Yuki has beautiful batting form. It's impressive, it's inspirational, and it is very distracting. Isashiki is trying to match the other boy swing-for-swing, trying to keep his mind on maintaining the arc of his own movement against the rising strain of exhaustion in his limbs. But he keeps hesitating, glancing sideways to watch the clean snap of Yuki's hips as he steps into the movement, the elegant line of the bat cutting through the dark air, and he can feel his attention wavering, scraped too-thin over the shaky hurt of too much effort until he finally lets the bat drop to his side and unfolds from the deliberate tension in his shoulders.
"How can you keep going?" he demands, because he's irritated with the exhausted weight of his own body, and he wants nothing so much as he wants to go inside, and he can't make himself walk away from the grace of Yuki's movements.
The other boy swings through once more, takes a step backward to set his feet into position again, and for a minute Isashiki thinks he's going to swing again and ignore the other boy's question. Then he turns his head to fix Isashiki with the uncanny gold of his eyes, blinks like he's just becoming aware of his company, and says, "I'm not done with my practice swings yet."
This utterly fails to answer Isashiki's question, which was mostly rhetorical anyway. "That's not an answer," he protests. He can feel his legs trembling, his arms gone numb with repetitive movement. "I can't keep my form even if I try."
"Do you want me to help?" Yuki asks instantly, and that isn't what Isashiki was aiming for but Yuki is straightening, lowering his bat off his shoulders and moving to lean it against the fence, and Isashiki can't find the words to refuse when the other boy turns around to fix him with the full force of his attention. He can't find air, actually, much less the power of coherency, and Yuki is stepping in so close their shirts brush with absolute disregard for Isashiki's personal space.
"Lift the bat up," he says, his voice level and easy with assumed command, and Isashiki is moving before he can overthink how instantly he is responding, before the ache in his limbs can stall his movements. It does hurt - he can feel the motion drawing heavy across his shoulders and down the support of his spine - but Yuki is grabbing his wrist to shift the angle of the bat, his leg is bumping against Isashiki's hip without consideration, and the prickle of self-consciousness up Isashiki's spine is enough to distract him from the hurt.
"You're facing too far forward," Yuki says, and then he's pulling Isashiki back, dragging at the other boy's hips and still so close, close enough Isashiki would be certain it's deliberate except that it's Yuki, that his voice has the faraway tone he gets when he's absorbed in training. "Now swing, slowly, and follow through the motion." He stays where he is, his hands burning against Isashiki's hips, urging the other boy forward smoothly as Isashiki attempts the most awkward swing of his life. He's overthinking every part of the movement - the grip of his hands against the bat, the motion of his feet, especially the shift of his hips under Yuki's steady hold - and he can feel how off-balance it is even before Yuki makes a wordless noise of disapproval.
"No." He tugs Isashiki back again, lets his hold go to straighten the other boy's white-knuckled grip on the bat. "Try again."
Isashiki does. A second swing, and a third, and a fourth, and Yuki keeps shifting his grip or changing the angle of his hips or moving out to scuff a mark for his feet, but Isashiki's focus is lost, and he can't tell Yuki he's not paying attention to the bat because of the draw of Yuki's features, the shape of his mouth and the shadow of his eyelashes and the way he glances up and turns all the force of his gaze on the other boy until Isashiki feels he deserves a medal just for staying on his feet.
It's nearly a half hour before Isashiki can make himself lower the bat, fall out-of-form and resign himself to the inevitable. "I'm just too tired, Yuki." The focus in the other's eyes says he sees a challenge to be overcome rather than a simple physical limitation; Isashiki is sure they'll go on like this all night if he doesn't say anything. "But I'll beat you tomorrow, see if I don't."
"Recovery is important," Yuki agrees as he moves back and towards the fence to collect his bat. Isashiki knows he's not going back to his room yet. At least he's chosen his rival well; his work is cut out for him, to catch up to Yuki's inhuman example. Isashiki trails in the other boy's wake, following as Yuki reaches out for the handle of his bat and turns back to look at him. His gaze is steady but there's a tiny shiver at his wrist, the flutter of exhaustion making itself visible in spite of his assumed control. It feels like a victory to Isashiki, if a tiny one.
"You should rest too," he says without thinking, his eyes still caught on the involuntary movement of Yuki's wrist. "Don't hurt yourself."
A nod. Isashiki looks up at the motion, meets the steady glow of Yuki's eyes fixed on his face. "I'm almost done." His arm tenses, he swings the bat up to rest over his shoulders, but he's not moving away yet; he's lingering where he stands, staring at Isashiki's eyes. It occurs to the other boy that he should leave, that he's tired, that his legs are shaking and his hands are rubbed friction-raw and he should take a shower and go to bed, but he doesn't move either, can barely persuade himself to blink.
It's Yuki who moves first. Isashiki's heart is pounding and he thinks he's starting to flush with self-consciousness, but he can't think clearly; it feels like his feet are fixed to the ground, like he's frozen on the spot by the golden shine of Yuki's eyes. Then Yuki takes a step in, halves the already minimal distance between them, and Isashiki can see where this is going but can't get his head around the reality of this. It's too much to ask of his consciousness, too late in the day and too much of a stretch from his expectation, so even when Yuki tips his head down and Isashiki turns his chin up, even when there's the warmth of lips carefully brushing against his, Isashiki's heartbeat slows with disbelief instead of sparking fast and rushed like he would expect.
It only lasts for a moment; Yuki doesn't push against him, just collects the warm from his lips and pulls away, stepping back to a reasonable distance as easily as he stepped in. Isashiki blinks, lets the friction on his lips cool and settle into his memory, form itself into plausibility around the shape of shock until he can open his mouth and blurt, "What was that?"
"A kiss," Yuki says, and he's moving away, back out from the fence to settle into position again as if Isashiki's entire body isn't flushing hot with reaction. He swings again, careful and smooth and elegant, while Isashiki is still staring at his shoulders and reaching for words to adequately express his protest.
"You -" He chokes, throws the bat in his hand against the fence in a impotent expression of frustration. "You can't just-" They're not very far apart; Isashiki can cross the distance in a few strides. Yuki is just coming back from another swing, angling his bat back over his shoulder when Isashiki closes into dangerous range of the bat's arc and grabs at his shoulder. Yuki turns slowly, his expression as clear and unconcerned as if he has been doing nothing but practicing this evening.
"You can't do that," Isashiki insists. "It's not fair." He closes his fingers on the dark fabric of the other boy's undershirt, drags hard enough that Yuki tips forward by an inch, and leans in to press his mouth to the other's lips. This time Isashiki can notice the soft of the other boy's mouth, the tiny catch in the breathing against his cheek and the warmth of his skin, the salt of effort clinging to the corners of his lips. The appearance of perfection evaporates; Isashiki can feel Yuki breathing, can feel the shake of exhaustion under the pull of his fingers and the rough edge of chapped lips, and it doesn't help, his head is swimming more with this revelation that Yuki is in fact human than it would be if he felt more like the untouchable god he sometimes appears to be.
Isashiki is the one to pull back, the one to take a huge gulping breath, but Yuki doesn't straighten, doesn't open his eyes so for a moment Isashiki can see his features gone soft and relaxed by pleasure. Then his eyelashes flutter, shadows give way to gold, and his eyes look like chocolate and caramel, all melting heat and out-of-focus attention.
"I'm better at kissing than you are," Isashiki says, shakily, and Yuki blinks, nods in silent agreement. "You'll have to practice with me to catch up."
"Yeah," Yuki agrees. Isashiki lets his hold go and the other boy straightens, slowly, collects his batting form back around him like it's his composure.
"I'll watch," Isashiki announces before he turns and walks back to the fence with as steady a gait as he can manage on his trembling knees. He does reach out to brace himself against the metal before he lowers himself to sit on the ground - he doesn't trust himself to not collapse - but then he's down, the solidity of the ground under him giving him a point of reference so he can settle himself against the fence. "In case your form starts to slip."
It won't. Isashiki knows that, is certain Yuki would notice a problem before he does. But Yuki believes the flimsy lie, or maybe doesn't mind the real reason; he just nods, turns out towards the oncoming dark of true night, and resumes those consistent swings. Isashiki lets his head rest against the support of the fence behind him, idly watches the pale sweep of the bat through the air, the elegant swing of Yuki's hips as he moves. It's still distracting. But Isashiki is starting to smile, now, as much-delayed adrenaline finally floods into his veins, and when Yuki finally relaxes and turns back to him, the other boy's smile is enough to push back the infringing shadows around them.
Isashiki thinks he might not mind being second-best, if he can follow that smile.