Work Text:
In no particular order, they try:
Screaming for help.
Screaming for help but really loudly this time.
Screaming for help but with one’s hands clasped over one’s mouth in a sort of megaphone-style amplification, which everyone knew was scientifically proven to make sound travel better.
Throwing a chair at the door.
Throwing a chair at the window.
Writing obscene things on the chalkboard, after trying (and failing) to erase what was already written there.
Nothing. Nada. Zilch. The door remains locked from the outside. The school remains perfectly quiet, and the windows bulletproof. And those words remain inscribed on the wall, garish red. Damning proof of this goddamn bitch of an unsatisfactory situation.
Gaku’s trying not to look at them too much, the words. The more he looks, the closer he gets to believing that this isn’t a practical joke of any kind. That someone had written that and really truly meant it, every last clumsy letter.
The door to this room does not unlock until sex has occurred. Sex, in this case, refers to both parties reaching orgasm due to the assistance of the other.
Definitely a hentai contrivance. Or a shitty framing device for one of Darumi’s eroges. But all wrong, and backwards, because Darumi didn’t play BL eroge.
Fuck it. Maybe this will be the chair.
Gaku’s in the middle of lifting up the seat, ready to break the fucking door down once and for all, when a soft throat-clearing noise echoes behind him. He turns. Still comically posed with the fucking chair above his head.
Takumi is staring at his hands when he says it, perched on a desk with his legs swinging. “I think we should consider the terms.”
Gaku blinks. Puts the chair down, because his arms hurt. Then opens his mouth. Then closes it. Then opens it again.
“Ha ha, what?”
Takumi grits his teeth. He looks annoyed, Gaku distantly notes, probably at Gaku. Which isn’t uncommon. A strand of wayward hair peels itself away from behind his ear and falls over his face, partially obscuring his eyes from view; his knuckles flushed bone-white. “I think we should consider the terms.”
A moment.
“Having sex, I mean.”
“You can’t be serious.” Gaku says blankly. “I mean, d-dude. We can’t, like.” Fuck, his hands are sweaty. “Give into the man like this. Yeah.”
“What?” Takumi raises his head, blue-black eyes - so fucking big in his head it’s bizarre, like searchlights or lightning bugs, it’s creepy ‘s what it is - fixed determinedly on Gaku. “All we do is capitulate to ‘the man’ here, Gaku. If you count Sirei as a man.”
Gaku waves sort of noncommittally at the whiteboard. “So you think it’s Sirei?”
Takumi sighs. “I don’t know, maybe? But I can’t figure out what he’d get out of.. this..”
Gaku bites down hard on his fingernail, a nervous habit from childhood he still hasn’t beaten out of himself. Stupid. Makes him look weak. And immature, also. He begins to shift back and forth, allowing his weight to travel through his body like a live wire, the anxiety wax-paper-hot. This place really needs air conditioning. “He’s a pervert! And a voyeur!”
“You’re a pervert and a voyeur.”
Gaku reels for a second, taken aback. “That’s not true! I’m dedicated, is what I am. To, uh.. making my adolescence worth it. Ain’t that good?”
“Literally all that’s entailed so far is gossiping about girls.” Takumi mumbles, audibly exhausted.
“Fuck, do you think this is karma, or something?” Gaku says, suddenly struck with the overwhelming belief that God or some other omnipotent asshole is punishing him. Ugh, but it would make sense. A throughline for the crock of shit his life’s been thus far. “For being, uh, a gold-digger?”
Takumi snorts. “I don’t really.. know what ‘this’ is, Gaku. But the fact’s that we’re on our fifth hour here, and we might. This might be the only way, man.”
Gaku squeezes his eyes shut. God, he does not want to look at Takumi all of a sudden. Effortlessly charming Takumi, with the - the veritable tidal wave of suitors, Kako and Hiruko and Nozomi. Probably Kurara too, and all her fat stacks of cash with her! Takumi doesn’t know how good he has it, is the thing. He walks around like he’s never known anything but attractive women flinging themselves bodily in his direction, like it’s - some law of the universe, a vast gravitational promise. Takumi with the sharp jaw and trim waist and big fucking eyes doesn’t know what it’s like to be so empty, all the time. To need to be filled up or you’ll die from it. That gut-hunger.
“I’m not you, man! I’ve been, like, plotting out losing my virginity for a long time. It can’t just be a stupid bit from Sirei! Or Darumi, or whoever thought it would be funny to force their yaoi fantasies on the innocent public! I can’t just treat sex like it’s nothing. And I’m not - I’m not gay, dude.”
Takumi stares at him from his position on the desk, looking - for the first time in a long time, maybe ever - well and truly confused. “What? Gaku, you know I’m a virgin too, right. I don’t.. I don’t s-sleep with the girls here.”
Wait.
What?
Okay, Gaku grilled him about Nozomi a few weeks ago, sure. And in general Takumi’s sort of prone to blushing and stuttering when teased, which probably implies.. something. But like. It’s Takumi. All that stuff about the trim waist and soft eyes still applies, and he’s their leader, and he’s just.. he’s just…
Takumi interrupts Gaku’s internal crisis, looking kind of… pissed off? Whoa. “I wouldn’t just do that! Just use them and throw them away. Why, is that what you want to do?”
“I don’t believe you.” Gaku retorts. It’s childish, okay, he knows it’s childish.. but he really can’t wrap his head around it. Takumi got a fucking adolescence already, didn’t he? The white day gift exchanges and diner dates and movie nights? What else was he filling those empty hours up with? No siblings, no part-time jobs, no calls to insurance companies and electricians and the landlord - what the fuck was he doing, if not getting laid? Sitting on his ass? The thought of that is somehow unacceptable. “You’re lying, dude.”
“I’ve never even kissed anyone.” Takumi says, frustrated.
“Okay, now you’re fucking with me for sure.”
“It’s true!” Takumi insists, leaping lightly from the desk, a pale sliver of stomach exposed as he lands. “It makes me.. nervous. The idea of kissing someone. I’m not some Casanova, Gaku, I don’t know where you got that idea…”
“Come on!” Gaku bursts out. He’s actually angry, now, which isn’t exactly a rare sensation, but this is a different sort of anger - there’s a guilt underlying it, a sick kind of shame. Christ, what is he doing? This practical joke Takumi’s playing on him, it’s because Takumi can see just how desperate Gaku is and always has been, clearly, can smell it on him from feet away. Why else would he lie like that?
“It’s not funny, man. Stop fucking lying about stupid shit.”
Takumi’s weird bug-eyes have a strange look in them now, a sharp flicker, like flint. “Oh yeah? Can I prove it?”
Gaku scoffs, disbelieving. He cannot believe this guy. “Prove what? That you’ve never kissed anyone? B-“
Quiet.
Gaku isn’t saying anything.
There’s a pressure over his mouth that’s stopping him. Something warm and a bit wet. And then a sting, like a mosquito’s gotten him on the lips. Teeth.
The pressure subsides like the tide going in. Takumi draws back, face flushed impressively red, staring at his own shoes. Gaku’s tongue snaps out of his mouth whip-quick and without his permission to probe at the spot where he was bitten, the tenderness and slightly sour blood coagulating.
Bitten. He was bitten, there. Because someone.. kissed him?
Because Takumi kissed him.
What the fuck.
“S-see!” Takumi bursts out, looking a bit manic. “That was f-fucking obviously a first kiss. I don’t know how it works. Like, mechanically.”
“Yes.” Gaku says, brain thoroughly on autopilot. “Yeah, I… I see that. You bit me.”
“Sorry.” Takumi says, looking only a bit repentant.
Gaku, years from now, will claim not to know what exactly drove him to do what he did next. Impulse, maybe. Simple reaction, like a grasshopper’s body still twitching postmortem.
But he’ll be lying, because that’s the type of guy he is. It’s definitely hunger.
Gaku grabs Takumi’s entire face. Takes a moment to savor the sensation of his incredibly soft skin - does he like, moisturize or something? - against Gaku’s palms, before diving in like he’s going for the kill. Takumi makes a startled noise of terror-shock-bemusement before it’s muffled, like a hand smothering lamplight, by Gaku’s mouth over his.
Takumi’s warm. His mouth starts off still, but Gaku feels it coax to life beneath him, like a car starting up after breaking down. His lips part before mirroring the movement of Gaku’s own, and Gaku takes that opportunity to lick the roof of Takumi’s mouth like he’s fucking cavediving. Takumi makes a noise then, audible even beneath the dampener of Gaku’s attack, and the sound sort of makes Gaku feel like he’s been set on fire?
A period of time between five seconds and uh, ten million years passes. The two part. A not-insignificant portion of Takumi’s hair is stuck to his cheek, and those normally piercing eyes are almost blank with shock. Gaku feels a bizarre surge of pride at this. Yeah. I did that! Me!
Then the rest of his brain reminds him that he did that by kissing Takumi, another dude, and it feels like slightly less of a victory.
“You.” Takumi stops. Stutters. “..You’re not good at kissing, either.” He says lamely.
“That makes two of us!” Gaku, petulant. His mouth is still bleeding a little.
From there it’s just a natural progression for Gaku to just sort of.. shove his knee between Takumi’s legs and let the sound Takumi makes at the sensation hit him like a slap, damningly gratifying. Takumi’s all boxed in by his presence, by Gaku, the taller boy suddenly rendered unbelievably small beneath him. He could get a real fucking kick out of this, Gaku thinks - semi-deliriously - before diving in to capture Takumi’s mouth again. Yeah, he could get used to this.
Maruko! That’s a goddamn guy you’re making out with! What do you think you’re doing?
Gaku tries to push the voice away. He doesn’t - god, he doesn’t want to think right now, at least not with anything other than his cock. Which is half-hard, and might have been that way for.. a while. Whatever period of time is least shameful to admit to.
Takumi’s hands dust feather-light over Gaku’s hips before landing solidly on his back, gripping the cheap polyester of his jacket. Gaku pushes in further. Always fucking pushing. His luck, the envelope, whatever. Takumi’s whining noisily all over Gaku, sort of slobbering like a dog at him, and the desperation is. Something.
It’s nice to not feel like he’s the only one hungry.
Gaku cards his fingers through Takumi’s hair, the downy growth of it, and marvels at just how smooth it is. He’s half-compelled to ask Takumi what conditioner he uses before he remembers that that’s maybe even gayer than rutting hopelessly against another dude.
Takumi finally draws back after one last sloppy grope at Gaku’s hips. A singular strand of saliva bridges the gap between them as he pulls away, and - Christ, Gaku thought that was only a thing in porn.
Takumi looks debauched. His entire face is pink like a raw cutlet of pork. Those midnight tar eyes gone half-lidded, long eyelashes framing the curvature of his face.
Gaku tears his gaze away with a nonzero amount of effort. If he keeps looking at Takumi like this he’ll - he’ll do something. He’s not sure. Or, maybe it’s not doing something but he’ll come to terms with some inarguable fact of the universe, a true thing he can’t box up anymore - yeah, no. He thinks about biting his fingernail again. He’s really scared all of a sudden, and he doesn’t know why. It’s not like looking at raunchy magazines, or getting a glimpse of Eva in her bikini, or even like that one time he accidentally groped Tsubasa while trying to squeeze past her in a small hallway and then proceeded to jerk off to the memory for weeks. It’s a hydrogen bomb, is what it is. Ten pounds of live dynamite packed inside Gaku, all ready to go off. A violence stirring somewhere between his navel and upper ribcage, some terrible thrashing ghost all locked inside him. Heat. Noise. Fury.
Also, his dick is fully at mast now.
There’s a sound of a zipper being undone. Gaku tears his eyes away from the previously-very-interesting door back to Takumi, and is stunlocked when he sees Takumi fishing his own cock out of his pants with naked desperation, scrabbling blindly at his own briefs. They’re white with blue polka dots. That strikes Gaku as, like, weirdly funny for a second? Before he remembers who he is and where he is and Takumi is stripping in front of you, Takumi who up until ten minutes ago you thought was an untouchable sex god seducing all the women at this school, like the only thing on his to-do list for the next three months was spreading chlamydia. That Takumi. That Takumi is stripping in front of you and his chest is heaving with exertion, his bloody tender heart pinned to his body like a butterfly on a corkboard for anyone to see. And he’s showing it to you. Oh god, what’s wrong with him? Is he psychologically unwell?
Gaku makes a kind-of-undignified noise and tries to cover his eyes before the image of Takumi’s dick can sear itself into his retinas. “What! Are! You! Doing!!” He manages to sputter out, pulse still racketing, reaching previously unforeseen heights, there goes the world record, just totally left in the dust thanks to Gaku and the libido from hell - and Takumi makes a noise of confusion as if the answer should be obvious. “…What are you doing? C’mon.”
Gaku slowly lowers his hands and really sees Takumi. Not all that gay shit from earlier about Takumi’s starlight eyes and satin hair or whatever, Christ, but Takumi himself, the stubborn set of his jaw. Looking at Gaku the exact same way he looked at that commander before he told Hiruko to bisect him and turn his corpse into a kamikaze pilot. His ears are pink, still, but the rest of the blushing has subsided into a much-more manageable peach undertone, like a mild sunburn.
He looks scared and hungry and anticipatory and stubborn and really-very-turned-on. In other words, exactly like Gaku.
…Aw, shit.
Gaku finally allows himself to actually look at Takumi’s dick straight-on. It’s sort of like looking directly at the sun? Not that Gaku thinks the two entities are comparable, but that it’s probably bad for him but he just can’t stop, that magnetic pull like a compass in him screaming north, north, north. Takumi’s cock is averagely sized, probably, but thick, nestled snugly underneath a patch of dark red bush, fully hard and jutting out. The head is fat and engorged and also kind of.. leaking. Gaku’s no stranger to dripping precum like a broken faucet himself, but Takumi takes it to a whole new level, already dribbling hopelessly over himself like a girl. Shiiiiit.
Gaku seriously cannot help himself. His hands move to the zipper on his cheap patchwork pants and he’s pulling it and his underwear down before he can second-guess himself or allow the little voice to start screaming hysterically again. His dick twitches when it hits the air. Gaku watches Takumi’s eyes narrow in on the prize and feels almost hysterical. Gaku’s probably drugged. Or maybe the rest of his life he spent drugged, complacent and blissed-out, and it’s only just now that he’s realizing what a neurotic freak he actually is? Either sounds distressingly possible.
Takumi reaches in to hook Gaku by the waist, pulling him into his orbit like the ozone layer burning up shuttles on atmospheric reentry. Their dicks brush and Gaku moans, open-mouthed and desperate for it, his blood thrumming panicked and boiling through him, and maybe it’s a hemoanima thing? That would make sense, wouldn’t it, some kind o-of, hngh, internal resonance, grandfather clocks syncing up on the wall, all rhythmically aligned, all…
Something. Gaku’s losing his train of thought. Takumi’s hand wraps around the both of them, and it’s not - Takumi’s small, alright, and his hands are small too, not quite wide enough to take both of them in palm. Instead he rubs his thumb against his own precum and smears it all over Gaku’s cock, rocking into him, dragging himself and his white-hot body all over Gaku, the fucking smell of him under that enormous hoodie, like sex and fever and whatever deodorant he applied this morning.
Fuck. This is a battle, and Gaku’s losing. He’s going to come. He can feel it building up in his balls, the molten tugging at his core, still so god damn scary. Like holding his hand to a branding iron, still-smoking, and begging himself not to flinch away.
He can’t be the only one feeling this. He can’t be the quickshot, the one-and-done, because then Takumi will know and everyone will know that this is all he has, that terrible needy want, the sponge of him soaking up attention. Bitterness, contempt, love, whatever. He just needs not to be the fucking giver, the one who empties himself out all the time. He needs to take all of Takumi’s - whatever it is, that immutable kernel that draws everyone into the trajectory of his burning trashfire of a life, a necessary corpse or fucked-out body beneath him. He needs it so bad. Map out the circumference of him and use it to patch up the cracks.
Gaku grabs Takumi by the thigh like a man possessed and scissors him open, pushing deeper into the empty space left by hiking Takumi’s leg up, up, up, pressing him even harder into the desk bulwarking them, grasping desperately for leverage. Takumi’s mouth falls open in a silent scream. The pressure is so good, it’s so fucking good, and Takumi’s face is all crumpled in on itself tears beading beneath his eyelashes chin wobbling slightly overbite clamping down hard on his own bottom lip and it’s his expression that Gaku is looking at when he finally comes - Takumi, too, both of them blowing their loads at the exact same time - the rumpled tissue paper of his countenance, his desperation. Cum hits Takumi’s stomach like a bullet, painting the milky skin there off-white. Gaku doesn’t even remember Takumi taking his shirt off. Holy shit.
Holy shit.
After a million years, Gaku’s breathing finally, finally manages to steady itself, coaxed gently back into normalcy. Takumi’s chest is still swelling and collapsing on the second, but even he’s losing steam. Takumi’s repaid Gaku coming on his navel by doing the same in turn, and the sensation of Takumi’s spend drying is kind of gross? They should really move. Get a tissue paper. Check to see if the door’s finally unlocked.
They don’t. Gaku remains there. Takumi’s eyes are still closed, like he’s sleeping, even if that’s impossible because he’s standing upright and also the two of them just had sex. His mouth is mumbling words without shape or form, just fullness, heavy in his mouth. Gaku just watches it all happen.
They breathe in.
They breathe out.
They breathe in.
The natural thing to do is for Gaku to run for the hills. He sort of still feels like doing that, to be honest. He just rutted all over another man and then splattered him with cum. Gaku should lock himself in his room and stare at his singular smuggled Urecco volume to reaffirm his heterosexuality.
But right now all he wants to do is look at Takumi. The tender, flayed-open boy tucked between Gaku’s chin and collarbone, wrung dry against him. The smell of his hair.
Gaku repays the fucking favor, alright? He’s not evil. Takumi’s arms are wrapped around him and he reciprocates, because it’s a hug and that’s what you do with those, even when the guy you’re hugging is sort of hiccuping wetly in your arms because he’s still recovering from frotting with you. It’s human decency.
Ah, fuck it. Gaku reaches up to pet him on the head as the two breathe, all synced-up, all of their particles vibrating in perfect subatomic orbit.