"So I'm an incubus."
A dollop of peanut butter cream is smeared across the corner of his lips. Before he can say anything, Miyuki wipes it with the back of his hand. They were finishing off their sixth packet of melon bread. The amount they inhale stopped becoming eye-boggling for the rest of the class, now in third year, that they leave them well alone now. And possibly because they are slightly more than antisocial outside of their club.
Kuramochi does not bother looking up from his magazine splayed out on his knee. He has his chair turned around, chest pressed on the back of the chair, eating on Miyuki's desk. He has years of experience dealing with what Miyuki dishes out, on everyday basis. Miyuki finishes the last piece, continues on.
"You know, the monster that feeds off lust? Sex demon, or whatever you call it. You must have heard of something like that in your video games."
"Didn't my total lack of response tell you enough?"
When he looks up again, Miyuki scrunches up the empty plastic bag and throws it towards the garbage bin. It's a neat throw. "I'm telling you that I need to drink people's semen or I get hungry." Shit, now that's just too much, even coming from the likes of Miyuki, and Kuramochi can't help but to give in. He gives Miyuki the finger.
Wasn't the greatest comeback he'd be proud of, and Miyuki just gives him a placid look. "If I don't get help, I'm going to get sick for the next game."
That makes him look, really look, at Miyuki's face. At that moment, he feels like the air has been sucked out of his lungs, leaving him gaping and winded. That's the game changer, when baseball comes in. It doesn't look like the grinning, irritating jackass but the captain of Seidou facing him. The bell rings, their lunch break is short lived; he jabs a finger at Miyuki before turning around. Their next class is modern Japanese, and their coach would be coming in. They'd be throttled alive and hung as examples if caught talking in his class.
"Later."
"So what were you trying to tell me?"
Now he's the one who brings it up first, when they're heading towards the cafeteria. Miyuki always practices on his own. When Kuramochi had asked what the hell his problem was, he only shrugged. It's not difficult to track him down though, and drag the idiot back with the rest of the team by the scruff of his neck. But sometimes Kuramochi lets him have it his way. He lets Miyuki be himself, only to join him in comfortable silence, only the sounds of their bats swinging. He has little of it these days anyway. This is one of those days when they are alone again.
Miyuki lifts a brow. He has his baseball bat slung over his shoulders, still heaving from practice. "I think I was pretty clear. It's fine if you can't, but I was asking for your help."
And since when did Miyuki Kazuya ask anybody for help? Kuramochi finds that even more unbelievable than the hentai manga bullshit that he was trying to pull earlier. He grits his teeth because that's life with him deciding to come to Tokyo. He probably shouldn't have punched the senator's son on the nose. "Okay, I'll play along. What do you need exactly?"
Miyuki's face is a picture of calm, leaving him feeling like the irrational one here. "I live off on bodily fluids of other people that are products of lust. Saliva can work, but semen is best. That's what being an incubus is."
His mind is reeling. He really shouldn't have punched the senator's son, nor laughed about in within the vicinity of his principle's hearing. There are many places his mind goes to, that all end with him finally strangling Miyuki and getting applauded for his efforts by the rest of the team. He decides to start with the semen part first. Reason and all. "What would happen if you don't...eat?"
"Oh, well. It starts with headaches. Harder to focus, dizzy, like when you're really hungry all the time."
Nobody says a word about it, but Kuramochi notices these things. Miyuki is preoccupied pretty much all the time now during practice, so it goes unnoticed; he practices with Sawamura, Furuya Nori ad Tojou, practices batting and in the meanwhile, has small tutoring sessions with the pitchers and first years in his room.
But Kuramochi has been in the same class with him for three years in a row. He's seen his share of Miyuki in his most vulnerable. Sure, when he's in the game he's the great Miyuki Kazuya, enveloped in coronas of talent that leaves him grinding his teeth even until now.
But without that, he's watered down to a quiet presence in class with his nose in his score book. It's been stranger these couple of weeks. In his line of sight, Miyuki just looks tired now. Dazed, and unfocused. Without his uniform and glasses on, his eyes are red-rimmed and empty, shadows drawing harsher lines on his face. These days, Miyuki spaces out so much that it was making him bristle, half for giving a shit in the first place and half for not knowing why.
He now knows why. Though plain family issues would have been much preferable. "What do you want me to do about it?" He asks slowly. It feels like walking knowingly in to a noose.
Miyuki shrugs again. "It's not much. Once every three or four days would be fine. You jerk off to that porn stash of yours way more than that, so—"
"Miyuki, how do you—"
"It's not going to be that different." He doesn't know how Miyuki still assumes a straight face with all this. "But you'll have to jerk off in my mouth is all."
Silence falls on them. Miyuki rubs his forehead, turns then looks straight at him. There are no trace of laughter in his line of mouth, for once.
"I don't want to risk anything that would ruin my game at this moment. I want to focus on my team."
Miyuki changed, even with subtlety, after taking on captaincy. He doesn't know if anybody else notices. Now Miyuki is the reliable one, the only consistently strong batter on their lineup; his slip-ups like when he can't hit without a runner is not a joke in the team anymore. Dedication that he shows to the pitchers is almost unnerving. The heaviness of Miyuki's voice that carries through are palpable in the air between them, and he can't help but to find himself believing.
He puffs out a long sigh, carding his fingers through his own hair. Fuck. "You really are not lying."
"Why would I lie about this?"
And there it is. Miyuki does not lie, contrary to popular opinion, out of principle. He lies only when he needs to. And even if this was some sort of sick joke that Miyuki's dark twisted mind came up with, what would he gain from telling Kuramochi that he needed to suck cock for survival?
Kuramochi would retort that he's been watching too much manga and shit, but does Miyuki watch anything other than baseball games? He still doesn't know why Miyuki chose him to ask for help. The idiot he knows would rather gut himself than to turn to plain truths. He's just wired that way. "Why are you telling me this, though?"
This time, Miyuki laughs loudly. "Who else do you think I can tell, though? Zono? All of my other options are just asking for trouble."
He can see that. Zono has enough Miyuki-shaped issues on his plate, and knowing that his already untrustworthy captain is not entirely human would work out just stellar for the team.
Miyuki falls in step with him as they go down stairs towards the cafeteria. They can hear the coach blowing the whistle, and the sound of baseballs hitting the cages. They are background noises that Kuramochi has been breathing in for the third year, but air feels alien inside of him now. Miyuki's arm bumps in to him on the last step down. He stops, and his shadow is cast long and foreboding, touching the tips of Kuramochi's sneakers.
"And because you covered for me last time." Kuramochi looks up. Miyuki's eyes are fixed on him like burning coals. Now he's stands right in front of Kuramochi, the evening glow bouncing off his sports glasses and looking exactly like the shifty bastard he's known for years that this is so fucking surreal.
"I trust you."
Words tumble from his mouth so easily, it's almost believable. Kuramochi's taken aback and, at the same time, images of last year fall flashes past. He knows what that means. Miyuki, crumpled on the home plate, hand on his side, someone he has taken to think was infallible. Moments when regret flashed past him for playing accomplice, not for the first time but twice — this time, he was forgiven and pardoned as his captain rose from dirt.
He doesn't know if the acting-captain in him is speaking, but finds himself nodding.
"Okay."
Miyuki blinks. All heat is seeped out of him in an instant. "Okay?"
"Did I stutter?"
"No, I mean." It's not every day you see Miyuki grapple for words. He regains himself quickly though, and smiles. It looks fond.
"You really are caring as they say, Kuramochi."
"I regret this already."
Miyuki's smiling still, but it doesn't seem to be mocking. Sawamura and Furuya apparently caught the sight of them, and are loudly stumbling towards their way. His voice is barely above a whisper, but Kuramochi can hear him loud and clear. "After ten. Come to my room."
He doesn't know how Miyuki kicked out his roommates. It may be the perks of being captain, but Miyuki's not one to flaunt it like that. With his filthy reputation he may as well, but that's how Miyuki is, a puzzle; unpretentious and forgiving in the worst kind of irregularities.
Or: a goddamn incubus.
"How did you keep up until now?" He asks, almost like a filler. It is awkward enough sitting in his bed with Miyuki going on his knees. His hair is still wet from the bath, shifting until he's sitting close enough, warmth radiating off of him.
Kuramochi had his doubts, walking up to Miyuki's dorm room, still half expecting Miyuki to burst out laughing, pointing at his dumbfound face and waving his phone. He would forever be stigmatized for falling for this prank and would have no choice but to dissect Miyuki's limbs. Wouldn't be the first time he thought of several adequate places within school grounds to hide the body. As Kuramochi braced himself, Miyuki only ushered him in to the room with a smile and a glint in his eyes. It's a whole different kind of illusion come to life.
Impulses of killing and fucking shouldn't be mixed in with such a paper-thin margin. Miyuki simply says, "I had my partners for a while. Now I don't."
It's just that he can't imagine Miyuki being with somebody else, let alone be someone with sexual prowess. With his face it's easy to assume, but Kuramochi knows. See, that's what throws him off. Miyuki lives in an empty fishbowl. All he cares about is baseball, and everything is devoid of meaning to him. He hadn't once joined in their porn collections or had been remotely interested in girls blush and whisper at his way. To hear him even mention sex sounds strange, like Sawamura saying something like astronomical physics.
Thoughts percolate in his head and makes his stomach churn. "Doesn't the incubi do it with girls?"
"I could with a girl." Miyuki says all too smoothly. "But it gets messier, I think. I wouldn't want an accident during summer, out of all things."
He can agree. It's more convenient this way, the two of them. That's more like this bastard he knows. There are millions of questions building up inside his throat. Kuramochi looks down, sees the mop of hair and glasses, wets his drying lips.
"Um. Can you change form?"
"Now who's been reading too much anime?" Here comes the laughing, and Kuramochi is almost tempted to smack him, if Miyuki wasn't between his legs. Miyuki shakes his head with a smirk, eyes bright. "I can't, sorry. Not part of the package. I wish I could, though."
His hand on Kuramochi's knee is almost burning hot through his jeans. In all of a sudden, Miyuki ducks down and mouths against the rubber band of his boxers. Not having expected that move, Kuramochi gasps, jerking in his grip. Miyuki looks apologetic when he lifts his head again. His eyes are half-hooded.
"You could put a bag over my head, if you want. Or put a towel over my face."
He could, and Kuramochi realizes that he should be more disgusted about this than he really is. His voice is even but Kuramochi realizes that Miyuki has been holding back. His eyes keep flicking back down to his groin, and there are tensions taut across his shoulders.
Miyuki looks desperate. That should be alarming. His instincts are to reach out and ruffles Miyuki's disarrayed hair.
"'s fine. It must be bad enough for you already."
The way Miyuki looks up at him is odd, since he's used to Miyuki being a head taller. It's even more disturbing because he thinks that he hears a small mumble of thank you before his boxers are pulled down to his ankles. His mouth dries up instantly like he's swallowed dunes.
A warm palm rubs circles on his knees. Other fingers are touching the tender creases between his thigh and groin, and Kuramochi feels like he's going to jump out of his skin. "Then you can close your eyes. Just think of a girl you like."
"Alright."
"So you do have someone in mind." He actually thanks Miyuki talking for once in his life, because this is fucking bizarre and he still doesn't know where to put his hands. "Sawamura's little childhood friend? I bet you really would like me to turn into her."
He pulls on Miyuki's hair for good measure, and he laughs again. It's almost normal, how they toss back and forward, except that it's not. There is a firm hand with callouses on the base of his cock, and he's surrounded by Miyuki's neatly folded clothes and barely read text books, hills of scoresheets at his feet. Someone close enough that he would grudgingly say, in like half a decade from now, is his friend sits kneeling between his legs, mouth glistening open and ready.
Miyuki licks a slow stripe up to his tip, and he can't help but twitch his hips. He makes a mistake of looking down at that moment. He almost flinches. Miyuki's face is absolutely wanton, just like he's famished; he hides nothing now, and Kuramochi feels like he's the one stripped to bone. There's pink dusting the bastard's cheeks and unfocused eyes behind his glasses are focused on the jut of his cock, slowly rising under attention.
Kuramochi lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding, loosening up his twisting insides. He could laugh. He could walk away.
"I still can't fucking believe this."
"I really don't care at this point," Miyuki breathes, and god he can feel his breath on his bare cock, a scene he really did not picture himself in ever. "You don't have to believe me. I just want to blow you."
Kuramochi doesn't stop him. So Miyuki doesn't stop. Finally there is a mouth that engulfs him whole. It's hot, wet and tight, a groan escaping through his teeth.
On cue, he starts sucking in earnest, wet lips tightening around his cock. Miyuki hollows his cheeks and grips his hips with practice. There is no scrape of teeth, just a warm passage and his cockhead hits the back of Miyuki's throat with an effortless slide.
He stifles a throaty groan, and swears he can feel Miyuki grinning even with his mouth full. It's so goddamned good, that he immediately decides Miyuki Kazuya was telling him the truth, he must be something other-worldly.
Miyuki swallows him down with ease, impossibly, all the way down to the base until the tip of his nose touches Kuramochi's lower belly. He doesn't even make a sound. Tight throat works all around him, sending white sparks under his eyelids, fighting to keep his hips from bucking further into this mouth. It feels like Miyuki is everywhere all at once, wrecking every part of him. Tongue traces around his shaft and veins, wet fingers fondling his balls.
Then Miyuki pulls out, and laps at his slit. His tongue nudges the ridges of foreskin, then swallows again like he's glutton for it. There are a hundred more sins he can think of, as Kuramochi looks down at his face. With his eyes thinned to slits, Miyuki looks blissed out, pure ecstasy etched in his features.
That's even hotter than the warm mouth on him. Miyuki's face is drawn with so many walls of farces and but now it's bare, he's broken through them, hunger and thirst rendering him at his weakest. It's so inconceivable, that Kuramochi's panting and gasping, heat pooling in his guts, ears pounding.
At that moment, Miyuki looks up at him from behind his glasses, pupils blown wide, and their eyes meet; so much for pretending. Without avail, he comes down deep in Miyuki's throat.
His eyes widen as he notices Miyuki's throat bob, swallowing, but only remembers that this had been the whole point.
Miyuki has his eyes closed. He sticks his tongue out to lap at the cockhead, adjusting his glasses. Nothing slips past his lips. As he opens them again, something flashes past his amber eyes, and Kuramochi wants to look away.
"Thanks for the meal," he breathes out, with a grin so wicked it could burn through Kuramochi's dreams.
It's time to wake up, but he can't bring himself to.