( imagined you saw me ) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
imaginedyou) wrote2010-09-09 12:25 pm
imaginedyou) wrote2010-09-09 12:25 pm
Bending Pride [Atobe/Sanada, Oshitari/Yukimura, Traditions!AU, NC-17]
title: Bending Pride
character(s)/pairing(s): Atobe/Sanada, Oshitari/Yukimura.
genre: smut, au.
rating: NC-17
wordcount: 3738
notes/summary: Set in this universe of Cyn's, but probably set much later than the way it begins XD
prompt: Inadvertently, this. And I'm counting it for my "humiliation (situational)" square for kink_bingo.
---
Sanada is cold and his arms ache all the way through to his shoulder-blades; he has obediently stripped down to nothing more than his boxer-shorts and knows he is lucky to still be wearing them at all, while his arms are stretched taut above his head, wrists locked together by a rope suspended from the ceiling. There appears to be a metal ring fixed there purposely for the rope. Sanada can't remember if it was there before or if it's a new addition just for him. He can't remember anything right now. All he can focus on is that somehow he manages not be the one in the worst position here.
Atobe is close enough to touch, if he could. Sat next to him in a luxurious armchair, one hand propping up his chin as he takes in his view. Oshitari is on Sanada's other side, chair at a right-angle to both himself and Atobe but Sanada does his best not to look in that direction. His shoulders put pressure on his neck, the muscles practically squeezing because of how they've been pushed together, but Sanada refuses to let his head drop down in defeat. And yet it hurts to look up.
Yukimura looks amazing. Oshitari has basically dressed him up like a living, breathing fuck-toy and he still looks amazing. Every piece of fabric clings to his body and teasing lines of muscles show through at just the right angles under the spotlights. Sanada has always known Yukimura had an athletic body, not so filled out as his own, but even knowing his accomplishments in tennis; his speed, his endurance, he hadn't quite expected Yukimura to have a feel for music, or such beautiful lines when he dances.
There is a pole on a raised platform in the corner that their chairs are faced towards. The spotlights focus on it, and the floor appears to be carpeted in something not unlike velvet. Sanada wrinkles his nose; it's all so obscene.
Yukimura has a talent for adapting to any situation. He listens for a moment once he steps out for the music to catch hold of the beat and then wraps his hand around the pole and draws himself to it smoothly, like a magnet. His legs are set just about as wide as his shoulders are apart, and once his body is pressed against the pole from chest to crotch he bends his knees and literally slides down it, hand still tight around the pole so that he can pull himself up again, backside pushing out enticingly as he does so. Now he looks obscene. And he hasn't even been ordered to start stripping yet, which Sanada knows is the real instruction. He wishes he didn't.
And yet it does help him prepare mentally. Even if he could turn his head away his own arms block and limit his own movement. Yukimura manages to effortlessly pull off the illusion that he is lost in the music and that nobody else is even there with him. He's a natural, a damn natural when he places both hands atop one another and takes a circuit around the pole, stretching his body willingly as taut as Sanada's own so that the muscles in his shoulders almost meet, and the ones in his legs strain. Sanada wonders then if he is purposely warning them, displaying his strength to remind them this isn't the only world they are forced to share, and once on the court their team is always superior.
"Take off your shirt," Oshitari says, voice cutting across the music, silken as it is. He manages to make it both an order and a suggestion. Oshitari's voice is always full of suggestion, most of it lewd.
Sanada doesn't dare turn his head to the side to check out Atobe's reaction to this in case it is noted, he just flicks his eyes to the side to take in as much as he can that way. Atobe's chin is still in his hand, his expression seems almost bored but his mouth has curved into a soft smile. He gets the most digusting kick out of dragging Yukimura down.
What he has yet to realise is that Yukimura doesn't let any of it touch him, Sanada thinks to himself with pride.
And yet it's damnable proof that Yukimura is still there with them all when he immediately responds to Oshitari's command. He undoes the first few buttons of his shirt and slides a hand in to touch the skin and then his fingers trace his own collarbone, head tilting to the side to expose it more openly. And then he reaches up and grabs the pole again, arm curling around it as his body circuits the pole without it. It's then he continues to open his shirt one-handed. Yukimura is full of unknown talents, especially when it comes to the bedroom. Yanagi suspects it and Sanada knows it could be true because Yukimura will never give Hyotei everything he has to offer, he will never put them on the receiving end of his best work. Even on the court. He's never even had to step onto the court for one of their matches; it's never gotten to Singles One.
Once the shirt is open Yukimura stands in front of the pole and reaches up to curl his hands around the ends of the collar. He helps the shirt off his shoulders and then lets it fall the rest of the way in a shimmer of glitter. It makes a sigh as it hits the floor.
His pants are low-slung. This is no surprise at all. The thing is that they're so low-slung that Yukimura's hipbones are completely on display. His body shapes itself into an erotic V that draws the eyes between and down. Sanada feels his cheeks heat up.
It happens again; Yukimura draws his arms up taut to clasp as high as he can reach on the pole, and his entire torso lengthens. It's like an arrow pointing everyone in the right direction, just in case they might have missed the obvious. He has to know exactly what he's doing, he has to know the effect of every action.
Yukimura's eyelids lower as he sees Oshitari smirk and slide a hand blatantly into his lap. Why shouldn't it be blatant? This is their territory and their terms, their fantasies brought to life as if they have more right than anyone else to own what they desire. There is a tiny amount of victory in the fact that he has this much control of the situation; his body and his actions are the direct cause of arousal. It's small but it's all Yukimura has to cling to sometimes.
Oshitari isn't patient when it comes to sexual gratification. Anything else in the world and he can shrug it off as unimportant, but not sex. Palming his crotch through his pants only satisfies him for a minute, two at most. Yukimura ghosts around the pole again bending his knees until they touch the floor. His hands slide in to meet one another along his waistband. When they both touch over the button on his pants they stop. He is waiting for permission.
Oshitari palms his lap hard and makes a primal sound; something that is full of pleasure and power. Even Atobe makes an approving noise and Sanada freezes. He can't watch anymore, he can't do this anymore-
"Don't close your eyes," Atobe says warningly at the exact moment Oshitari tells Yukimura generously, "you can take them off now.". Generous in his mind at least. Sanada grits his teeth and tries to bury the smouldering rage that is building up in his head and making the blood pound at his temples.
Sanada watches with despair as Yukimura undoes the pants, stands up, and shimmies out of them. His hands slide in beneath the waistband to ease them off and when they are gone Yukimura's fingers curve over his hips. Beneath, covered until now, are a tiny pair of dark hotpants. They cling to Yukimura's backside like they've been painted on.
Sanada feels himself getting hard. It's disgusting, and humiliating Yukimura every second it drags on and yet Sanada can't help it, he sees what they see. A beautiful body that needs to be touched, tasted, claimed. Sanada even knows the emptiness of the eyes the body belongs to, sees that for every show of strength there's a large part of Yukimura that just wants to stop, curl up and protect itself forever, but in the dimmed light the shadows fall on Yukimura's face and it's easier to forget.
Yukimura dances around the pole with his back to them more frequently now. Whether it's to hide his face from their probing eyes or because he knows the power he has over them with every shake of his backside remains unknown. Oshitari has already opened his own pants and shoved them halfway down his thighs, pulled out a bottle of lube tucked down the side of his chair and is jerking off shamelessly to Yukimura's striptease. It is kind of the point after all.
Sanada tries to look at Yukimura and see past him, straight through him because there's no other way to deal with this. He tries to think of other things; boring things, the most disgusting things he can think of, (and wants to get out of here and thank Niou for his wealth of experience to draw upon). All that happens is that his mind attempts to go off down an innocent path but the tiny parts of his brain that record images and translate them into understanding keep doing their job and all he sees is Yukimura's thighs, Yukimura's hipbones, Yukimura's ass. He is sensual, feral, even seductive although it must be making him sick to the stomach inside. Yukimura is the kind who will do whatever it takes to survive. Whatever it takes.
Sanada begins to register the ache of his neglected cock. He floods pink and prays to god that Yukimura doesn't look at him, doesn't notice his arousal. He forgets to pray to god that Atobe doesn't notice.
"Mmmm," he says approvingly, tilting his head to take in the tent in Sanada's boxers. Atobe stands up and moves behind Sanada, warm, soft hands sliding up his waist and over his chest. "See, our entertainment benefits everyone. You have to get over your short-sightedness in this respect."
Sanada doesn't answer. Atobe presses himself against every inch of Sanada he can from behind, and he has been paying attention to Yukimua's show; his cock presses insistently between Sanada's cheeks right through both their clothes.
Yukimura sees out of the corner of his eye when Atobe gets up and spins around before he can register any more than that. He is beginning to get desperate; this has dragged on long enough. It's like Hyotei purposely try to find ways to make each encounter last longer, to draw out the humiliation as far as it can possibly go. Yukimura is drawn so far he could just about snap. He clings to the only source of comfort in the room, the only thing he can safely rub against, and practically grinds against the pole. If he is this blatant surely Oshitari won't be able to hold back.
"Take them off," Oshitari says, his voice at its lowest. His eyes are smouldering and his lids are heavy but he is still watching with a purpose, hand stilled on his cock momentarily.
"You want to see this, don't you?" Atobe whispers into Sanada's ear, voice as soft as silk. He slides a hand into Sanada's boxers and strokes, more to discover the true extent of his arousal than for any pleasure-giving. Sanada's common sense wants to shout no but his body is already screaming yes. And then Atobe's other hand slides into his boxers but it isn't empty.
Yukimura takes a deep breath before he hooks his fingers into his waistband and drops the hotpants. It isn't the first time Oshitari has seen him naked, it isn't the first time Atobe has either, even Sanada. This is nothing new. He can tell himself that but it is only token reassurance.
"Come here," Oshitari says, and Yukimura practically floats over - no hesitation and no embarrassment - and climbs onto him, spreading his legs on either side of Oshitari's. Oshitari is so hard his cock practically looks like it's straining, desperately reaching to get inside Yukimura. Oshitari doesn't waste a second, his hand sliding right beneath Yukimura and pressing a slick finger inside, then two as urgently as he can. Then he pulls out a condom packet and offers it to Yukimura to put on him. Yukimura sighs inwardly but on the outside he hasn't got any resistance left. Oshitari grins as Yukimura rolls it on him, hips bucking. Maybe in his mind he kids himself Yukimura is doing it out of eagerness to please and not because he has been told to. As soon as he decently can Oshitari removes his fingers and puts his hands on Yukimura's backside, sliding him right into Oshitari's lap.
Yukimura is distracted when Oshitari pushes into him by the frustrated scream that tears itself out of Sanada's throat and escapes between gritted teeth. Atobe has been stroking him clinically in order to ensure he is fully hard before putting the cock ring on him. Atobe leaves Sanada's boxers half-slung around his thighs as he displays his handiwork. Sanada gets the strangest urge to cry. It's like a bright beacon, a neon sign that reads 'Watching my captain get humiliated turns me on'. The only saving grace is that Yukimura does not have him in his line of sight, and that the arousal can only slightly less humiliatingly be chalked up to Atobe's hands stroking him for the past few minutes. Even Oshitari doesn't know; Atobe knows the private humiliation is worst for Sanada. Now there is the constant possibility hanging over his head that Yukimura might ever find out.
"Ride me, babe, and ride me hard," Oshitari says as he finds himself almost all the way inside Yukimura. He takes his hands away rather reluctantly from Yukimura's backside and curls them behind his head lazily. He is utterly prepared to just sit there and take it, make Yukimura fuck himself on his cock and do nothing for his own pleasure at all. Yukimura doesn't care to touch Oshitari anymore than is strictly necessary, and braces his hands on the armchair instead. He uses the first couple of times to get used to the feel of Oshitari inside him, moving not too slowly but not so fast or hard as Oshitari would like. Oshitari understands his actions, he isn't cruel about it but he does look eager for Yukimura to hurry up and adjust.
Sanada concentrates on his breathing; in and out, long and slow and deep. Whether it's psychological or not his cock burns like fire and has ever since Atobe put the cock ring on. He has been content to simply watch the muscles in Sanada's back twitch and strain against the sensation as he prepares himself. The only downside to having to restrain someone; you have to give your own cock attention all by yourself. Atobe pushes into Sanada agonizingly slowly, because he enjoys it. He wants to make Sanada beg for it. It hasn't happened yet, but one day it will, and Atobe will never stop trying.
Sanada can't help but tense when he feels Atobe inching his way inside him, even though he knows rationally how much more that is going to make it hurt. It's almost like a bucket of cold water thrown over him; he knows with a certainty that Atobe is never going to let him come and so the feeling of Atobe easing inside of him twinned with the ultimate frustration of not being able to get off no longer has any hold over him at all. He only strains against the bonds because of the force Atobe creates rocking into him, hands snaking all over his skin in a way that says, 'I own this, I claim this, this part is mine, this too'.
Oshitari throws his head back and shuts his eyes, his chest heaving with a satified sigh before his breathing begins to speed up. Yukimura realises there's no way now for Oshitari to know if he closes his own eyes, but that is dangerous territory. Where do you go to in your mind when fucking someone? If he tempts himself with thoughts of someone else and gets off on it will there be any explanation that won't cause more trouble for him? Yukimura may be proud but he's been doing this for so long now he's no longer stupid either. You go, you do as you've been ordered, you leave. Nothing should ever lead to discussion or displeasure because they will come back for you and take it out on you next time. These are the kind of things he has to drill into his teammates once the nets are down and the racquets are tucked safely away.
Yukimura decides the best thing to do is focus on the literal task at hand. He knows how to fuck, he does it all the time, he can do this mechanically without overthinking it too much. No matter his state of mind all Oshitari cares about is that he's tight and that he takes it hard. Yukimura can handle that, Yukimura can make Oshitari come from the sheer force of his movements. He's damned if he's going to touch Oshitari anywhere considering he hasn't even thought to command it of Yukimura.
Oshitari comes first, unsurprisingly. Yukimura takes some sick satisfaction from the mind-blown look on his face, the tremble in his fingers as he grabs Yukimura's hips again to stop him from climbing off immediately. It seems to take an age for Oshitari to go soft again, but when he does he lets go of Yukimura and waves him off.
"That was great," Oshitari says with a groan that smacks of satifaction all the way down to his toes, and Yukimura looks at him blankly. Is he supposed to be pleased? Honoured to have pleasured a Hyotei Gakuen tennis team Regular to such a degree? He wants to snort, he wants to scream; he wants to choke the life out of Oshitari. He walks away with his head held high in ultimate grace.
Oshitari glances over lazily at Sanada being fucked by Atobe. He really isn't able to get out of his seat just yet.
"He's always so tight," Atobe says over Sanada's shoulder, and Oshitari realises Atobe is more aware than he had first assumed. His fingers are clamped around Sanada's waist, making marks. If it hurts it really doesn't matter to Atobe; it's only ever been about his own pleasure. "It's the perfect reflection of his uptight personality."
It's so aggravating how Atobe can even make jokes in the middle of this. Sanada would react but it took him a long time to realise Atobe enjoyed the way he fought back. And yet he may be learning to enjoy Sanada's complete submission to the situation even more. It's like Sanada is broken; a truck with missing wheels or a trodden-on model aeroplane. Atobe never got to keep the broken toys, no matter how much he loved them. There was always enough money to buy shiny new ones, even if they weren't quite the same.
When Atobe comes Sanada almost thinks for a minute he is going to leave him practically hanging there. Atobe seems too concerned with seemingly congratulating himself on his own orgasm to let Sanada go. He almost panics, knows that there is no set time for these assignations to end, and that he could be here as long as Atobe wants, but then Atobe uses a blade of some sort to slice through the rope and Sanada's arms tumble down only thanks to gravity, the rest of his body following as he finds himself on his knees on the floor. His arms have practically adjusted to their new position in life and placing them at his sides where they belong sends waves of pain through him. Sanada clutches at his shoulders, knows the muscles in his arms are bulging from the action and doesn't care to think about what kind of message that sends. It isn't even until Atobe leans down, pressing his naked body against Sanada again and reaching round that Sanada even remembers the cock ring. He has to have it off.
"Don't touch it," Atobe says, his voice getting lower on every word. Sanada swallows and waits for Atobe to take it off him. He doesn't prolong the agony as Sanada thought he might, simply means to make his point that he is the one in charge here until the very end. Sanada realises he isn't even tempted to come anymore. The ache is so ingrained in his mind now that it fades to a dull nothing and he knows he isn't going to stay hard for long now that he's free.
Sanada pulls his boxers back up roughly, quickly so that it doesn't look too much like he cares. He brings himself back to his feet, careful not to stumble, and tries to leave the room with the same dignity Yukimura did. He doesn't know if he achieves it, and is sure neither Oshitari or Atobe care enough to watch him leave anyway.
Yukimura is in the adjoining room, dressed and brushing his hair like nothing is unusual, but his movements are edged with tension, nowhere near as easy as usual. And it isn't just because he has to be really hurting inside.
Sanada gets dressed in silence, turning his back on Yukimura and hoping he understands it's Sanada who doesn't want to be looked at right now, not that he can't look at Yukimura. Maybe it's truly a bit of both. When he is finished Yukimura is waiting for him by the door.
"Let's go home," Yukimura says, and Sanada knows he means school, tomorrow, once they've both slept in their own beds. Back to the pretend safety of the brick walls and the love of the tennis courts. "And if anyone tries to ask you about this, just send them to me."
---
character(s)/pairing(s): Atobe/Sanada, Oshitari/Yukimura.
genre: smut, au.
rating: NC-17
wordcount: 3738
notes/summary: Set in this universe of Cyn's, but probably set much later than the way it begins XD
prompt: Inadvertently, this. And I'm counting it for my "humiliation (situational)" square for kink_bingo.
---
Sanada is cold and his arms ache all the way through to his shoulder-blades; he has obediently stripped down to nothing more than his boxer-shorts and knows he is lucky to still be wearing them at all, while his arms are stretched taut above his head, wrists locked together by a rope suspended from the ceiling. There appears to be a metal ring fixed there purposely for the rope. Sanada can't remember if it was there before or if it's a new addition just for him. He can't remember anything right now. All he can focus on is that somehow he manages not be the one in the worst position here.
Atobe is close enough to touch, if he could. Sat next to him in a luxurious armchair, one hand propping up his chin as he takes in his view. Oshitari is on Sanada's other side, chair at a right-angle to both himself and Atobe but Sanada does his best not to look in that direction. His shoulders put pressure on his neck, the muscles practically squeezing because of how they've been pushed together, but Sanada refuses to let his head drop down in defeat. And yet it hurts to look up.
Yukimura looks amazing. Oshitari has basically dressed him up like a living, breathing fuck-toy and he still looks amazing. Every piece of fabric clings to his body and teasing lines of muscles show through at just the right angles under the spotlights. Sanada has always known Yukimura had an athletic body, not so filled out as his own, but even knowing his accomplishments in tennis; his speed, his endurance, he hadn't quite expected Yukimura to have a feel for music, or such beautiful lines when he dances.
There is a pole on a raised platform in the corner that their chairs are faced towards. The spotlights focus on it, and the floor appears to be carpeted in something not unlike velvet. Sanada wrinkles his nose; it's all so obscene.
Yukimura has a talent for adapting to any situation. He listens for a moment once he steps out for the music to catch hold of the beat and then wraps his hand around the pole and draws himself to it smoothly, like a magnet. His legs are set just about as wide as his shoulders are apart, and once his body is pressed against the pole from chest to crotch he bends his knees and literally slides down it, hand still tight around the pole so that he can pull himself up again, backside pushing out enticingly as he does so. Now he looks obscene. And he hasn't even been ordered to start stripping yet, which Sanada knows is the real instruction. He wishes he didn't.
And yet it does help him prepare mentally. Even if he could turn his head away his own arms block and limit his own movement. Yukimura manages to effortlessly pull off the illusion that he is lost in the music and that nobody else is even there with him. He's a natural, a damn natural when he places both hands atop one another and takes a circuit around the pole, stretching his body willingly as taut as Sanada's own so that the muscles in his shoulders almost meet, and the ones in his legs strain. Sanada wonders then if he is purposely warning them, displaying his strength to remind them this isn't the only world they are forced to share, and once on the court their team is always superior.
"Take off your shirt," Oshitari says, voice cutting across the music, silken as it is. He manages to make it both an order and a suggestion. Oshitari's voice is always full of suggestion, most of it lewd.
Sanada doesn't dare turn his head to the side to check out Atobe's reaction to this in case it is noted, he just flicks his eyes to the side to take in as much as he can that way. Atobe's chin is still in his hand, his expression seems almost bored but his mouth has curved into a soft smile. He gets the most digusting kick out of dragging Yukimura down.
What he has yet to realise is that Yukimura doesn't let any of it touch him, Sanada thinks to himself with pride.
And yet it's damnable proof that Yukimura is still there with them all when he immediately responds to Oshitari's command. He undoes the first few buttons of his shirt and slides a hand in to touch the skin and then his fingers trace his own collarbone, head tilting to the side to expose it more openly. And then he reaches up and grabs the pole again, arm curling around it as his body circuits the pole without it. It's then he continues to open his shirt one-handed. Yukimura is full of unknown talents, especially when it comes to the bedroom. Yanagi suspects it and Sanada knows it could be true because Yukimura will never give Hyotei everything he has to offer, he will never put them on the receiving end of his best work. Even on the court. He's never even had to step onto the court for one of their matches; it's never gotten to Singles One.
Once the shirt is open Yukimura stands in front of the pole and reaches up to curl his hands around the ends of the collar. He helps the shirt off his shoulders and then lets it fall the rest of the way in a shimmer of glitter. It makes a sigh as it hits the floor.
His pants are low-slung. This is no surprise at all. The thing is that they're so low-slung that Yukimura's hipbones are completely on display. His body shapes itself into an erotic V that draws the eyes between and down. Sanada feels his cheeks heat up.
It happens again; Yukimura draws his arms up taut to clasp as high as he can reach on the pole, and his entire torso lengthens. It's like an arrow pointing everyone in the right direction, just in case they might have missed the obvious. He has to know exactly what he's doing, he has to know the effect of every action.
Yukimura's eyelids lower as he sees Oshitari smirk and slide a hand blatantly into his lap. Why shouldn't it be blatant? This is their territory and their terms, their fantasies brought to life as if they have more right than anyone else to own what they desire. There is a tiny amount of victory in the fact that he has this much control of the situation; his body and his actions are the direct cause of arousal. It's small but it's all Yukimura has to cling to sometimes.
Oshitari isn't patient when it comes to sexual gratification. Anything else in the world and he can shrug it off as unimportant, but not sex. Palming his crotch through his pants only satisfies him for a minute, two at most. Yukimura ghosts around the pole again bending his knees until they touch the floor. His hands slide in to meet one another along his waistband. When they both touch over the button on his pants they stop. He is waiting for permission.
Oshitari palms his lap hard and makes a primal sound; something that is full of pleasure and power. Even Atobe makes an approving noise and Sanada freezes. He can't watch anymore, he can't do this anymore-
"Don't close your eyes," Atobe says warningly at the exact moment Oshitari tells Yukimura generously, "you can take them off now.". Generous in his mind at least. Sanada grits his teeth and tries to bury the smouldering rage that is building up in his head and making the blood pound at his temples.
Sanada watches with despair as Yukimura undoes the pants, stands up, and shimmies out of them. His hands slide in beneath the waistband to ease them off and when they are gone Yukimura's fingers curve over his hips. Beneath, covered until now, are a tiny pair of dark hotpants. They cling to Yukimura's backside like they've been painted on.
Sanada feels himself getting hard. It's disgusting, and humiliating Yukimura every second it drags on and yet Sanada can't help it, he sees what they see. A beautiful body that needs to be touched, tasted, claimed. Sanada even knows the emptiness of the eyes the body belongs to, sees that for every show of strength there's a large part of Yukimura that just wants to stop, curl up and protect itself forever, but in the dimmed light the shadows fall on Yukimura's face and it's easier to forget.
Yukimura dances around the pole with his back to them more frequently now. Whether it's to hide his face from their probing eyes or because he knows the power he has over them with every shake of his backside remains unknown. Oshitari has already opened his own pants and shoved them halfway down his thighs, pulled out a bottle of lube tucked down the side of his chair and is jerking off shamelessly to Yukimura's striptease. It is kind of the point after all.
Sanada tries to look at Yukimura and see past him, straight through him because there's no other way to deal with this. He tries to think of other things; boring things, the most disgusting things he can think of, (and wants to get out of here and thank Niou for his wealth of experience to draw upon). All that happens is that his mind attempts to go off down an innocent path but the tiny parts of his brain that record images and translate them into understanding keep doing their job and all he sees is Yukimura's thighs, Yukimura's hipbones, Yukimura's ass. He is sensual, feral, even seductive although it must be making him sick to the stomach inside. Yukimura is the kind who will do whatever it takes to survive. Whatever it takes.
Sanada begins to register the ache of his neglected cock. He floods pink and prays to god that Yukimura doesn't look at him, doesn't notice his arousal. He forgets to pray to god that Atobe doesn't notice.
"Mmmm," he says approvingly, tilting his head to take in the tent in Sanada's boxers. Atobe stands up and moves behind Sanada, warm, soft hands sliding up his waist and over his chest. "See, our entertainment benefits everyone. You have to get over your short-sightedness in this respect."
Sanada doesn't answer. Atobe presses himself against every inch of Sanada he can from behind, and he has been paying attention to Yukimua's show; his cock presses insistently between Sanada's cheeks right through both their clothes.
Yukimura sees out of the corner of his eye when Atobe gets up and spins around before he can register any more than that. He is beginning to get desperate; this has dragged on long enough. It's like Hyotei purposely try to find ways to make each encounter last longer, to draw out the humiliation as far as it can possibly go. Yukimura is drawn so far he could just about snap. He clings to the only source of comfort in the room, the only thing he can safely rub against, and practically grinds against the pole. If he is this blatant surely Oshitari won't be able to hold back.
"Take them off," Oshitari says, his voice at its lowest. His eyes are smouldering and his lids are heavy but he is still watching with a purpose, hand stilled on his cock momentarily.
"You want to see this, don't you?" Atobe whispers into Sanada's ear, voice as soft as silk. He slides a hand into Sanada's boxers and strokes, more to discover the true extent of his arousal than for any pleasure-giving. Sanada's common sense wants to shout no but his body is already screaming yes. And then Atobe's other hand slides into his boxers but it isn't empty.
Yukimura takes a deep breath before he hooks his fingers into his waistband and drops the hotpants. It isn't the first time Oshitari has seen him naked, it isn't the first time Atobe has either, even Sanada. This is nothing new. He can tell himself that but it is only token reassurance.
"Come here," Oshitari says, and Yukimura practically floats over - no hesitation and no embarrassment - and climbs onto him, spreading his legs on either side of Oshitari's. Oshitari is so hard his cock practically looks like it's straining, desperately reaching to get inside Yukimura. Oshitari doesn't waste a second, his hand sliding right beneath Yukimura and pressing a slick finger inside, then two as urgently as he can. Then he pulls out a condom packet and offers it to Yukimura to put on him. Yukimura sighs inwardly but on the outside he hasn't got any resistance left. Oshitari grins as Yukimura rolls it on him, hips bucking. Maybe in his mind he kids himself Yukimura is doing it out of eagerness to please and not because he has been told to. As soon as he decently can Oshitari removes his fingers and puts his hands on Yukimura's backside, sliding him right into Oshitari's lap.
Yukimura is distracted when Oshitari pushes into him by the frustrated scream that tears itself out of Sanada's throat and escapes between gritted teeth. Atobe has been stroking him clinically in order to ensure he is fully hard before putting the cock ring on him. Atobe leaves Sanada's boxers half-slung around his thighs as he displays his handiwork. Sanada gets the strangest urge to cry. It's like a bright beacon, a neon sign that reads 'Watching my captain get humiliated turns me on'. The only saving grace is that Yukimura does not have him in his line of sight, and that the arousal can only slightly less humiliatingly be chalked up to Atobe's hands stroking him for the past few minutes. Even Oshitari doesn't know; Atobe knows the private humiliation is worst for Sanada. Now there is the constant possibility hanging over his head that Yukimura might ever find out.
"Ride me, babe, and ride me hard," Oshitari says as he finds himself almost all the way inside Yukimura. He takes his hands away rather reluctantly from Yukimura's backside and curls them behind his head lazily. He is utterly prepared to just sit there and take it, make Yukimura fuck himself on his cock and do nothing for his own pleasure at all. Yukimura doesn't care to touch Oshitari anymore than is strictly necessary, and braces his hands on the armchair instead. He uses the first couple of times to get used to the feel of Oshitari inside him, moving not too slowly but not so fast or hard as Oshitari would like. Oshitari understands his actions, he isn't cruel about it but he does look eager for Yukimura to hurry up and adjust.
Sanada concentrates on his breathing; in and out, long and slow and deep. Whether it's psychological or not his cock burns like fire and has ever since Atobe put the cock ring on. He has been content to simply watch the muscles in Sanada's back twitch and strain against the sensation as he prepares himself. The only downside to having to restrain someone; you have to give your own cock attention all by yourself. Atobe pushes into Sanada agonizingly slowly, because he enjoys it. He wants to make Sanada beg for it. It hasn't happened yet, but one day it will, and Atobe will never stop trying.
Sanada can't help but tense when he feels Atobe inching his way inside him, even though he knows rationally how much more that is going to make it hurt. It's almost like a bucket of cold water thrown over him; he knows with a certainty that Atobe is never going to let him come and so the feeling of Atobe easing inside of him twinned with the ultimate frustration of not being able to get off no longer has any hold over him at all. He only strains against the bonds because of the force Atobe creates rocking into him, hands snaking all over his skin in a way that says, 'I own this, I claim this, this part is mine, this too'.
Oshitari throws his head back and shuts his eyes, his chest heaving with a satified sigh before his breathing begins to speed up. Yukimura realises there's no way now for Oshitari to know if he closes his own eyes, but that is dangerous territory. Where do you go to in your mind when fucking someone? If he tempts himself with thoughts of someone else and gets off on it will there be any explanation that won't cause more trouble for him? Yukimura may be proud but he's been doing this for so long now he's no longer stupid either. You go, you do as you've been ordered, you leave. Nothing should ever lead to discussion or displeasure because they will come back for you and take it out on you next time. These are the kind of things he has to drill into his teammates once the nets are down and the racquets are tucked safely away.
Yukimura decides the best thing to do is focus on the literal task at hand. He knows how to fuck, he does it all the time, he can do this mechanically without overthinking it too much. No matter his state of mind all Oshitari cares about is that he's tight and that he takes it hard. Yukimura can handle that, Yukimura can make Oshitari come from the sheer force of his movements. He's damned if he's going to touch Oshitari anywhere considering he hasn't even thought to command it of Yukimura.
Oshitari comes first, unsurprisingly. Yukimura takes some sick satisfaction from the mind-blown look on his face, the tremble in his fingers as he grabs Yukimura's hips again to stop him from climbing off immediately. It seems to take an age for Oshitari to go soft again, but when he does he lets go of Yukimura and waves him off.
"That was great," Oshitari says with a groan that smacks of satifaction all the way down to his toes, and Yukimura looks at him blankly. Is he supposed to be pleased? Honoured to have pleasured a Hyotei Gakuen tennis team Regular to such a degree? He wants to snort, he wants to scream; he wants to choke the life out of Oshitari. He walks away with his head held high in ultimate grace.
Oshitari glances over lazily at Sanada being fucked by Atobe. He really isn't able to get out of his seat just yet.
"He's always so tight," Atobe says over Sanada's shoulder, and Oshitari realises Atobe is more aware than he had first assumed. His fingers are clamped around Sanada's waist, making marks. If it hurts it really doesn't matter to Atobe; it's only ever been about his own pleasure. "It's the perfect reflection of his uptight personality."
It's so aggravating how Atobe can even make jokes in the middle of this. Sanada would react but it took him a long time to realise Atobe enjoyed the way he fought back. And yet he may be learning to enjoy Sanada's complete submission to the situation even more. It's like Sanada is broken; a truck with missing wheels or a trodden-on model aeroplane. Atobe never got to keep the broken toys, no matter how much he loved them. There was always enough money to buy shiny new ones, even if they weren't quite the same.
When Atobe comes Sanada almost thinks for a minute he is going to leave him practically hanging there. Atobe seems too concerned with seemingly congratulating himself on his own orgasm to let Sanada go. He almost panics, knows that there is no set time for these assignations to end, and that he could be here as long as Atobe wants, but then Atobe uses a blade of some sort to slice through the rope and Sanada's arms tumble down only thanks to gravity, the rest of his body following as he finds himself on his knees on the floor. His arms have practically adjusted to their new position in life and placing them at his sides where they belong sends waves of pain through him. Sanada clutches at his shoulders, knows the muscles in his arms are bulging from the action and doesn't care to think about what kind of message that sends. It isn't even until Atobe leans down, pressing his naked body against Sanada again and reaching round that Sanada even remembers the cock ring. He has to have it off.
"Don't touch it," Atobe says, his voice getting lower on every word. Sanada swallows and waits for Atobe to take it off him. He doesn't prolong the agony as Sanada thought he might, simply means to make his point that he is the one in charge here until the very end. Sanada realises he isn't even tempted to come anymore. The ache is so ingrained in his mind now that it fades to a dull nothing and he knows he isn't going to stay hard for long now that he's free.
Sanada pulls his boxers back up roughly, quickly so that it doesn't look too much like he cares. He brings himself back to his feet, careful not to stumble, and tries to leave the room with the same dignity Yukimura did. He doesn't know if he achieves it, and is sure neither Oshitari or Atobe care enough to watch him leave anyway.
Yukimura is in the adjoining room, dressed and brushing his hair like nothing is unusual, but his movements are edged with tension, nowhere near as easy as usual. And it isn't just because he has to be really hurting inside.
Sanada gets dressed in silence, turning his back on Yukimura and hoping he understands it's Sanada who doesn't want to be looked at right now, not that he can't look at Yukimura. Maybe it's truly a bit of both. When he is finished Yukimura is waiting for him by the door.
"Let's go home," Yukimura says, and Sanada knows he means school, tomorrow, once they've both slept in their own beds. Back to the pretend safety of the brick walls and the love of the tennis courts. "And if anyone tries to ask you about this, just send them to me."
---
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Now for my calmed down reaction:
This really is a nice universe; we need to timeline it some time (and maybe I should expand my fic to show the passage of time, I've kind of seen the last match Rikkai plays against Hyoutei as the final thing - maybe it tapers off at that game or something?)
Yukimura would know how to strip, of all things. Of course he would. Really, catching the beat of the music isn't too hard - and I'm sure Niou has shown them plenty of stripper videos (which brings up how it would affect the rest of them, too).
Sanada is just awesome to read in here, watching his captain and seeing what they see and knowing that Yukimura is the hottest thing EVER and also knowing that he's not showing them everything and Yukimura is secretly breaking and guh kajdksajdks.
klfjsklajald is still m final reaction. :x
no subject
Off we go, expanding the universe... XD