Ringmaster

He's dressing as Kai watches him. Tugging his shirt back on.

"When next?" he asks, slightly breathlessly. Kai knows that if he put a steth on his chest and listened the rhythm would match the one currently pounding in his own veins. "Thursday? I can't do tomorrow obviously," he says as he hunts for his socks, "because hooking up with you two days in a row? That's unhealthy. That's toxic for my body. Who knows what kind of germs you're spreading to me? Aha!" He ducks as he finds the pair of them on the floor and starts pulling them on, hopping one foot at a time.

His skin still carries the same sheen it has bore the last two hours (it wasn't meant to go on for that long. Time had unexpectedly slipped away from them. Tyson had been shocked when he found out what hour it was and leapt right off the bed, proceeding to storm around the room looking for his clothes lamenting about how he was supposed to meet someone and they were probably upset at him. Kai was supposed to meet King but he's happy to have missed that appointment. It brings him a thrill to know that King's ego was probably badly bruised from being stood up by Kai. He forgets he's not his boss so very often.) and it's confounding to his post-orgasmic brain to recall that he'd caused it. That not more than five minutes ago the same pair of lips deriding him now had been gasping something entirely different in his ear.

It had started on the couch with Tyson putting him in a state close to a trance. With barely any effort because Granger was putting on a show for him, attempting to seduce him and Kai was drunk on that fact alone. The same eyes that burned with hatred for him almost constantly taking on a gleam of desire directed towards him had had more of an effect on his system than the whiskey he'd been nursing for close to a half hour.

Kai knows he's not imagining the feeling of competitiveness he gets from Tyson during these encounters. It's always there. Looming around them, on the outskirts. Like a secret he's trying to hide.

"Why do you want a toy?"

"Because you're not enough," he'd teased.

"I'm being serious."

"I'm being serious too."

"Fine. Is that the only reason why? I'm not enough?"

He'd giggled, teeth sinking into his bottom lip, twisting Kai's gold chain around his finger. "You don't like that do you?"

Kai hadn't entertained that with a response. Instead he'd pressed on. "Why?"

His smile had fallen, tightening the chain around Kai's throat. "Why can't I?"

He'd relented after a while of persistent prodding, because Kai is nothing if not persistent.

"I don't half ass anything. If we're doing this then we're doing it. We're doing everything."

"What do you mean everything?"

"Everything we're both comfortable with?" Blushing. Blushing endlessly.

"What if I'm not comfortable with something?" Kai had asked.

"Then we won't do it," said Tyson.

"What if you want it bad? Like right now? And I don't?"

Tyson had given him a look. Face solemn. "Are we really going to pretend there isn't a rabid animal in your pants right now?"

Kai had burst out laughing. And Tyson had joined too. He's good at that. Making Kai laugh. Making people laugh in general. Lights up every room he enters. Bringing levity, practicality and a sense that anything can be accomplished. No goal seems unachievable around him.

Kai believes he would deliver on the promise he'd made to him and so he never lets his guard down around him. Sure, he probably does want to experiment with toys but he'd gone through his drawers, found it and then asked him for it. Knowing that Kai's into it. Granger's playing this like it's a game.

With a winner and a loser. And the loser clearly is whoever ends up eating out of the palm of the other's hand. Dazedly dancing to a tune the other strummed up. A marionette on a string. A snake under a spell. A wilful puppet seduced by its master.

He can't be armed with much more than whatever knowledge he pulled from pornhub and his own gut instincts but it's enough. More than enough. He'd given him a show and then taken Kai apart on that couch one lick of a pink tongue against his cock at a time. Skilled. Adept. At everything Kai. Ringmaster.

By the time he'd been done Kai had felt like he'd lived and died seven times over. The room had burned like they were on the scorching surface of the sun. It'd been Prof Watanabi's retirement party all over again. Except this time Kai had been seated (and he'd been grateful for it because he didn't think he could have held himself upright.)

It could've had been both an ice cream commercial and something far less innocent with how pretty he'd looked while having Kai agonisingly anticipating every stroke of his tongue. Tyson had wanted to play with toys yet he hadn't needed any to play with Kai. Have him milliseconds away from whimpering his name out loud. Braced against the couch, leather upholstery tearing under his grip, spellbound, caught in a trap, both wilfully and unwillingly. A prisoner in love with the misery he was being put in.

He knew right there that Granger wanted him under his control. Under his mercy. He got off on it. He's so deceptive with it, you would never expect such a thing from him. But may be they antagonise each other so much because they were both cut from the same cloth. At their core they are purely driven by the desire to win. To claim. To put their name on top. The apex. And he very nearly had it too. Had Kai fucking ready to kiss his feet and worship the ground he walked on.

And Kai isn't entirely sure that he isn't already tap dancing like a puppet for him. Isn't wrapped around his (beautiful) fingers. Because every time Kai looks at Tyson he feels weak.

Weak as he lifts a brow at him in question. Thursday?

"Not too soon?" he asks because he has to save his pride. An uncomfortable feeling taking root in his gut.

It grows when Tyson gives a tilt and a shake of his head, a dimple showing as he answers, "I have to go back to class on Friday. And the professors will dump a shitload of work on me. I'm already seeing you on Saturday too unless of course you don't want to meet before Saturday. But you said three, remember? You said we have to do it…" he tunes out the rest of the it, abruptly having a mini meltdown on the inside.

Oh fuck.

Saturday.

As if the last two hours weren't enough to last him for the next 6 months. He wouldn't have to touch a drug or a drink or a warm body again to get a high for a while because the memories from tonight alone could get his head floating five feet above his shoulders in the blink of an eye.

His thoughts stray to how Tyson had wiped the last of it off his own chin and sucked it off his finger while holding his gaze, teasing. Playful. Proud. Ridiculously and obnoxiously proud and not trying all that hard to not show it.

But they were both cut from the same cloth.

It was a game two could play.

For all the composure he'd flaunted Tyson had let out a relieved sigh as soon as Kai had touched him. An involuntary sigh from deep within him like he'd been holding back his desire for him for days and could finally breathe again. A shudder going through him at the same time their mouths had connected, practically (and incredibly) melting in Kai's arms for a few thoughtless seconds. He had felt his whole physical weight and the weight of all his desire pressed against his own body. It'd made Kai wonder about him. About how much of the nonchalant persona he puts on in front of him is real and how much is faked. Whether he suppresses it – is ashamed of it - so much that he hides it from himself. And how much he's been suppressing it to have it nearly knocking them both off their feet in that moment.

He'd pulled back with a dazed look in his eyes after a while and Kai had gotten to see all the havoc he'd been causing on him for a handful of glorious unguarded seconds before he collected himself again. When he'd stepped away however, he said something under his breath with his eyes almost closing again and it had sounded like, "God I've been wanting to do that."

But Kai couldn't be sure.

Kai had ran his hands down Tyson's bare arms and Tyson had knowingly looked up at him. "Tell me what you want," he'd whispered.

Kai had lifted the shirt up over his head, Tyson putting his arms up so he could take it off him without trouble. His breath had hitched in his lungs when his naked skin came into view. But he hadn't let that stop him from saying, drawling really, because the more nervous he feels on the inside the cockier he gets on the outside (defence mechanisms), "You've pleased me enough, sweetheart," the term of endearment had dripped with sarcasm. "Let me make you feel good."

"You can't."

"Didn't I last time?"

"But that was so many days ago," he'd said, batting his lashes. "I'm sure you've lost your touch by now. They say the wicked age faster than others." The smile he flashed him was charming.

He'd lost his cheek pretty soon after that, the second time more pleasurable (and clearly more anticipated and less feared) than the first. Kai had been more familiar with his body too. Familiar with touching him. Tyson had started moaning in his ear almost instantly, fingers squeezing Kai's biceps as he kissed the column of his throat. Skin hot, radiating heat like a furnace.

Kai had loved (loves) the way he smelled. His sweat.

"Would you mind if I fucked you with my tongue?" he'd asked, nosing along the underside of his jaw.

He'd seen him open his eyes, blink, look down and meet his with surprise. "What?"

"Can I fuck you with my tongue?" he'd repeated, sweeter.

"Oh" Oh indeed. The look on his face as he'd absorbed those words. Kai could have framed it. Tyson had fallen back on the bed and kissed Kai with renewed passion, his hand sliding into his hair, and fusing their tongues together till they both ached with a need like no other.

Kai had wanted to taste him, he'd started to pull away, intending to make his way south, reluctant to prise his hand from where it was glued to the soft dip of his waist, when he felt Tyson grabbing ahold of him and guiding him towards his heat. Kai's entire body had gone rigid as he realized what he was doing.

Tyson had used the shock rendering him still to bring Kai back to his lips, rubbing his cock against his entrance. Fully applying pressure on the third slide.

Kai had pulled away with a gasp as he felt the give. "What are you doing?" he'd asked, throat hoarse.

Tyson had still had his hand around him, a determined fire in his lust-glazed caramel eyes.

"Fuck me," he'd said, squeezing him in his palm. "With your cock."

He'd felt his heart give a lurch at that demand. Felt those words pass through every inch of his body like lit matches, leaving him burning, blazing with desire.

He'd swallowed, throat constricting hard around nothing. Having a hard time finding words, remembering how to use his mouth, getting his sluggish brain to work. For the second time that night. And so much worse than before. He'd shook his head, mustering up a breathy: "No, not yet."

He knew Tyson could see how badly he wanted it. He'd have to be blind not to. Kai had hoped he wouldn't push. He didn't know if he had the strength in him to reject him several times over.

Till disappointment coloured his features.

Yet it had happened. Tyson had pushed and Kai had told him no, buried his face in his neck and turned him down, over and over again, his will almost breaking.

He'd ended up winning that argument. The first one that hadn't felt like a victory. The first time he felt an uncomfortable niggling sensation in his stomach.

That feeling grows so much more now that he's finally able to tell what it is. A sense of foreboding. A warning. Don't get involved, it says. Don't get involved further.

This isn't just another one of his casual hookups. Tyson isn't just any other person. There is nothing casual about this despite how much ever they wish it to be. He doesn't know about how Tyson feels but he knows himself. He should have seen it when he first kissed him.

But he hadn't. Had been too stubborn and proud to.

Not after the first, the second, or even last Saturday when he found himself enjoying his company a little too much. Found himself liking the feel of his skin and the sound of his sighs a little too much.

He feels everything a bit too strong when it comes to Tyson. Has from the moment he punched him hard enough to make him bleed. Kai isn't an idiot. He can see a threat coming from a distance. He'd been blind enough so far, blinded by his own pride, didn't let himself consider, even for a minute, that Granger could cause him any pain. But he can. He can see it now. Can feel it in his gut. With his defences lowered, his pride bowing - bowed by Granger. Knows it with certainty. An undeniable truth. Tyson can hurt him. To get involved with someone he had lost sleep over before he'd even touched him was the stupidest idea ever. He shouldn't have done it just because he wanted it more than he'd wanted anyone or anything before.

Because whoever has that much of an effect on him already shouldn't have been given more leverage against him. Shouldn't be given more power. Has to be kept at an arm's length at best.

He shouldn't see him on Saturday.

Shouldn't fuck him. Shouldn't fuck him. Should say no. It should be easier to say no than to say yes.

But it isn't.

And that should be enough of a warning toll in his head.

Cancel Saturday, Kai, he tells himself. Tell him no.

Move your tongue. Tell him you don't want to see him anymore. That you've gotten bored of him. That you're disgusted by him. That he grosses you out. That you don't want to fuck him anymore. (Lie, lie, lie)

He's seen enough. Knows him enough to know that if he said those words right now they would slice through his skin and flesh and cut right through his heart, leave him wounded and bloody.

Hurt him before he can hurt you.

Tyson waits, fully dressed, phone and keys in hand. "So…"

"I'll see you on Thursday," says Kai. Because want and pride is a terrible combo. And in the time it took for him to form words and open his mouth, his ego had reared its tall ugly head back up and rearranged all the letters on his tongue. ("There is no problem here," it'd said.)

Tyson nods. Twirling his keys on a finger. "Gotcha." He gives him a smile. "See you Thursday."

He closes the door on his way out.

…Fuck.