AftS!, Yanking Your Chain

Title: Yanking Your Chain [Kazuhiro/Kobayashi]
Rating/Warnings: R for grade school violence
Summary: Kobayashi is probably going to have an apoplexy by the time he’s 16, if Kazuhiro has anything to do with it.
AN: Thanks to marksykins for the beta and to shiva_dawn for the very sexy art from which my new icon originates. (Dramatiku Pair?)

Yanking Your Chain

“Hey, Kobagin!”

Kobayashi looks up just in time to get hipchecked into the bulletin board, history and math book slipping out of his hands, and ten-page essay he’d just printed out waterfalling across the hallway. Kobayashi’s foot slips on some of his papers and sends him the rest of the way down, grabbing uselessly at the club fliers behind him and hitting the floor with a painful thud.

“Sorry about that!” Kazuhiro grins down at him, pants low-slung without a belt, and uniform jacket entirely unbuttoned to reveal his thin, white t-shirt underneath. He reaches down and grabs Kobayashi by the armpits, hauling him up and setting him back on his feet.

“Hey!” Kobayashi protests as Kazuhiro skims hands over every inch of Kobayashi’s body under the flimsy pretense of checking for damage and handing him back his papers. The flier Kobayashi snatched on the way down crinkles loudly in his fist.

“See ya!” Kazuhiro gives Kobayashi a last smirk and a little wave with his fingers, then saunters off down the hall, leaving Kobayashi staring after him with jaw dangling and body humming from the drive-by groping. He looks down at his hands and tosses the crumpled flier for the Go club aside with a sneer.

“Aw, he likes you!” Misaki says, appearing at Kobayashi’s side to hand him the last few of his papers.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Kobayashi scowls down at the first page of his essay, which now has a big sneakerprint on it.

“You know,” Misaki waves a hand as they start down the hall to their class, Kobayashi glancing from side to side in case of further assault, “like in elementary school, when you yank on a girl’s pigtails to get her attention.”

“That how you got that?” Kobayashi looks pointedly at the bruise across Misaki’s cheekbone. “Tachiki yanking your pigtails?”

“Shut up.” Misaki makes a face and pushes Kobayashi into the classroom.


“Hey, Kobagin!”

Kobayashi barely starts turning his head before a stick is tangling in between his ankles, sending him pitching forward, and the ball flips out of the cradle of his own stick just as Kobayashi goes skidding chin-first into the soft, spring ground.

Kazuhiro is already dashing away down the field when Kobayashi picks his head back up, bare back slick with sweat, since of course Kazuhiro wouldn’t be caught dead as a ‘shirt’ when ‘skin’ is so much more appealing, Kobayashi’s ball swinging teasingly back and forth in the pocket of his stick.

The smirk he throws back over his shoulder before he passes the ball to Marty for the goal makes Kobayashi growl as he spits out grass.

“It’s because he likes you!” Asakawa chirps as he hands Kobayashi a baggie full of ice for his split lip.

“Why does everybody keep saying that?” Kobayashi demands, syllables slurred through the puffiness of his lip, but Asakawa doesn’t even get a chance to answer before Kazuhiro is bounding over and kneeling in front of Kobayashi.

“Wow, you sure took it!” Kazuhiro whistles, leaning into close to inspect Kobayashi’s face, and Kobayashi flushes an angry red when Tachiki and Kichida burst into peals of laughter further down on the bench.

“Shut up,” he growls, covering his mouth with the ice and dropping his eyes. He finds himself staring down at Kazuhiro’s bare shoulder, which is streaked with a grass stain.

“Captain Tsukada says break it up!” Harada bellows behind him suddenly, making Kobayashi jump and bang his lip on the sharp corners of the ice. “You girls have all seen a split lip before, get back to work!”

The others shuffle back onto the field, but Kazuhiro doesn’t even twitch. Instead, he reaches up to grip Kobayashi’s chin, long fingers curling over the scraped skin with surprising gentleness, and uses his other hand to pull the ice out of the way. Kobayashi is too startled to struggle as Kazuhiro tilts his face this way and that, examining his injuries.

“Don’t worry, Kobagin,” he finally says, grinning at Kobayashi as he climbs to his feet, knees muddy. “It won’t scar that cute face of yours.”

He dashes back into the game, leaving Kobayashi staring after him with dangling jaw, and it’s only when Kobayashi climbs unsteadily back to his feet to rejoin the game that he discovers Kazuhiro has taken his stick.


“Hey, Kobagin!”

Kobayashi jerks his head up, operant conditioning making him press himself closer to his desk in case of attack.

“What’d you get for number 8?” Kazuhiro blinks at him innocently, and Kobayashi heaves a sigh and tells him to do it himself, just like numbers one through seven. “You’re supposed to be helping me, you know.”

“I’m sure not giving up my whole afternoon tutoring you for my health!” Kobayashi snaps back, but then Kazuhiro makes a pleading face, and Kobayashi sighs and slides out of his chair to go look at Kazuhiro’s work.

He’s barely around the corner of the desk when Kazuhiro springs up from the chair in a smooth coil of energy, knocking Kobayashi onto his back on his bed with pinpoint accuracy. Kobayashi opens his mouth to protest, but the impact of Kazuhiro landing on his chest in a sprawl knocks the wind out of him for second, long enough for Kazuhiro to press their mouths together, eager and rough.

His fingers are gentle when they slide up Kobayashi’s cheek to pull his glasses off, though, and Kobayashi would almost think that was sort of sweet if he hadn’t had to explain his snapped nosepiece to his mother last week, or go to school with them taped together for days on end. Kazuhiro even teased him about it, catching him in the hallway and poking him right between the eyes while several members of the girls’ volleyball team, who had been asking him for science help just before that, hooted with laughter.

Kobayashi snaps out of his thoughts when he finds himself shivering, and after blinking down at Kazuhiro for second, he wonders sourly why he’s always the one who ends up naked first in these situations, T-shirt shoved up to his armpits and pants banished somewhere he may never find them. Kazuhiro’s shirt is missing as well, but his pants are slipping over his hips as he wriggles down further against Kobayashi, revealing just a hint of the smooth swell that his palms are suddenly itching to run over.

He doesn’t have a tan line, Kobayashi swallows hard as he realizes, and then squeezes his eyes shut with a gasp as Kazuhiro’s lips slide over him.

“Hmm,” Kazuhiro hums, pleased with himself, and Kobayashi has no idea why doing this always—well, okay, they’ve only done this four and a half times so far—makes Kazuhiro’s eyes light up, like Kobayashi’s skin is permission for Kazuhiro to never wear clothes in public again. He doesn’t get it, but he pries his eyes back open again to see it anyway. Kazuhiro’s arms slide around his waist, half hugging him and half holding him down, and his hands splay over big patches of Kobayashi’s spine, making warmth sink deep into his muscles.

When Kobayashi feels one of Kazuhiro’s hands slip away and sees it wedging its way between Kazuhiro and sheets, pushing his pants down just a little more to bare the curve of his ass like a sunrise, Kobayashi has a split second to be utterly ashamed of his own brain before he comes sharply, trying to arch both down against Kazuhiro’s hand and up against his tongue.

He feels the wetness of Kazuhiro’s mouth pulling away from him, but the rest of his warmth stays where it is, and when Kobayashi manages to lift his head half an inch, he finds Kazuhiro with his cheek pillowed against Kobayashi’s hip, grin wide and warm.

Only it isn’t a grin this time, which usually heralds something that will make Kobayashi yell, it’s an actual smile, one that sends warmth shooting through all the places that Kazuhiro isn’t already incidentally touching him.

Kobayashi squirms a little, then realizes his palms are still itching and he wants to shove Kazuhiro’s pants the rest of the way out of the way and he wants to try too, and then he starts to blush, of all pathetic things, but his skin is still flushed so maybe Kazuhiro won’t notice.

Kazuhiro’s smile turns back into a grin. Dammit.

“Hey, Kobayashi,” he purrs.

“What?!” Kobayashi braces himself, coming up with several very bad things Kazuhiro could possibly do to him in his vulnerable state.

“I like you,” Kazuhiro says.

“You…” Kobayashi feels the warmth spread even further, feels the idiotic smile starting on his face, and squirms from embarrassment, but Kazuhiro is squirming against him too, working his way back up Kobayashi’s body until their bodies are tucked firmly together and he can press his grin against Kobayashi’s.

Both of his hands are pressed against Kobayashi’s spine again, one very stickily so, and Kobayashi whines in the back of his throat as he pushes himself, still damp with spit, up against Kazuhiro’s stomach.

Breaking the kiss, Kazuhiro squeezes Kobayashi tight suddenly, so tight it would drive all the air out of his lungs if any was in there to start, then tucks his head under Kobayashi’s chin and flops bonelessly against his chest.

One of Kobayashi’s hands is resting between Kazuhiro’s shoulderblades, and he slides it up to rub a piece of hair curling over Kazuhiro’s neck in between two of his fingers. He gives it a small yank, and Kazuhiro shifts minutely.

“Hey, Kazuhiro,” he says.

“Yeah?” Kazuhiro lifts his head, eyes big and hopeful.

Kobayashi shoves him off the bed.

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