Prince of Tennis, Problematic

Title: Problematic [Shishido/Ohtori]
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 for getting to C.
Summary: Shishido has a problem. The rest of Hyoutei seems to have more than one.
AN: Happy Spring_Fluff, nickelodeon! Thanks to my betas. You will be rewarded as is appropriate under the Hyoutei system.


Shishido Ryou had a problem.

“Never have I ever,” Oshitari said in his lazy drawl, “gotten to C.”

“This game is lame,” Shishido grumbled, crossing his arms and trying to sink back further into the couch.

“Can we clarify exactly what C is?” Atobe wanted to know, and Oshitari set down his glass on the coffee table with a snort.

“What are you, a first year?” Oshitari rubbed his thumb over the edge of his glass. “Or are you trying to say there are some sexual realms as yet unconquered by the great Atobe?”

“I was just wondering,” Atobe snapped, “if we were using the traditional system, or the Hyoutei system.”

“This game is super lame,” Shishido said.

“I walked in on Kuwabara Mitsuko with her hands all over your C last week,” Jiroh yawned, straightening up from his slouch against the couch pillows just far enough to tilt his own glass back.

“So much for being discreet,” Atobe sighed, lifting his own glass.

Then all three of them turned to look at Shishido and his full glass.

Shishido lifted his chin and glared. “So what if I haven’t?”

“Aw,” Oshitari snickered, “our little virgin, Ryou-tan.”

His friends were assholes. But that wasn’t the problem.


“Are you okay, Shishido-san?”

Shishido blinked and found Ohtori watching him with a raised eyebrow from across the mountain of Legos.

“Fine!” Shishido cleared his throat and went back to glaring at the Legos in his hand.

“I’m only asking,” Ohtori’s voice was gentle but amused, and Shishido glared harder, “because you’ve been snapping Legos on to that one piece for about five minutes.”

“Are we making a maze or aren’t we?” Shishido answered.

“One of us is.” Ohtori reached over to pick up Shishido’s base piece, revealing that so far he had a perfectly straight tunnel, three inches high and ten inches long. “I think even your hamster is smarter than this, Shishido-san.”

“Keh.” Shishido reached back out for his piece, and his jaw dropped when Ohtori very deliberately put his thumb into the middle of the tunnel and knocked all the Legos back off the base into the pile.

“How about I help you,” Ohtori handed Shishido back the base, letting his longer fingers brush over the back of Shishido’s hand, “and you tell me what’s bothering you.”

Shishido shook himself a little and smiled. “Eh, it’s nothing.”

Ohtori opened his mouth to argue, and Shishido leaned over the Legos to kiss Ohtori, quick and warm. He wanted to stay there long enough for at least Ohtori’s eyes to close, although his shocked look was pretty cute, but he didn’t dare with his door open like his grandmother insisted.

Apparently suffering from no such worries, Ohtori reached over to take two fistfuls of Shishido’s T-shirt and haul him back for a better kiss, better enough that Shishido didn’t even notice the Lego jammed into his knee until he shifted his weight and the joint cracked.

Shishido sat back and cursed as he peeled the sharp plastic away from his skin, ignoring both his flaming cheeks and the way Ohtori’s eyes were promising a much more difficult escape next time.

The silence was interrupted by a sharp thwak-thwak, and both boys looked over to find Shishido’s hamster ramming his blue, plastic exercise ball into the foot of Shishido’s bed with determination.

“I think you were saying something about my hamster’s intelligence?” Shishido said, and Ohtori stretched along the floor to scoop up the ball. He undid the lid with a deft flick of his wrist and reached inside to draw out the ball of black fur. It rolled into Ohtori’s palm and eyed Shishido beadily.

“Sorry, Shishido-san,” Ohtori said with no trace of apology, rubbing fingers in the loose skin of the hamster’s shoulders. “I should have picked out a smarter one. Have you named him yet?”

“Hamster is working out just fine with me,” Shishido answered, suddenly very interested in the Legos again. “It’s not like he comes when you call.”

“That’s mean!” Ohtori teased. “You should bond with your pet! And I never see you hold him either. Where’s your sense of skinship?”

Before Shishido had a chance to work out an answer, distracted as he was by the flex of Ohtori’s fingers, his brother leaned in the door, bellowing “YO” and making them both jump.

“Phone for Ohtori-kun,” he said, casually flipping the cordless handset over to Ohtori, who fumbled it while trying to not squash the hamster. “And Grandmother said to tell you that dinner’s almost ready.”

“Fine, fine,” Shishido grumbled, hoping his T-shirt wasn’t still wrinkled too badly in front. “Get out.”

“Yes,” Ohtori was saying into the phone, cradling it between his shoulder and his ear while he tried to get the hamster back in his ball. The hamster, who had been having his ears scratched perfectly ten seconds ago, was grabbing at the edges of the ball with surprisingly grippy little pink hands. “Yes, Mom.” Ohtori narrowed his eyes and gave the ball a good shake; the hamster tumbled inside and glared up through the plastic as Ohtori snapped the lid back on. “I’ll be there.”

Ohtori handed over both the phone and the hamster ball to Shishido, then climbed to his feet. “I have to go home for dinner, Shishido-san.”

Shishido dropped the phone and the ball on his bed and got up as well to walk Ohtori out, dusting Legos off his skin where the summer heat had stuck the plastic to him despite the air conditioning.

“Want to come over to my house tomorrow?” Ohtori asked as he was lacing his sneakers, tilting his head to watch Shishido’s reactions. “My sister is supposed to be watching me while my parents go out to a play, but I have it on good authority that she’s got a hot date with the boyfriend.”

Shishido chuckled at first at the mention of Ohtori-neesan’s less-than-winning choice of boyfriend, before he realized what Ohtori was really saying.

“Yeah, okay.” Shishido tried to swallow, but his mouth had suddenly gone dry. Ohtori straightened up and grinned at him, grinned like he was kissing Shishido goodbye, then slung his tennis bag over his shoulder and headed out the door.

Back upstairs, Shishido watched the hamster fail to roll himself across the soft folds of his blankets and shook his head. He picked up the ball and struggled with the lid for a few seconds before getting it open.

“Come on, Chota-pi,” he grumbled when the hamster slipped through his fingers on the first grab, before he managed to scoop him up and in turn dump him into his cage.

Okay, so he had named his hamster after his doubles partner. But that wasn’t the problem either.


“Ryou,” Atobe said, sitting across from Shishido, backwards on the chair with his arms over the top, “something is bothering you.”

“Oh, go away.” Shishido tore off a chunk of his curry bread and shoved it in his mouth. He didn’t even like curry bread that much, but he’d been daydreaming about going home with Ohtori this afternoon and had ended up leaving his lunch on the kitchen counter.

“It has to do with the game last week,” Atobe continued, tapping his face with his fingers, and Shishido glared at him.

“You look like a retard when you do that, you know,” Shishido grumbled through his full mouth.

“Hmm, no, that’s not it exactly,” Atobe murmured to himself, and Shishido shifted in his chair because Atobe’s Insight might have looked retarded, but disturbingly worked just as well outside of tennis as in. “Let’s see, the question that caused you the most discomfort was the ‘getting to C’ question, na?”

“Drop it,” Shishido growled. “I mean it, Atobe.”

“And you admitted you hadn’t.” Atobe sat back in his chair and regarded Shishido more fully. “Anxious, Ryou? You do have quite the fanclub, you know. Not as large and well-bosomed as mine, clearly, but no doubt more than willing to assist you in…”

“I don’t have time for girls,” Shishido interrupted, rolling his eyes. “They’re lame, and they wear too much makeup.” And they aren’t Choutarou, he added to himself. “Tennis is much more important.”

“Hmm.” Shishido had really been hoping that Atobe would just get lost at his flat refusal, but instead the captain just started smirking. “We do have a tennis club with over 200 members. Statistically, at least twenty of them should be willing to help…”

“Oh, LAME!” Shishido shouted, throwing another chunk of the bread at Atobe’s head. Atobe batted it away, but still didn’t stop smirking.

“I’m sure I could personally recommend something,” he said, his eyebrow making it clear that he actually meant ‘someone.’ “With a little more information.”

His captain was a total pervert, but that wasn’t Shishido’s problem either.


“Atobe’s a jerk,” Shishido said when Ohtori opened his mouth during warm-ups, holding up a hand to forestall further questions. “And he’s also a pervert.”

Shishido gritted his teeth when a small sound, kind of like a wistful sigh, came from the first years doing swing practice.

“And it’s nothing,” Ohtori finished for him, rolling his eyes. He was silent for a few more sit-ups before he added, “You don’t have to come over if you don’t want to, Shishido-san.”

“Of course not!” Shishido snapped without thinking, then blinked for a second when Ohtori’s mouth dropped in hurt and his brain caught up to his mouth. Horrified, he clarified, “Of course that’s not what’s bothering me, I meant!”

Ohtori closed his mouth, but his expression didn’t even out quite yet, and he eyed Shishido. It made Shishido’s skin prickle, and he couldn’t decide whether it was good or bad.

“Let’s go practice already.” Shishido hopped to his feet, rolling his shoulder as if to shrug off Ohtori’s gaze. He looked over his shoulder to make sure Ohtori was following him, hoping a degrading “Please?” wouldn’t be necessary.

It wasn’t, because Ohtori was already on his feet and striding past Shishido without so much as a “Yes, senpai,” and Shishido’s feeling of unease intensified. He watched as Ohtori bumped into a dawdling Jiroh, whose eyes were closed from a sizable yawn, and greeted him amiably.

The look he shot back over his shoulder at Shishido, however, was sharp and expectant, and Shishido began to revise his opinion of the dangers of Atobe’s Insight.

“Doubles switch-up,” Oshitari said behind Shishido, making him jump despite the smooth lilt of his voice. “You’re partners with Hiyoshi-kun, against the Ohtori-Akutagawa pair.”

“Oh, that’s just great,” Shishido grumbled, glaring at Oshitari as if it were his fault. As if it weren’t bad enough that Ohtori was irritated with him, Hiyoshi would be absolutely insufferable the whole match since he had a chance to one-up two senpai at once. “Is this Atobe’s way of baiting me, by inflicting Hiyoshi on me? Because it might be a lot more useful if somebody held him down and gekokujoued him right in the ass.”

“Ah, so you aren’t entirely unaware of Atobe’s newest plan,” Oshitari said, raising an eyebrow, and when Shishido gave an “Eh?” in return, added, “He’s calling it ‘Operation Maiden Ryou,’ if you wanted to know.”

“Operation…” Shishido’s jaw dropped. “Atobe’s trying to set me up with Hiyoshi?!”

“He thinks you need to let off some steam. Hiyoshi is usually more than compliant when the right pressures are applied.” Oshitari shrugged and pushed up his glasses with his middle finger.

“OH GOD,” Shishido bellowed, making sure to catch Ohtori’s eye where he was standing with Jiroh on the other side of the court. “SUPER LAME.”

Ohtori adjusted his wristband and didn’t seem impressed.

The irritation knotted up tighter in Shishido’s chest when Hiyoshi sidled up beside him and inquired whether Shishido could seal Ohtori’s serve on his own.

“Excellent,” Hiyoshi replied when Shishido snapped that he obviously could. “This is a prime opportunity for…”

“It is NOT,” Shishido interrupted, feeling like he might scream before they even got going if Hiyoshi started up with that stupid phrase. “Your rank is higher than Ohtori’s!”

“You seem very tense,” Hiyoshi said, expression unchanged, and he might have added something else, but Shishido’s teeth were grinding too loud to hear as he scanned the court for Atobe, trying to figure out what the most satisfying way to murder him would be. Would pineapple wine coolers cover the taste of arsenic?

“Any time, senpai!” Ohtori’s voice snapped Shishido out of his daze, and he turned to find Hiyoshi, Ohtori, and Jiroh all waiting on the court, staring at him. He flipped his cap around and stomped into his spot.

“Super fucking lame,” he growled under his breath, just before Ohtori’s first serve slammed into the court a half-inch from Shishido’s foot.


“I was twisting my wrist again,” Ohtori said afterwards, handing a water bottle to Shishido and not sounding terribly apologetic. “I’ll work harder next time, senpai.”

“I bet,” Shishido replied sourly, pressing the cold bottle to the bruised skin of his cheek. At least Ohtori seemed to have worked out his irritation during the match, Shishido thought. Taking it out on your boyfriend’s face at 195 kilometers per hour was probably good for that.

They’d even lost the match, although honestly Shishido wasn’t too worked up about that since it meant Hiyoshi had taken a hit to his pride and gone off to sulk in the showers immediately after. Jiroh had even woken up and played some of his real tennis, which was fun to watch, right up until he’d thrown himself into Ohtori’s arms for a victory hug.

Shishido’s fingers tightened around the bottle when he noticed Atobe approaching, regular’s jacket snapping dramatically around his shoulders despite the lack of wind.

“So the Shishido-Hiyoshi pair did not meet with success?” Atobe inquired. Shishido narrowed his eyes.

“Bad combination,” he said.

“Pity,” Atobe shrugged, flicking his hair back from his face. “Hiyoshi can be so helpful when the right pressures are applied.”

“So I’ve been told,” Shishido growled. Maybe he could rewire Atobe’s racket with plastic explosives.

“Ah well.” Atobe probably thought his grin was conspiratorial and charming, but it made Shishido’s stomach roll. “In a club with this many members, surely there must be…”

“Sorry, Atobe-buchou,” Ohtori interrupted smoothly, his apologetic kouhai expression a flawless work of art. “Shishido-senpai and I have to go. He’s tutoring me so that my history grades don’t shame the club.”

“Shishido would know all about that,” Atobe smirked, the ambiguity completely intentional, and the plastic of the water bottle crackled under Shishido’s grip.


“I’m home!” Ohtori called when they entered his house, and as they were slipping off their shoes, Ohtori’s mother came around the corner, fingers fussing with one of her earrings.

“Welcome back,” she greeted, finishing with her earring and bussing Ohtori on the cheek, making him blush and whine a soft “Moooom!” with a sidelong glance at Shishido. Shishido coughed to hide his smirk since he’d only been out of trouble for the last half-hour.

“Thank you for allowing me over,” he said to Ohtori-san, bowing politely.

“Not at all,” Ohtori-san waved his bow off with a flex of her long, delicate fingers, and Shishido snuck a quick glance at Ohtori’s hands to compare the resemblance. “Ohtori’s older sister is here if anything happens, and I left some money on the table for you boys to order food.”

“We’ll just be in my room, then,” Ohtori said, reaching over to wrap his own fingers around Shishido’s wrist. Shishido tried not to shiver too obviously. “We’ve got some homework to finish.”

He was still holding onto Shishido when they got to his room, as and soon as he got the door shut he tugged Shishido close and bent to kiss him, meeting Shishido’s wide eyes for a second before his fluttered shut.

Someday the surprise of Ohtori kissing him would probably wear off, Shishido thought as Ohtori pushed him back against the door, but it would be a shame to lose the way it made his throat catch and his fingers grab for the nearest thing. He slid a hand up to the back of Ohtori’s neck and brushed over the soft hair their, still curling damp from the shower. His other hand rested against Ohtori’s chest, fingers flexing over the heat of Ohtori’s skin soaking through the thin cotton of his summer uniform shirt.

Ohtori’s hands weren’t idle either, pushing the strap of Shishido’s tennis bag off his shoulder and curling around the curve of it. His thumb brushed the hollow of Shishido’s throat, making Shishido’s mouth fall open a little, and then a little more when Ohtori startled him with the light brush of his tongue.

“Is…” Ohtori pulled back just enough to speak, breath still brushing Shishido’s mouth, “Is it okay?”

Shishido’s mouth was still open, but he couldn’t get his throat quite to work, so he just used the hand resting on Ohtori’s neck to pull him forward again and ran his own tongue over Ohtori’s lower lip, neck heating when Ohtori gave a soft “oh” and slid an arm around Shishido’s waist to press them even closer.

Hazily, Shishido heard voices from the first floor of Ohtori’s house and remembered they weren’t alone. He used the hand still resting against Ohtori’s chest to push him back a couple inches and muttered, “Your parents are still here.”

“Oh,” Ohtori said, and it took a second for his eyes to clear and realization to sink in. “That’s right.” He chuckled and went to rub the back of his head, but when his hand brushed over Shishido’s hand that was resting there, they both shivered. Shishido yanked his hand back.

“I, um,” Shishido nearly started growling again at how damn uncool he was, “I brought stuff to change out of my uniform.” Ohtori looked down at their uniforms as if he’d forgotten what they even were for a second.

They changed with their backs to each other, Shishido sneaking glances without exactly meaning to, and face burning crimson when Ohtori suddenly caught him at it, mouth round with surprise. He jerked his head back to stare at the floor, and a second later Ohtori’s laugh startled him, making his t-shirt slip out of his fingers to the floor.

“Here, Shishido-san.” Ohtori was suddenly very close, tucking Shishido’s shirt back into his hands and breath brushing over Shishido’s bare shoulder. “I’ll hang up your uniform with mine so it doesn’t get wrinkled.”

“Kay,” Shishido murmured, and it was a full ten seconds before he could shake himself and finish getting dressed.

They got so far as picking up their schoolbags and exchanging a glance before Ohtori offered Kingdom Hearts 2 Final Mix as a viable alternative.

“Hell yes!” Shishido grinned and dropped his bag with a satisfying crash, and they settled on the floor in front of Ohtori’s television.

“It was my sister’s!” Ohtori protested when his controller lit up pink and Shishido guffawed. “My X button went all squishy and I didn’t have the money to replace it!”

They made a contest out of who could get the farthest through the Hades Paradox cup, trading the controller back and forth after each character death. Ohtori stretched his long legs out in front of him, and Shishido shifted onto his stomach after a few minutes, bare feet kicking against Ohtori’s bed. Once in a while he would look over his shoulder when it was Ohtori’s turn, just to watch how cute Ohtori was when he scrunched his face all up in concentration.

“This is totally impossible,” Shishido griped when he was having his ass handed to him by the spiky dinosaur heartless for the third time.

“It just takes timing,” Ohtori said. “Your combo isn’t quite right, so you aren’t getting the chain.”

“What…” Shishido started to ask, then stiffened when suddenly Ohtori was right next to him, arms sliding around his and fingers settling alongside his over the controller.

“I’ll show you,” he said, mouth warm against Shishido’s ear, and Shishido watched the screen numbly and learned absolutely nothing while Ohtori tapped the buttons in the right rhythm and chained a combo easily ten or fifteen hits longer than Shishido’s. “If you don’t like it this way, you should turn the Berserk ability off and use the Fenrir keychain instead.”

“It’s just because you’re a damn musician,” Shishido grumbled, barely having any idea what he was saying because Ohtori’s sleeve smelled like laundry detergent and Ohtori, and it was all Shishido could do to keep from turning his head far enough to just bury his face in the fabric. “You’ve got all that rhythm.”

Just then there was a shout of “We’re leaving!” from downstairs, and both of them froze as if they’d been caught in their compromising position. On the television, Sora died a dramatic and flailing death.

Ohtori rolled off of Shishido, and Shishido’s chest caught at how badly he wanted to sigh from the loss. “Want to order dinner?”

“Yes!” Shishido hopped to his feet, straightening his clothes, because food fixed everything, always.

They ordered pizza, Ohtori wrinkling his nose at Shishido’s request for black olives and pineapple, and Shishido sighing sadly at the very boring extra cheese and pepperoni Ohtori put on his half.

They screwed around with the TV while they waited for it to arrive, Ohtori mocking Shishido’s obsession with cheesy game shows, and Shishido snatching back the remote with a snort when Ohtori paused for a second on Nobuta wo Produce.

“I’m telling everyone you like boybands,” Shishido said, thumbing the remote like an obsessive-compulsive, “and that you wish Yamapi was your boyfriend.”

“Yamapi does have better abs than my boyfriend,” Ohtori sighed, face very sad, making Shishido holler indignantly and whap him with a throw pillow. Ohtori shoved him back, and the remote was lost in the couch as the wrestling match degenerated into Shishido crushing Ohtori into the couch, pressing Ohtori’s face down with his stomach and hollering “What do you think about my abs NOW?” while Ohtori howled with laughter until he was choking.

The pizza delivery girl gave them a knowing look when they answered the door with red faces and rumpled everythings, and Ohtori blushed even harder and told her to keep the change.

“Whatever,” Shishido shrugged, talking through a mouthful of pizza. “Who’s she going to tell?”

“She delivers pizza here all the time!” Ohtori made a face at his own slice. “My mother talks to her! I bet Sora and Riku don’t have this problem when they order pizza.”

“Mostly because they aren’t dating. What?” he asked when Ohtori shot him an incredulous look. “Oh geez, are you serious? Riku is way too cool to be gay!”

“Mmhmm,” Ohtori replied, conveniently taking a large bite of pizza so he couldn’t elaborate.

“Lame!” Shishido threw a piece of his crust at Ohtori’s head. “Next you’ll tell me you write fanfiction about them or something.” Shishido bit down on his pizza to emphasize his point.

“Maybe I do,” Ohtori replied, so deadpan that Shishido actually stopped chewing for a second before rolling his eyes. “Maybe I’m writing the epic where Sora totally knows that something has been bothering Riku for days and days, but Riku refuses to tell him what it is, and finally Sora gets so fed up that he goes off to date Yamapi, who has better abs anyway.”

Shishido stared at Ohtori. “Choutarou, what the hell are you talking about?” He screwed up his face. “And what is it with you and Yamapi’s abs?”

Ohtori was opening his mouth to answer when there was a noise from the stairs like a trainwreck, and then Ohtori’s sister strolled into the kitchen wearing the shortest skirt and the clompiest boots that Shishido had ever seen.

“Holy crap, that’s…” Shishido started without thinking, then caught a glimpse of Ohtori’s expression, “…lame.”

“I’m leaving, little brother.” Ohtori-neesan pinched one of Ohtori’s pepperoni off and popped it in her mouth, ignoring her brother’s “Hey!” as he slapped her hand away. “Remember our deal, or I’ll make your life a living hell.”

She flashed both of them a bright smile and a V, then bustled out of the kitchen in a storm of clinking jewelry and a slam of the front door. A second later there was a the snarl of a motorcycle starting up on the quiet street.

“Your deal?” Shishido asked, not quite back together enough to ask anything else.

“If I don’t tell about her boyfriend, she won’t tell about my NC-17 Kingdom Hearts fanfiction.” Ohtori dropped the remains of his slice of pizza back onto his plate. “Let’s go back upstairs.”

“Wait,” Shishido called as Ohtori stood to take his plate back to the kitchen, “WHAT?!”

A second later some very poorly muffled laughter echoed out of the kitchen, and Shishido turned around and threw his soda can at Ohtori.


“I’m really very sorry,” Ohtori said, and Shishido thought darkly that Ohtori should win an award for that kouhai expression, seriously, “that I sprayed you with the sink sprayer, Shishido-san.”

Shishido glared at him from underneath dripping bangs, wringing out his shirt onto Ohtori’s bedroom floor out of spite. “I bet. How were you planning on apologizing?”

“I was thinking maybe something like this,” Ohtori said, stepping closer and ducking his head to press a quick kiss against Shishido’s mouth. When Shishido made a dissatisfied sound, Ohtori chuckled and leaned in again, this time pressing close with an arm around Shishido’s waist and knocking Shishido’s cap off to bury fingers in his hair.

“Not bad,” Shishido admitted when they broke apart for a breath, “for a start,” and then he slid his hands into the back pockets of Ohtori’s jeans and pulled him closer. It was one of his favorite things to do, because of the way the denim felt rough and warm against his fingertips, and the way Ohtori sighed into his mouth and slid his whole body against Shishido’s a little, and the way that part of Ohtori curved just perfectly into Shishido’s palms.

Eventually Ohtori slid his lips up over Shishido’s cheekbone and said, “So I was thinking, Shishido-san.”

“Choutarou,” Shishido whined.

“My parents are gone,” Ohtori continued, and when he smirked, Shishido felt it warm against his skin, “and my bed is over there.”

“I got your shirt wet,” Shishido observed as Ohtori pulled away, then stared shamelessly as Ohtori shrugged and pulled his shirt off, toned arms stretching over his head.

“Problem solved.” He reached over to help Shishido do the same when Shishido’s brain seemed to have forgotten how arms even worked.

It wasn’t the first time this much of Shishido’s skin had been pressed up against this much of Ohtori’s, but it was only the third, or the fourth if you counted the time he’d tripped in the showers. That had been not so much about romance, though, and more about concussions.

The feeling was still new enough, Ohtori’s damp skin catching against Shishido’s, that it made Shishido’s fingers sink into Ohtori’s shoulders, made him sag against Ohtori, off-balance, so that it was easy for Ohtori to put his palms against Shishido’s chest and shove him backwards. Shishido flailed for a second before tumbling backwards onto Ohtori’s bed.

“Jerk,” Shishido said, nipples still tingling where Ohtori’s fingers had brushed over them, and Ohtori grinned before throwing himself down on the bed too, throwing a leg over Shishido’s hip and murmuring “Yes, senpai,” before pressing their mouths back together.

The air conditioning was raising goosebumps down Shishido’s arms, making him shiver, or maybe that was the way Ohtori was skating his fingers down Shishido’s spine, lower and lower, until they were skimming just under Shishido’s waistband.

Shishido wriggled, because this was entirely new territory, and tried to distract Ohtori by deepening the kiss, rubbing small circles on the back of Ohtori’s neck and running his tongue over the roof of Ohtori’s mouth. It worked for a few minutes, Ohtori sighing and his hand falling still, but then Shishido shifted closer, changing the drape of his jean shorts, and Ohtori’s warm, tennis-hardened hand slid fully over the curve of Shishido’s ass.

Letting out an undignified “Eep,” Shishido bit down on Ohtori’s bottom lip, making Ohtori flinch backwards.

“Sorry!” Shishido exclaimed, face burning. Propping himself up on one elbow, Ohtori reached up to touch his lip, giving Shishido a rueful look when his finger came away with a little smear of blood.

“Maybe now’s a good time to talk about what’s bothering you, Shishido-san.” Ohtori casually licked the blood off his finger, and Shishido dropped his eyes and grunted.

“It’s nothing, really.” Shishido rubbed his thumb over Ohtori’s collarbone and refused to look up.

“I’ll just start guessing, then.” Ohtori settled his cheek a little more comfortably against his hand. “You tell me if I get close. Atobe-buchou and Oshitari-senpai are harassing you about something?”

“Who said I agreed to this?” Shishido dropped his hand and crossed his arms, rolling over onto his stomach to flop his chin down on his arms. “Because I don’t.”

“They do that all the time though.” Ohtori’s free hand was suddenly warm on the small of Shishido’s back, stroking just a little back and forth, and Shishido bit down on a tiny groan. “Atobe-buchou is trying to hook up you with Hiyoshi?”

“That was just today,” Shishido answered. “He thinks I need some sort of release because I am too tense or some crap.”

“Why would anybody think that?” Ohtori asked, then poked one of Shishido’s hunched shoulder muscles, making him yelp. “That eliminates you being worried about Atobe-buchou being a pervert too. Hmm, then…is it because your hamster is named Chota-pi?”

Shishido jerked his head up and stared at Ohtori with a dangling jaw. “How did you know that?”

“Shishido-san,” Ohtori rolled his eyes and flicked Shishido between the eyes. “Did you really think your brother wasn’t going to tell me that at the first opportunity? It’s flattering, really, that you named me after a tiny ball of fur with beady eyes who likes to bang his head into the wall over and over for fun…it’s kind of accurate, honestly.”

“You!” Shishido spluttered. “You’re the one who bought him! You told me to bond with it!” and then Shishido kissed Ohtori hard enough to bang noses, just to keep himself from saying anything else horribly embarrassing and revealing.


That night Shishido had a dream that Ohtori hadn’t stopped, that his shorts and Ohtori’s jeans had gone missing somehow, and then Ohtori was leaning over him, his hips nestled tightly in between Shishido’s thighs. Ohtori was kissing Shishido, brushing lips over his cheek and his neck, saying his name over and over, not ‘Shishido-san’ but his given name, and then he started to push forward…

Shishido woke up, heart pounding and cock so hard that it ached, and it took him about three strokes to bring himself off, gritting his teeth so he wouldn’t do anything mortifying like moan Ohtori’s name when his brother’s room was just on the other side of the wall.

He flopped back down against his pillows, too hot and skin feeling prickly, and grumpily kicked at his sheets. This was the third time this week alone he’d had that same dream, and after having Ohtori’s hands on his skin that afternoon, it had been more vivid than ever.

Shishido was really getting sick of it.

It wasn’t that it was a nightmare, clearly. But it wasn’t normal—was it?—to have dreams where you boyfriend made you the girl, and wake up practically coming all over yourself?

Shishido glared at his ceiling, willing his heart to stop pounding. It was a real problem.


“You two aren’t supposed to be doing that here,” Shishido growled, hands shoved in his pockets, voice even gruffer than usual because he was very displeased about being here, about to ask this particular pair of people for help.

Gakuto looked up with one eyebrow raised, shaking the bottle of hair dye as per the directions. “Can we help you?” Meanwhile Taki was snapping at the rubber gloves that had come with the dye kit just a little too enthusiastically.

“Last time you dyed your hair in the club sink it was pink for a week and Atobe flipped out because it didn’t match the drapes in here,” Shishido reminded.

“All the laps must be why I have such killer legs,” Gakuto shrugged, flipping his damp hair over his shoulder. “Is there something you actually want, or are you just here to be even bitchier than usual?”

“What’s the matter?” Taki put in his two cents as he hitched himself up to sit on the counter. “Ohtori-kun not putting out or something?”

“I hear he hasn’t even gotten to C,” Gakuto remarked.

“NO!” Shishido snapped. “And shut up! And I’m going to kick Oshitari’s ass the next time I see him!”

“Is there something you want, or isn’t there?” Gakuto asked, voice bored. Taki snapped the glove again.

“No, forget it,” Shishido grumbled, then stomped out of the clubhouse.

It was hot as hell already, even though it was barely after morning practice and the school day hadn’t even started yet. Shishido had been planning on dawdling around and sneaking into class at the last second just to avoid any more of Atobe or Oshitari’s help, but the sun was beating down on him, and with sweat prickling his scalp under his hat after barely thirty seconds outdoors, he decided that aircon was worth putting up with anything.

It didn’t mean he had to make himself an easy target by going to class right away, though. Shishido wandered the halls a little instead, keeping his head down and offering terse greetings to the few classmates who didn’t take one look at his scowl and shuffle immediately to the other side of the hallway.

Eventually he stumbled across Jiroh, sprawled out across one of the window seats and dozing in a patch of sunlight. He stretched and yawned as Shishido approached, then his eyes fluttered open halfway and he blinked at Shishido, upside-down.

“Morning, Shishido-kun,” Jiroh mumbled, running a hand through his curls, crushed flat by the bench.

“Yeah.” Shishido regarded Jiroh for a long moment. He’d gone to Gakuto first, since Gakuto seemed the most likely candidate to be the…well, the girl in a relationship. On the other hand, Jiroh was definitely less threatening. “Akutagawa-kun, can I ask you something?”

“Mm-hmm,” Jiroh murmured, scootching down on the bench just far enough for Shishido to sit down. “Go ahead, I’m just gonna close my eyes for a minute.”

“Well,” Shishido sat down, pulling off his cap and thumbing the sweat-damp rim, “you dream, right?”

“Yup,” Jiroh hummed, “usually about tennis. Or pocky. Or sometimes that I’m enrolled at Seigaku and Fuji-kun lets me sleep in his…”

“So I’ve been having this dream,” Shishido interrupted loudly, “where I’m with…somebody I like. With them, you know?”

“Mm,” Jiroh said.

“But, in the dream, I’m the…I’m not the…” Shishido was crumpling the hat a little now, and snorted at himself, “…not the guy. But I really like it. In the dream, I mean! Anyway, that’s kind of weird, right? Because I am definitely the guy, so it’s super lame to be dreaming about those kinds of things, isn’t it? Akutagawa-kun?”

Jiroh let out a little snore.

“Che,” said Shishido, “it figures.”

“I don’t think it’s weird at all, Shishido-senpai.”

Shishido yelped and jumped six inches, then whirled around to find Ohtori standing behind him, looking amused and endeared, a combination which rarely boded well for Shishido. “Choutarou! What are you doing sneaking up on people like that?!”

Ohtori crossed his arms. “What are you doing telling Jiroh about our relationship problems?”

“It’s not a…” Ohtori reached down and removed the completely crumpled hat from Shishido’s clenched fingers. “Okay, fine, it’s a problem.”

“You sure like causing your own trouble, Shishido-san,” Ohtori commented, smoothing out the cap over his fist and then plunking it back down on Shishido’s head backwards. “Instead of just telling me what your problem was, you thought it was a better idea to get yourself all worked up, give Oshitari an endless amount of ammunition, get Atobe involved in your sex life, AND start fights with me?”

“Some of those things would have happened anyway,” Shishido grumbled, turning his hat around and yanking the brim down.

“Like the hamster,” Ohtori agreed, then laughed when Shishido snarled at him to shut up. Ohtori reached down to grab Shishido’s wrist and tugged him to his feet. “Come on.”

“What…” Shishido asked, but Ohtori was already turning away and dragging Shishido down the hall, still holding on to his wrist, and he didn’t stop until they’d reached the boys’ bathroom at the very end of the hall and Ohtori had pushed Shishido inside.

“Unlike you,” Ohtori said, shoving up Shishido’s back up against the door, “I don’t really like discussing things like this in the hallway. Stay there so we’ll know if somebody tries to come in. So, you have this dream.”

“I…” Shishido’s mouth worked for a second as his brain caught up with Ohtori’s casual statements. “Uh, yeah. About…us, but I’m the…you know.” Shishido’s cheeks were burning and he was staring at his shoes. “And you’re the…the other thing.”

“Uh-huh.” Ohtori seemed unfazed by this, which was only making Shishido’s embarrassment sharper. “And you don’t like it?”

“No! I mean, yes I,” Shishido tried to take a deep breath and managed to drag his gaze up as far as Ohtori’s collar. “I don’t like…that I like it. It’s…well, I shouldn’t, right?”

As soon as Shishido finally got his eyes to go high enough to meet Ohtori’s, Ohtori leaned down and kissed him. His lips were slow and warm, coaxing against Shishido’s, until Shishido’s heart rate had not only slowed, it was starting to speed back up again. When Ohtori pulled back, Shishido realized that his fingers had found their way into Ohtori’s belt loops, and he was tugging their hips close together.

“The first time we did that,” Ohtori said, “and I didn’t speak to you for three days, what did I tell you?”

“You said it was weird,” Shishido answered without having to think about it, because he was never going to forget how his heart had been pounding in his throat, and how Ohtori had refused to look at him.

“And you said that if it was me, it was okay even if it was weird.” Ohtori tilted his head a little, brushed his cheek against Shishido’s. “Ne, Shishido-san, isn’t it still okay?”

Shishido didn’t say anything for a long moment, but Ohtori waited patiently, just watching Shishido’s face. Finally, Shishido swallowed.

“Maybe,” Shishido’s chest seemed to be tightening and loosening all at once, especially as Ohtori’s palms began pressing slow circles over Shishido’s sides, “if it’s you, it…wouldn’t hurt to try.”

“Mm, Shishido-san,” Ohtori agreed, and Shishido would have said yes to just about anything that gave that lilt of pleasure to Ohtori’s voice. Ohtori kissed him again, bringing a hand up to the back of Shishido’s head and tilting it in just the right way.

Shishido was too dazed to respond right away when Ohtori grinned at him suddenly, then dropped to his knees.

“H-hey!” Shishido protested.

“Don’t worry, Shishido-san,” Ohtori said, tugging down Shishido’s zipper, “I’ll let you be the girl next time.”


“Never have I ever,” Shishido said smugly, “gotten to C plus in the second floor bathroom.”

“This kind of is like being first years,” Jiroh exclaimed while Atobe and Oshitari downed their shot, and Shishido threw his hands up in disgust.

“My drink tastes funny,” said Atobe, putting his hand to his face and examining his pineapple wine cooler.

Shrugging, Shishido said that it sounded like a problem.

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