Kisses Kept Are Wasted
By: TG
Summary: He spends the afternoon watching his teammates kiss his kouhai and telling himself he's not disappointed that he doesn't have enough money to join them.
Disclaimer: I don't own daiya or the title
Warnings: none!
AN: My first kurasawa fic ayy!
Written for superpol (mandraked on tumblr) because she is a lovely writer and a beautiful person and she deserves all of the sweet Eijun kisses I can manage!
Enjoy!
Kisses kept are wasted;
Love is to be tasted.
There are some you love, I know;
Be not loath to tell them so.
Lips go dry and eyes grow wet
Waiting to be warmly met.
Keep them not in waiting yet;
Kisses kept are wasted.
-Edmund Vance Cooke
"I heard Sawamura's class is doing a kissing booth," Miyuki says slyly. He's looming, hands braced wide on Youichi's desk, mouth quirked up in that ever-present shit-eating grin he always seems to carry around with him.
The effect is kind of ruined by the frilly maid outfit he's wearing.
"Don't care," Youichi says, except he does. The words 'Sawamura' and 'kissing booth' together in the same sentence set his heart rate into overdrive, and his fingers twitch as he fights off the urge to pat down his pockets to see how much spare change he has on him.
He could always 'borrow' some of the money from the register he's running. It's not like anyone would know the difference, right?
Miyuki's mouth twitches, his eyes sharp as ever behind his glasses. He's always had an uncanny penchant for zeroing in on what makes people uncomfortable. Youichi presses his hands palm flat against his trousers and frowns.
"But it's festival, You-i-chi-kun~" Miyuki trills. "Don't you want to see our beloved future ace make an idiot out of himself?"
Youichi eyes him critically, pointedly lingering on the (shorter than necessary) hem of his skirt. "Nah, watching you make an idiot out of yourself is good enough for me."
Granted, class 2B's maid café has been making bank all day long, and it's all thanks to Miyuki...though Youichi would never tell him as much. Miyuki knows it anyway, his smile growing impossibly wider. Youichi wonders if he can read minds -he thinks you're a bastardat him just in case.
"Alright," the catcher says airily. "But you'll miss out on all the fun. The entire team is going to have a turn. I wonder what Sawamura's kiss is like...I'm sure it'll be hilarious!"
Youichi's spent too many nights wondering the same thing, with his kouhai snoring away in the bunk below him. And besides, Miyuki raises a good point -with the entire team going, this would be his chance to find out the answer to that burning question without having to put himself at risk.
He sighs like he's put-upon -because even though it's a good point, it's still Miyuki'sgood point -and says, "fine. Our shifts are over at the same time anyway."
Miyuki's grin sharpens, shifting into something more triumphant. Youichi's fingers twitch again, this time with the urge to punch that expression right off of his stupid smug face.
He spends the afternoon watching his teammates kiss his kouhai and telling himself he's not disappointed that he doesn't have enough money to join them.
He spends the afternoon watching his teammates kiss his kouhai, eyes mapping the contour of Sawamura's jaw as he kisses, committing the way his head tilts and the sweep of his dark lashes when he closes his eyes to memory.
(And Sawamura closes his eyes every damn time.)
He spends the afternoon watching Sawamura's lips and cheeks get redder and redder, watching his teammates walk away with dazed eyes and wet lips, watching the slow curl of Miyuki's mouth when he catches Youichi kicking around despite not joining in, like he knows Youichi can't not be there.
He spends the afternoon listening to Haruno gush about how Sawamura's kisses are bringing in the most money for their class. He wants to tell her, of course they are. Sawamura is strong and beautiful and bright and warm. Of course they are.
He spends the afternoon telling himself he's not disappointed.
(He's lying to himself.
He is.)
"Need some help, Bakamura?"
The words are out of his mouth before he realizes what a bad idea this is, but it's too late to take them back now. Sawamura looks up from dismantling the kissing booth and grins at him. The slow curl of his pretty red lips make Youichi's stomach burn. Shit.
"Sure, senpai," he says, waving a long-fingered hand carelessly at the piles he's assembled. "I've got everything taken apart already, just have to haul it inside."
"So I'm your pack horse, huh?"
Sawamura laughs, quiet and hoarse and different from his usual, and there's sweat glistening at the hollow of his throat from his work. Youichi watches him out of the corner of his eye, bundle of wood planks in his arms, sleeves rolled up past his elbows giving good views of muscle bunching and sliding beneath tanned skin.
He's too pretty like this, young and strong and warm. Like looking at the sun.
Youichi hefts the rest up in his arms and follows, lets Sawamura lead the way through the throngs of people still clustered on school grounds, winding through doorways and hallways, follows him to the first years storage room like the pathetic love-sick puppy he is.
Gross.
When they reach their destination he automatically follows Sawamura's lead here, too, helps him stack plywood and shelve fliers and sort nails by size into jars. Sawamura hums as he goes, smiling and bright and happy. Always happy, always noisy.
When he begins to yammer about the kissing booth ("-and did you know Nori-senpai is a good kisser? And Miyuki –that asshole- paid extra so he could -") Youichi does his best to tune it out with a grimace. He's spent all day watching Sawamura kiss other people, he doesn't particularly want to think about it.
Really doesn't want to think about it.
"-so why didn't you kiss me, senpai?"
"What?" What?
"Well –I just mean –everyone else –"
"I couldn't even afford a peck, Sawamura, and maybe I wanted more than that!"
Sawamura stills, and that's weird enough to catch Youichi's attention, because Sawamura is always, always in motion. "Senpai?"
His brain catches up to his words and Youichi grimaces, runs a hand through his hair, turns away so he doesn't have to see what Sawamura is thinking (he is always, always open, too). "Y'know what, forget I said anything."
"Okay, wait," Sawamura says, "come here." He grabs onto Youichi's arm before he can escape, yanks him along with a gentle hand in the crease of his elbow. He considers fighting back, but if there's one thing he's learned about his roommate it's that when Sawamura gets an idea stuck in his mind, there's no point in trying to sway him.
When Sawamura finally stops, they are in the middle of an empty classroom, desks all lined up and books on the shelves, sunlight filtering through streaked windows. He is still holding onto Youichi though his grasp turns softer, long golden fingers stroking feather-light over his arm, smoothing the creases of his blazer and raising goose bumps over his skin.
"Sawamura -"
"Come here," he says. He sounds so fond, so warm, Youichi can't help but step closer to him. His body is warm, too.
There's a hand on his face, fingers sliding over his cheekbone, slipping down his jawline, settling over the pulse thrumming in his throat. This close Youichi can see the freckles smattered across the bridge of Sawamura's nose, the flecks of fool's gold in his eyes. The bruise that's beginning to settle into the bow of his lips.
"Come here," he says again, hooking his fingers into Youichi's hair and tugging forward. Youichi stumbles into him, kinda like he stumbles into everything he does -a little unsure at first but when he finally gets his shit figured out, he commits.
And well, Youichi's had this figured out for a while now.
Sawamura Eijun's kiss is thorough, hot. His lips are chapped, probably from being kissed and bitten all afternoon, but still soft, still pliant, still warm. He moves languidly, like maybe this is something he wants to savor, hand in his hair and nose brushing his cheek, warm puffs of breath over his skin. He moves languidly, feather-soft brushes that make Youichi's hands move on their own, coming up to grip at his kouhai's hips, thumbs finding the bones there. He moves languidly, soft mouth and wet tongue prying him open with gentle licks, working together to take what they want from him. Always so greedy.
Youichi lets him, Sawamura's tongue flicking against the roof of his mouth, curling and dragging, hot and heavy and good, god, so good.
It's no wonder Sawamura's kisses come at a hefty price.
Sawamura bites him when he pulls away, sharp white teeth denting the plush of his lip. It's enough to make him moan, that little act of aggression amid all the soft sweetness. His body goes hot, soft tendrils of pleasure flitting down down down. He wants to chase him down for more.
Instead Youichi swallows, knows that Sawamura can feel it through his fingertips. "I still can't afford you," he says, trying to joke, but his voice comes out too serious. He feels Sawamura smile, soft red lips brushing against his chin.
"But senpai, you get it for free."
AN: I kinda wanted to do an omake with Miyuki, but nothing came to mind ;A; Anyway, thank you for reading, I hope this is okay!