, and twenty minutes, and Kiyo can still see the hurt flash through Ino’s eyes before he shuttered it away behind a polite façade.
It has been three days, four hours and twelve minutes since Ino politely excused himself from Kiyo’s life, claiming that he had some important work to do back home but it had been nice to meet Kiyo’s other friends.
They haven’t seen each other since.
Kiyo has almost called Ino 322 times. Sometimes, he is only able to pick up the cell. Other times, he has rung all but the very last number. But ... what can he possibly say? He’s screwed up. There is no way back.
Friend.
Aarg.
Kiyo has almost called Ino 335 times. 341 times. 350 times.
He is in full-on Zombie mode as he goes to leave his apartment for class. He doesn’t know how many hours it has been since he last slept, because he’s only counting the important things now. He throws his backpack over his shoulder, slips into his shoes, open his apartment door-
- and freezes. Huddled low in a sky blue jacket and with his dirty blond hair being whipped wildly in the late autumn wind, is Ino. Miserable, startled eyes meet Kiyo’s shocked ones.
Kiyo has almost called Ino 352 times, but he still doesn’t have any idea what to say. He doesn’t even know where to start. All he knows is that his heart his thundering so loudly in his chest that he can barely hear the heavy beat of the rain over the one threading through his veins. Ino looks fragile, battered. Shadows crowd his eyes and his mouth – his perfect, beautiful mouth – is drawn thin and tight.
“I...”
“...uh...”
Why does this hurt so much?
Kiyo just means to draw Ino inside to where it is warm, but then his hands are desperately cupping Ino’s face and Ino is pleading into Kiyo’s mouth. They’ve never kissed like this before, there is nothing nice and tidy and organised about it at all. But Kiyo never wants to let him go. Can’t let go.
Please don’t ever leave me again.
They sit down and talk. Really talk. They’re better at soft looks and warm smiles, but this is a time for words. Kiyo quietly explains that he has this way of always jumping to the most negative conclusion possible and then floundering there, frozen in his own incompetency. Ino talks about how he comes up with hundreds of different reasons for why something has happened, managing to move further and further away from the truth until he can barely remember what actually upset him in the first place.
They’ve never had to deal with conflict before. Not with each other, not even with others.
Kiyo hadn’t wanted to make Ino uncomfortable in front of people he didn’t know, but had chosen the completely wrong way of going about it.
Ino hadn’t meant to disappear for days on end, and he hadn’t known how to come back.
It’s been twelve seconds since Ino smiled tentatively at him.
They go out for breakfast, set some ground rules; make plans.
Kiyo thinks that maybe this is what growing up feels like.
5.
Tingling like electricity through his fingers, stiffening his knuckles, folding in on his tightly clenched fist.
Click-da-click-da-click.
His knuckles ache, but if he releases them, if he allows any of the tension to dissipate...
Slowly, fearfully he uncurls his fingers. One finger at a time, two fingers at a time.
Ino breath catches in his throat, before bubbling out in a breathless laugh that starts deep in his chest but which quickly consumes the whole cabin.
It’s still there.
He can’t stop smiling, is never going to be able to stop laughing. That’s ... that’s ok, right? It’s ok for this to be the most amazing feeling in the world, the most amazing day of his life?
Ino reverently closes his fingers around the key again – Kiyo’s key, the one he wants Ino to have- and hugs his hand against his chest with a manic grin.
6.
They’ve been standing at Kiyo’s balcony door for the past 20 minutes, waiting for the rain to stop. It’s only a15 minute walk to Ino’s train station, but this would be the first time his boyfriend would have to make the trek home in a pseudo-hurricane.
It’s been four months since Kiyo has been in his tiny apartment. For four months, Ino has come around most days, always leaving before things could become sort-of complicated.
Not that Ino really, properly ever leaves. Not really. There are spare jumpers tucked in Kiyo’s drawers just in case the weather changes, and there is a stack of books piled on top of Kiyo’s fridge written in a language Kiyo barely understands.
Kiyo has an umbrella stashed in the back of his closet. It’s a nice umbrella, because his mother has good taste and believes in always being prepared for weather storms - sometimes too prepared. It took Kiyo a good hour to convince her that, while yes, the streets below did occasionally flood, he probably didn’t need sandbags for his 12th floor apartment.
Right now, the umbrella is metaphorically buried beneath three boxes, a pile of paperwork, and an elephant.
The elephant might be overkill. He hasn’t quite decided yet.
“Yeah,” Kiyo says belatedly to Ino’s reflection in the glass door rather than to the man standing quietly beside him. Reflection Ino, the one who is only part Ino, part glass, part rain, is more static and grey than the one Kiyo has come to love. Like a faded, well-loved jumper. “You could always stay over,” Kiyo offers to the reflection, because some things are just easier to say to your boyfriend’s doppelganger. Reflection!Ino’s eyes widen just slightly, and Kiyo is forced back onto the defensive. “I mean, if you like!” Kiyo’s quick correction comes out rushed and clumsy. Idiot. Of course Ino doesn’t want to stay over. That’s just too weird, and it isn’t like Ino doesn’t still have time to catch his train back home if he leaves now.
It doesn’t help that Ino is staring back at him, his mouth dissolving into a shy smile. Real Ino, not the one hidden behind the rain and the glass. It’s funny, because Kiyo can’t remember when he traded in one for the other.
“I’d like that.”
Ha, he would? A flush of heat races up Kiyo’s neck and he has to bite down on his lip to fight back a stupid grin. He thinks he’s only partially successful.
“Ah, but where would I sleep?”
It turns out that Kiyo’s apartment is just big enough for two futon, but only once he has crammed every last piece of furniture away into his closet. He doesn’t think his mother insisted that he keep two futon in his apartment just in case this exact situation happened to present itself, although she has always been particularly fond of Ino.
“Thank you for letting me stay,” Ino mumbles against his pillow as he snuggles down into his blankets. They are so close, mere centimetres separating their futons.
“I’m glad you did,” Kiyo admits quietly. Ino grins, a flash of hesitation lightening his eyes before firming into resolve. Kiyo is only able to blink as Ino stretches his hand out from beneath his duvet towards Kiyo. For a moment Kiyo’s brain freezes, because while they kiss and hold hands and do things that Kiyo is pretty sure is normal couple stuff, holding hands in bed is practically sex.
And Ino looks so pretty buried beneath his blankets, curious eyes edged with just a hint of fear.
Kiyo reaches out and awkwardly grabs Ino’s hand in his. The angle is sort of weird, and he has to twist his shoulder a little more than is really natural.
This is so, so cool.
Kiyo hopes he isn’t blushing.
He’s totally blushing.
But ... that’s ok. Ino is blushing as well.
He wakes in the morning with Ino snoring softly against his ear.
7.
But, it’s time.
Hopefully.
Maybe.
“Ready?” Kiyo asks, before the last of his nerve turns tail and abandons him.
Ino nods uncertainly, tipping the plastic bag in his lap upside down and spilling the contents onto the futon.
Kiyo’s gaze moves from the stash of craft magazines and sweets up to Ino.
Uh...
“I chickened out,” Ino admits, laughter breathed out on the same air as his words. “But I have gum?” He offers the packet weakly to Kiyo, who swats at Ino with a grin.
“Idiot.”
Ino’s sheepish grin widens.
“How did you go?”
Aha! Watch and learn!
Kiyo empties his own bag triumphantly on top of Ino’s stash. Two dozen yaoi manga volumes tumble out, easily dwarfing Ino’s own sad attempt. Kiyo’s quite proud of the collection, what with the titles range from corny, romantic stories to some ... uh. Other stuff.
A sly grin creeps across Ino’s mouth as he picks up one of the pinker volumes.
“Really? I never would have picked you for maid costumes.”
“They’re my sister’s books!” Kiyo blusters as he scrambles to hide the more descriptive ones at the bottom of the pile. There is NO way he would have bought them himself. He isn’t that brave, not yet. Possibly not ever.
It really is unfair that so much responsibility is put on boys of a certain age to ascertain for themselves exactly how you go about this whole sex thing. Kiyo personally thinks that all 18 year olds should be presented with a manual upon reaching maturity. Plus, you know. Maybe some educational DVDs. And a pack of recommended items and accessories.
Instead, all they have are three crafting magazines, 1 packet of gum, and two dozen yaoi manga.
It’s a start? Maybe? It’s got to be a good sign when Ino starts gingerly flicking through the manga he’s holding, although probably a not-so-good sign that neither of them can meet each other’s gaze.
“Anything ... anything interest you?” Kiyo asks with all the subtlety of a rollerblading panda when Ino gets fixated on one page. Kiyo’s been there before, and he knows the particular feeling that solidifies in the pit of your stomach when something in one of the books jumps out and grabs you by your gut.
Slowly, and with more than a hint of fire-engine red embarrassment, Ino shares the page with Kiyo.
And. Yeah.
“Oh ... wow. Uh.”
Ino nods quickly.
“Eventually.” Ino awkwardly snaps the manga shut, but the afterimage lingers like a seductive perfume in Kiyo’s thoughts. “Is there anything you ... uh ... would like to try now?”
Nobody has ever gotten laid turning down an open-ended offer like that.
Kiyo bites down on the inside of his cheek and flips to page 12 of the volume he’s holding.
It’s a disaster.
Kiyo thinks it should be easy because everyone knows that they save the more complicated stuff for the back few pages. Plus, it’s not like they haven’t sort-of made out before.
He isn’t even able to get Ino’s shirt off.
“Do you ... can I help?”
It doesn’t help that he’s practically sitting in Ino’s lap and, instead of looking flustered and bothered, his boyfriend is trying desperately not to laugh. It looks so simple in the manga, and besides. Kiyo has 18 years’ experience undoing his own shirt buttons. Why his fingers are suddenly turning to mush now when he really needs them is completely inexplicable.
Almost, almost ... damn it! His fingers slip again, somehow incapable of removing a mere button from the wicked clutches of its buttonhole.
Ino chokes back a chuckle.
“This isn’t funny,” Kiyo mumbles beneath his breath, because if he speaks any louder then he might lose the last of his precious control. Ino doesn’t respond at all, but Kiyo can feel his laughter coursing up through his body. “I said-” and he can’t, he just can’t. “Arg!” He drops his head down onto Ino’s shoulder, muffling his laughter against Ino’s terrible, evil, no-good shirt.
Ino’s laughter erupts then, so light and lyrical that Kiyo has absolutely no defence against it. One moment he is hiding in the folds of Ino’s shirt, the next he is swallowing that laughter in a kiss, taking in all that humour and affection as his own. Ino tumbles backwards and Kiyo is too trapped to do anything but follow, unable to leave behind the lure of Ino’s laughter, his mouth, the curve of his neck, the slight hint of collarbone as Ino’s shirt slides sidewise. His brain – always fairly useless on a normal day – gives up on coherent thought completely when Ino’s hands edge under the hem of Kiyo’s shirt and cling to Kiyo’s exposed hips.
There is too much of everything – the soft, desperate sounds of their breaths, the press of Ino’s fingertips against Kiyo’s skin, the intoxicating taste of Ino’s mouth. And, and Kiyo can’t help but move against Ino, pressing down and sliding up his body as he rushes to claim not only Ino’s mouth but every hypnotic slash of skin. There isn’t enough time, there isn’t enough air in the world. And, and -
Ino’s hard. Kiyo’s hard. Kiyo thinks that this is an important thing to point out because it’s a key moment in ALL the manga volumes he’s devoured over the last couple of days. It should be enough to drive Kiyo back into his shell, but he is cresting on something indescribable.
Heady and intoxicated and suddenly, stupidly brave, Kiyo’s hand falls to the band of Ino’s trousers before faltering there.
“Can I-“
“Yes!” Ino blurts out before Kiyo is able to form anything even resembling a rational question. Ino’s hair is splayed around his head like a halo, but Kiyo doubts any angel has ever looked as desperately, unintentionally decadent as Ino does right now.
“But I didn’t even have a chance to say anything,” he protests, his palm flattening against Ino’s waistband.
Dazed eyes pair with a lazy smile, and Kiyo just can’t look away.
“I don’t care.”
I – ah – yeah.
Kiyo grinds his teeth together before giving an affirmative nod. His fingers are trembling as he dips them down the front of Ino’s trousers, into Ino’s underwear, and then, and then ...
Oh, god.
Ino arches upwards, eyes wide and unseeing as Kiyo’s fingers curl around his cock. The thought sounds sinful and debauched, and yet Kiyo can’t help repeating it over and over in his head. He is holding Ino’s cock. He is holding Ino’s cock. He is holding Ino’s cock.
Ok, now it’s getting weird.
He has absolutely no idea what he is doing, and while the manga pictures are certainly – uh – graphic, they lack the organised A-Z instructions that Kiyo feels he could really use right now. Hand on cooouck (he can’t even make it sound like an actual word anymore). Check. Fantastic, orgasmic sexy stuff. Um...
His fingers tense, and Ino lets out a quiet, pained groan.
“Aarg.”
Kiyo stiffens, automatically releasing his hold even as that groan goes straight – straight – to his groin. He needs to apologise, wants to apologise, has to apologise, but his apology dies on his lips as Ino looks up at him with desperate, pouty eyes.
“Why?” Ino practically pleads, his cheeks flushed and his breaths ragged.
It’s a face Kiyo knows intimately.
Page 23, volume 4. Bottom right hand corner.
Um.
Ha.
Breathe.
“Because I’m hurting you?” He offers weakly.
Ino kicks him in the shins.
This time, there is no hesitation. There is just the feel of Ino in is his hand, hot breaths puffed desperately against his ear, and ridiculously erotic mewing sounds that make absolutely no sense coming from a human.
It’s over in a second. It lasts forever. Kiyo has completely given up on time, because it’s a totally inadequate way of measuring how Kiyo has stopped being Kiyo and become some sort of twisted, awesome fusion with the most amazing person in the world. All he knows is that one moment there is so much tension and heat, and the next Ino is sagging beneath him, melting down into the futon with a gargled moan.
“Oh, wow.” Ino’s has never sounded like this, husky and low. Kiyo’s trying not to preen, but Ino is looking up at him with something almost akin to hero worship. Slowly, he slides his hand upwards, back out of Ino’s trousers. Ino flinches, still sensitive to even the slightest flicker of touch. Kiyo doesn’t know what to do with his hand, self-consciously whipping it on the futon as Ino quietly tries to even out his breathing. Other than that, Kiyo doesn’t move (can’t move) and Ino’s hands stay splayed across Kiyo’s back. Kiyo thinks he wouldn’t mind staying exactly like this, except ... well. He flushes a little, and Ino smiles a tiny, wicked little grin that Kiyo likes to think he’s at least partly inspired. “How would you like me to return the favour?”
Soundlessly, Kiyo reaches behind him and brings forward a particular manga that has been haunting his dreams and making his mornings an embarrassing, sticky mess.
Ino’s grin widens, and Kiyo’s heart skips a beat.
“Why not?”
8.
Oh boy, it isn’t.
It’s not that they don’t want to - you know - do It. In fact, Ino knows that Kiyo has ‘secretly’ bookmarked particular pages in his sister’s BL manga that he’s working up the courage to try out. Hell, even Ino has managed to conquer his pesky sense of decorum and finally bought a couple of packets of condoms.
Motivation is definitely not an issue here.
It’s just that life has this way of being the world’s worst sexytimes-blocker. Ino’s tired and Kiyo’s tired, because when you stop being a school student and start having responsibilities, time suddenly dissolves into a fine mist that never truly soaks into your skin. They have schedules now, classes and assignments and work, and then they have lovely and fantastic friends who want to go out for dinner or lunch.
And then, even when it appears that nothing can wrong – the stars have aligned, their assignments are done, the phone is off the hook – it all goes spectacularly up in flames.
Once, Ino tries to set the mood with candles. The soft light flickers through the room, creating a subtle warmth and sense of intimacy. The moment Kiyo walks in, it’s perfect. It continues to be perfect right up until the moment Kiyo enthusiastically kicks over one of candles, setting the curtains on fire.
The ‘up in flames’ bit hadn’t been a metaphor.
Another time, Kiyo prepares a romantic dinner for two. Ino doesn’t let him cook again for three months.
Planning isn’t a good idea, because then they stop partway through to make sure they haven’t skipped a step.
Spontaneity is an even worse idea. A flush of embarrassment rushes up the back of Ino’s neck as he remembers just how badly that had gone.
Alcohol is, in theory, a nice way to ease themselves past all the formalities and lingering PTSD. However, Kiyo is as bad at holding his liquor as Ino is a natural at it. Kiyo always ends up passed out before Ino manages to get even the world’s tiniest buzz going.
Sex is turning out to be way harder than Kiyo’s BL manga promised.
And so, they do other stuff. Awesome, strange, brilliant other stuff that involves hands and mouths and nakedness and Kiyo just being the most perfect person in the absolute world. Those sorts of things can be fitted in around school and work, friends and bad days. Those sorts of things they don’t need to get perfect, because just breathing the same air at the same time is intoxicating.
But enough is enough.
“Tonight, we are going to have sex.”
In the past, Ino thinks he would have blushed up a fiery bushfire of a blush even at the thought. He’s probably still blushing a little as he says those words in that order, but even he is startled by how firm he sounds.
Kiyo gently puts down his game controller and turns towards Ino. It’s odd, because Ino has never seen Kiyo look so calm. Kiyo can make even stirring his cornflakes an uncomfortable endeavour on a bad day.
“Ok.”
Sometimes, it is just that easy.