Title: Odds High
Rating: R for sexual themes
Warnings: Slash content. Otogi/Honda
Disclaimer: Roses are red, violets are blue. I no own, so you no sue.
-
Since the sex started to happen, it had just been sex. It was easier that way, and considering how life consistently tried to make things as hard for them as possible, anything easy was worth holding on to.
Not implying that he was easy, of course.
They didn't hold hands, or touch much at all otherwise, honestly. It would've been strange. As far as Otogi Ryuuji was concerned, he and Honda Hiroto existed separately, and that was the way he preferred it. Two mostly-strangers who happened to share a common history in short strips of the timeline. Who shared a bed. Occasionally.
Okay, so perhaps they shared a bed enough times for the official count to qualify as more than 'occasionally.' But the way Otogi's math worked out, the amount of times they had sex multiplied by the number of times they'd almost had sex still didn't come near the current tally of arguments. He knew. He kept track. And hey, if the almost-handjob through his jeans on the bus in the dark on the way home from that play counted, then so did the mindless bickering over whether chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream was better than strawberry.
So, he kept track. That didn't make a person obsessive, did it? No, of course it didn't.
What he didn't know was how Honda kept getting under his skin. If Otogi somehow found it worthwhile to date the antithesis of himself...
...did he say 'date'? Correction. 'Fuck.' There just was no other suitable verb.
...as he was saying. If he thought it worth his time to fuck the antithesis of himself, he couldn't have found a more qualified individual. But Honda was worth his time, insofar as to say he made the sweaty, naked minutes pretty entertaining. There was no doubt about it – the younger kid knew what he was doing now. By seventeen, he'd had come a long way.
Otogi couldn't help but feel just a little smug in the knowledge that he'd played teacher to whatever natural talent the other boy possessed. There was something satisfying about feeling the subtle brush of Honda's tongue through a kiss against his inner thigh and realizing through the shivers, "yeah, that's my move there."
It was nice to have someone who didn't know all the moves already. Otogi leaned on the counter, forearm just barely pressed against the cool plastic side of the cash register, chin in the cup of his hand. His eyes were half closed. Almost closing time, and around this hour of the evening, the only things peopling the black and white checkered tiles were orange-red rays of evening sun. Tonight was no different. In a few minutes, the door would open for the last time, and Honda would walk in. Then he'd lock the storefront, turn around, slide his hands under the younger boy's jacket, and get the party started all over again.
That thought had a comforting feel to it.
That in itself was enough to make him straighten in shock, once he'd identified the source.
Repetitive tasks bored Otogi quickly. Chores were endured because they had to be done. Lovers were discarded when they became predictable. He was not a creature of habit, but one who needed trials, tests, dares...anything to keep him awake for another handful of hours. Maybe that was why he chose to stay with Honda. Deflowering a virgin was one thing...tutoring an eager student another entirely.
"He don't act like no virgin," Otogi drawled to himself, enjoying how crass the phrase sounded. It was true. No blushes, no awkward bumps and squirming, just a 'show-me' attitude and a surprising lack of concern over whether he ended up looking inexperienced. He was much more sensitive about things like that when they fought. Arguing with him, as it turned out, was much harder than teaching him the right way to go about having sex.
Wait...what had he been worried about earlier? Oh yes. Well, so what if Honda was predictable? He always had been. Unlike the other lovers who had shared Otogi's company before the biker came along, he felt no pressing need to discard this one. Maybe when the passion burned down a little, he would, but that might not be for years yet.
The thought of having sex with the same person for a few years didn't strike the panic that it usually did. Or rather, not quite the same panic.
"Hey."
Honda chose then to pull the front door open. Otogi picked up his keys and sauntered past him with a swat on the rump, forcing a bravado he didn't actually feel, and flipped the lock on the door. Keyed the security code into the system on the wall, and hauled the heavy sliding cage bars back across the big glass front panels.
"How'd things go?"
They didn't usually talk about now. Honda's voice startled him.
"As well as any other day," Otogi improvised, before his brain kicked in again, "Business died off two hours ago, and I finished up the inventory." It wasn't something Honda would care about. "Why do you want to know?"
He got a shrug in reply, and a blank expression. "No reason. Just curious."
"Well, I told you about my day, so now it's your turn." It seemed curiously important that he return the favor. Honda grimaced.
"Sucked. Spent two hours on that Sociology homework."
"Honda, it's really not that bad," Otogi smiled at the other boy's look of disgust, "I can't understand how something that you're allowed to use the internet for could take you—"
"Wait, we could use the computer?"
"Mm...you weren't paying attention?" He teased, but really, he could understand that. Lately, he wasn't either. "Even if you weren't, it was in the instructions at the top of the page."
"I didn't see that."
"I guessed."
"Guessed what?" Honda asked, missing the sarcastic quirk of Otogi's mouth. The older boy rolled his eyes.
"Oh, for the love of—this is why we don't talk."
"We do too."
"...not here."
"Yes we do."
"No, I mean let's not argue here, all right?" Now the ratio of sex to fighting was approximately 1:10. He didn't like those odds. He started for the back of the store. "Come upstairs."
Honda followed, jacket slung over one shoulder, and made it up the steps just before a hard, determined mouth came down on his. A brief tussle in the hallway and they hit Otogi's bedroom. Honda's jacket and shirt slouched together on the floor a half-step inside the door, and he himself slammed up against the doorframe, the full measure of his torso being taken in by hungry hands.
"Do something different tonight," Otogi challenged.
"Why?"
Blink. Otogi paused for a few seconds in confusion, never having gotten that answer before. "Well...because."
"What's left to do different?"
"...I don't know! You think of something! Use your imagination! Are you that unoriginal?"
"Dude, you taught me," Honda protested, which didn't distract him from grasping the bottom of Otogi's shirt and yanking it up, peeling the slick and slinky garment over his head, "so if I'm unoriginal, it's your fault."
"Remind me never to sleep with a virgin again," Otogi growled, and thrust his knee between the other's thighs, seaming hips together while naked chests slid with across one another with a whisper of skin on skin. His arms went around Honda's neck.
"Stick with me, kiddo, and you won't," Honda smirked.
"Don't call me that." Came the automatic retort. And then Otogi crashed their lips together and dragged him backwards to the bed. It was the most talking they'd ever done prior to wrestling around in the sheets. It unnerved him. "When'd you get so chatty all of a sudden?"
Honda didn't answer. He was too busy prying open the catch of Otogi's leather pants. There, not talking, the way it used to be. That was better. He kicked off his low boots and arched his hips. Broad hands cradled him, cupping the flat ass that he worked like hell to get, thanks, and then skidded up across the slick black hide to hook in the waistband and yank down.
"Fuck, you're a skinny-ass."
It sounded almost affectionate, the way he said it.
"...pardon?" This wasn't part of the script, dammit!
"Do you eat, bud? Or d'you just live on those cherry suckers you keep in the cash register?"
"I'm not skinny, you moron, I'm athletic. And how the hell did you know about the lollipops in the cash register?"
Once again, Honda didn't answer. The leather pants hit the floor with a wet slap, followed by his briefs, which came off considerably more easily. Suddenly, heavy callused fingers were stroking him, and the world fuzzed over as he tipped his head back. Somehow, he managed to keep a little coherency, and growled in irritation at how swiftly the younger boy grabbed the upper hand. "The lollipops," he gasped, "tell me."
"Because there aren't any," Honda replied simply, with a low chuckle that rumbled down the length of his body and into the warm hands caressing his skin. "You sell games, not candy."
"Then how did...you know...they were there...?"
"Because you always taste like cherries, and your tongue's always really red when I get here." The strokes changed, and Otogi pushed upwards with a low groan.
"But...they could have...been...some other kind of candy..." He protested, more for the sake of making some kind of sound before it ripped out into a moan.
"Lucky guess."
Someone pushed his knees up, and he felt chapped lips against his thigh. He couldn't tell whose they were, since his eyes were squeezed shut, but he could guess. "Lick your lips, dammit. You've been on your motorcycle again, haven't you?"
"How else did I get over here? Hitchhike?" But nevertheless, when the hot breath and open mouth returned to his skin, the whole works were wet enough to stand. And then a burning tonguetip pressed down flat, and he quivered. My move. That's my move, there.
"Honda..."
The signal. The signal that he couldn't wait any longer, so please, please, please drag it out just another few seconds. Honda did, teasing him with the same infinite-seeming patience with which the brunette dealt with everything else. And then he moved back.
There was no wet mouth. No heat. Just Otogi, legs spread and cheeks flushed, glaring up at the other boy between his knees. All he got for his trouble was a smirk, and he fell back. "What are you waiting for? Japan to become a libertarian commonwealth?"
"...that made no sense." There was the sound of a smile and the hiss of sliding fabric. In his frustration, Otogi missed it.
"It sounded good."
"Still." The same callused hands latched onto his ankles and tugged his knees down. He resisted, but it was beside the point.
"Did I tell you that you could stop?"
A very naked Honda Hiroto straddled his hips, rubbing two very sensitive bits of their anatomy together. "No."
Otogi's eyes flared. Honda was changing the rules of the game, all in one fell swoop, and he simply couldn't process it at first. Then, in a moment, the corners of his mouth turned up into a sexy smile. "So you're more creative than I thought."
The taller boy was heavier on Otogi's body than he was used to. Maybe Honda was right. Maybe he shouldn't be so thin. Honda smiled. "Maybe."
"You're going to need help, though."
"That's what I figured." Still with the smile. Did the guy ever blush?
"I won't hurt you," Otogi promised, the way he'd promised more than a few people in a similar position. It usually had some kind of affect, but didn't appear to now.
"I didn't think you would." Honda replied simply. Pause. "You talk too much."
"So I hear." He helped the other boy turn over.
It was different, having Honda underneath him. He'd had girls in this position before, but guys were generally a different story.
Generally he didn't get this far with guys. But again, Honda was different. Something about this night seemed to drive home and crystallize the fact. Somewhere between locking the door and now, watching the lanky brunette shift his hips and moan at the slickened fingertip sliding in and out of him – something had drastically changed.
Now, not only did he not intend to hurt Honda...he didn't want to. Couldn't stand the thought of hurting him. Didn't want to betray thattrust. Even if the younger boy pretended to be unconcerned about what they were doing, Otogi knew that this required more than a little understanding. Deep down, the offering...moved him. There was something very straightforward and honest about Honda, even in play. He knew that Otogi could hurt him like this. But he trusted Otogi not to.
Otogi didn't know if he could go through with it. There was something growing here that scared the hell out of him, frankly, no matter how much Honda trusted him. If this was some kind of deal-sealer, like a signature at the bottom of a contract...well...he wasn't signing anything yet.
"Hey...?" The soft question brought him back to reality, as he didn't realize that he'd been clutching Honda's calf so hard until now. "Easy, bud..."
"Sorry..." He rubbed the pinched muscles by way of apology, and leaned over, nuzzling his partner's thigh. Kissed the skin, and continued to kiss it, with the same soft application of heat and wet tissue that drove him to the verge of insanity when Honda did it to him. He couldn't tell if it was having the same effect, since the other boy's eyes were screwed shut again.
"You're not...you're taking...too long..." Honda gasped.
"I don't want to hurt you."
"You promised you wouldn't." Now the dark eyes opened again, and focused on Otogi's face. They were very dark. Now he could tell if the effect was the same – and it was. "I believe you, Ryuuji."
The use of Otogi's given name gave him pause. In all their time together, he only used the name in passing, paired with his last name in an introduction or in extreme exasperation. Now, on its own, the syllables sounded breathy and sweet and...sexy...beyond all sense of the word.
"You won't hurt me," Honda repeated, firmly, "you can't." And the softening of the deep brown eyes when they met Otogi's green made his heart twist painfully. He believed that. Honestly, firmly believed it, without a shred of solid evidence to back it up. Life was going to be hell on his heart.
I won't let it.
"C'mon, quit stalling, Ryuuji," Honda refused to go back to the old way of doing things.
Otogi rubbed his free hand over the strength of his stomach and the pretty indent of Honda's navel. Maybe...he'd sign the contract in pencil, first. He could always go over it later. "Okay."
He slid forward, had to admit, they fit perfectly. Honda Hiroto was an unapologetic tough guy and a leather-sporting, butch-cut sportbiker, and he loved as hard and fast as he drove. Playing bottom didn't strip him of any masculinity the way it did some people. There was something raw under the surface, and he just kept a thin veneer of polish over it so he didn't scare anyone.
Seated this close to his hips, feeling his body rise and fall in languid arcs, Otogi wondered if anybody else knew about the tiger growling under the biker's skin. He jealously hoped they didn't, and then lost the rest of his mind to a pleasant fog.
Mouths slid wetly across one another, tongues tangled and licked. Honda tasted salty and vaguely sweet, and hunting mindlessly after that sweet, realized that his lover tasted like cherries, too. Or perhaps it was himself that he tasted on the other boy's tongue. He braced himself on one elbow, mouth dragging away from Honda's to hit his chest in near exhaustion. His other hand burrowed between them, and kiss-bruised lips twitched into a smile at the gasp the touch elicited.
Then he arched his back and Honda's gasps slipped over into moans. Hearing them felt good to both boys, and at Otogi's fervent encouragement, he kept going, the sound intensifying as a few last shreds of inhibition scattered. He felt the legs tangled around his stiffen, felt the thighs straining further apart to give him more room and make it deeper. Another voice joined Honda's in counterpoint, and it wasn't until afterward that Otogi realized it to be his own.
It was over too quickly, as far as he was concerned. They lay together, basking like a pair of contented cats in the mutual heat, tired beyond words.
Otogi felt the need building up inside. He'd wonder about it forever if he didn't try now. "...Hiroto?"
"Mm...?" Honda's reply was immediate, if drowsy.
"Do you mind...if I call you that?"
Laughter, then. Honda sounded amused. "...Sure."
Otogi eyed him suspiciously, and then lowered his cheek down onto his lover's chest again. In a few short hours, Honda would have to go home. He didn't want him to go home. Just once, it might be nice to...wake up with him?
Good heaven, where was this coming from?
And why the hell didn't Honda sound shocked? After all, it'd taken Otogi's breath away to hear his given name on the other boy's lips. Or wasn't it important to him?
"I don't suppose you could stay the night...?"
A thoughtful silence, before Honda shook his head. "Tomorrow's Friday. I could stay then..."
That sounded good. "Okay."
"Why?"
"What?"
"I mean...why d'you want me to stay?"
It didn't sound like the usual tentative questions working up to an admissal of love. It sounded more teasing. Like Honda knew Otogi was going to end up a mess after tonight, and wanted to see how long it would take him to drag the big secret out. It pissed him off. But he was too tired, too warm to move.
"Because I like you, jackass."
That seemed to settle the question. At least for the night.
---
Honda threw a leg over his bike – gingerly – and looked up at the window where the lamp had just switched off.
He smiled. The real, genuine smile that Otogi was going to get later.
"Took you long enough, kiddo."