Chapter Text
“Perfect! Thank you, Sae; you can go ahead and change now.”
The photographer turns toward Chigiri, who’s already standing up. “Your turn! Sorry for the wait.”
“No problem,” Chigiri replies with a smile. Sae is heading toward him, already unbuttoning his shirt before he’s even out the door. Chigiri waves a hand as he walks by. “See you later,” he says, his voice a perfect balance of warmth and restraint because he knows he’ll get no response, and, sure enough, Sae’s eyes meet his only for a moment before he wordlessly walks right past him.
“That Itoshi guy really lives up to his name,” a staff member mutters from across the room.
“Yeah,” another replies exhaustedly, “he’s a handful. I can’t believe how well Chigiri puts up with him. Maybe athletes are just used to each other being assholes.”
It’s true on both counts, Chigiri thinks. He hadn’t been sure how this photoshoot would go; editorial shoots are still a little foreign to him compared to being photographed on the field or at events, and to be paired with Itoshi Sae of all people had been a bit of a surprise. He supposes that he’s become accustomed to Sae’s standoffish behavior over the past four years — thanks in no small part to living through the egocentric hell of Blue Lock — but he also wonders if he’s able to play it off better than most people. His own dry humor and moodiness (as some have called it, to his slight dismay) seem to be naturally effective against Sae’s…
Well. Sae in general.
It’s not like he sees him often — he doesn’t even see his close friends as much as he’d like, what with being scattered across different countries — but when their paths do cross, it goes about like it has today; that is to say, Chigiri extends pleasantries, and Sae grants him about as much attention as a speck of dust floating past his vision.
Chigiri’s individual photoshoot flies by, and he’s glad for it. After they’d done their joint shots, he’d sat by and watched Sae do his own (executed with the effortless indifference of a man who knows that he looks good and this isn’t his main paycheck, the dick), so he’s been here for a while now. He can’t help but feel like the staff had made Sae go first just to get it over with, and he really can’t blame them; the photographer has been polite the whole time, but there’s a distinctly relaxed air to her that had emerged at perhaps the exact moment when Sae had left the room. He does tend to have that effect on people.
Chigiri thanks everyone before heading off down the hall, rolling his shoulders as he goes. He’d been dressed in — as the tagline had read — “a dynamic blend of streetwear and sportswear, elevated by sleek silhouettes and unexpected details.” He doesn’t hate it, but it’s just a touch on the flashy side, and the pants are a little tight for his liking, so he’s kind of eager to get back in his own clothes. When he opens the door to the changing room, he’s bewildered to find that it's not empty: Sae is seated in a chair by the garment rack, leaning back with his phone poised lazily in his hand. He’s already changed, and he’s eyeing the screen with nothing but a glazed stare until Chigiri approaches the rack, at which point his eyes flicker up to meet him.
“What are you still doing here?” Chigiri asks, frankly surprised to be acknowledged. He hears a faint click as Sae locks his phone and slides it into his back pocket.
“Waiting for you.”
“Wha—”
Sae grabs Chigiri by the shirt and hauls him the few steps to the wall, slamming him against it with just enough force to punch the air from his lungs. He runs a hand firmly down his back and along the curve of his ass, and Chigiri jerks an arm back to swat at the offending touch.
“Wh-what the hell?” he yelps, his face burning. “What are you doing?!”
Sae sighs and straightens up. “If you don’t want to fuck, then I’m leaving. I’ve got places to be.”
Chigiri twists around to look at him with glaring incredulity, the situation rapidly focusing into perspective. Itoshi Sae wants to fuck him in this changing room, enough to have sat here and waited for him. He’s deeply baffled, and if he’s being honest, not insubstantially turned on. Sae looms behind him with all the patience of someone who will make good on his word and leave if he doesn’t make up his mind in the next few seconds, and Chigiri clicks his tongue in annoyance, frantically weighing his options. Then, it dawns on him that if he were going to say “no,” he would’ve done it by now.
He can’t believe himself.
“Jeez,” he says, pressing himself flush against the wall, “you’ve got such a way with words, how can I refuse?”
Sae huffs a breath through his nose and is immediately back on him. He tugs down Chigiri’s collar and latches his teeth onto the taut skin where his neck meets his shoulder, the heat of his mouth making Chigiri shudder against the cool air. It’s a bite that’s made to leave a mark more than pleasure its recipient — how shocking that famed egoist Itoshi Sae would be one for branding his prey — but the pain burns straight to Chigiri’s groin nonetheless. Sae’s hands claw roughly down to his ass, digging into the back seam of his pants with his thumbs. Chigiri can feel the blunt prick of his nails through the thin fabric, and he already wants more.
“I didn’t know you were this kind of guy,” he breathes, his voice husky as it echoes off the wall in the tight space between them. Sae shrugs against him.
“Depends on my mood.”
He drives a hand down between Chigiri’s ass cheeks, dragging underneath to palm him through his pants, then suddenly plants both hands on his hips and yanks him off the wall. A gasp whirrs through Chigiri’s lungs as he’s all but thrown ass-up onto a nearby table. Sae grabs the back of his pants, firmly pinching the fabric on either side of the seam, and — to Chigiri’s equal parts horror and arousal — splits it open with a sharp crack.
“God,” Chigiri hisses, his erection making itself painfully known between his stomach and the cold table, “was that necessary?”
“You were about to change out of them anyway.”
Sae pulls down Chigiri’s shorts through the tattered remains of fabric and brings a long, pale finger to his lips, soaking it in saliva, before pressing it into him. Chigiri lets out a quiet moan, arching his back instinctively as Sae curls inside of him, slick and smooth, occasionally sliding out and smearing over the reddened skin. He adds another finger and starts scissoring, deliberately taking his sweet time. It sends a fervor throbbing through Chigiri’s body, his nerves screaming with a want they hadn’t felt in a good while, but it’s very quickly surpassing Sae’s achingly languid pace.
“Are you gonna fuck me or not?” he asks through his teeth. “I thought you were the one who had places to be.”
Sae sweeps a thumb over Chigiri’s puckered hole, pushing in the stray threads from his pants and watching as they lash thin red lines into the swollen rim. He plucks one of the threads and lets it slap back against his ass with a shuddering twang.
“I changed my mind,” he says calmly.
Chigiri groans, pushing himself back into Sae’s digit. Sae hums and digs in all the way to the knuckle, massaging in wide, agonizingly slow circles to spread Chigiri open. He licks two fingers on his other hand and pushes them in with no hesitation, making Chigiri arch into him with a pained moan. Sae works in and out with harsh, measured pumps, watching intently as Chigiri desperately tightens around him. Chigiri writhes helplessly on the table, his mind starting to unravel from restless pleasure.
“For fuck’s sake, Sae!” he finally snaps, growling around the syllables.
Sae sighs and pulls his fingers out unceremoniously.
“It’s going to be awfully dry.”
Chigiri makes an exasperated sound from the back of his throat, his patience officially worn into the ground, and abruptly whips around. Sae takes a startled step back — Chigiri’s not frustrated enough to ignore that the man’s finally shown some hint of emotion — as Chigiri swiftly steadies himself on his hips and rips his fly down. He takes his dick into his mouth in one long, smooth motion, and makes direct eye contact with him while he laves it generously with his tongue. He makes a show of proving his point, coating it as messily and quickly as he can, spit drizzling down the front of Sae’s pants in a syrupy ooze. Then he pops his mouth off and wipes it hastily on the back of his hand, bending back over the table with a huff.
Sae is silent for a moment before letting out a very low, very quiet, throat-clearing grunt, and Chigiri smirks, unexpectedly satisfied. Sae recovers quickly, pressing back up against him and sliding his dick between his ass cheeks. The feeling makes Chigiri ravenous, and he thinks that if that dick isn’t inside him soon, he might have to give Sae a taste of his own medicine and tackle him right onto the cold tile underfoot. Luckily, Sae spreads him open one more time, making sure to leave little red crescents where his nails bore into the sensitive skin, and then drives his dick in deep, eliciting a breathy, drawn-out moan from Chigiri. He wastes no time now, making every thrust potent, pulling back steadily then snapping forward with enough strength to crush Chigiri’s hips painfully into the edge of the table. The smack of skin on skin echoes through the room, ringing obscenely in Chigiri’s ears and goading him on.
“Is that all you’ve got?” he taunts, despite his labored breaths. “Kind of expected more from Itoshi Sae.”
Sae responds immediately, roughly shoving Chigiri’s chest down flat to swing a knee onto the table and send it screeching forward, leveraging himself acutely into him with a brutal thrust. He’s met with a sharp yelp from Chigiri that fizzles into a broken whine, and something of a satisfied snarl puffs past his lips. He licks his hand and snakes it beneath Chigiri to — mercifully — release his bulging dick from his pants and stroke it, squeezing it firmly between his hand and the table, blotting them both with thin streaks of precum that drag friction across their skin.
Chigiri comes first, spluttering into Sae’s hand with a thin moan that dies on the wet clap of a burst of quick thrusts as Sae follows suit. The air seems to hollow around them as their lungs and heart rates chase one another in a strained attempt to regulate. Chigiri is tired yet desperately keyed-up, a thirst still broiling thickly in his veins. He loosens his grip on the table, bright red lines emblazoned into his palms, and, suddenly remembering that he’s bent over, ass out, very much in public, he’s jerked back to reality. He steadies himself and makes to stand, but is promptly pushed back down — though the touch isn’t quite as harsh as he’d expect.
“Stay there.”
“What, admiring your handiwork?”
“Mmm.”
Sae gradually pulls out and watches fixedly as the cum slides out of Chigiri’s trembling hole and swells up around the frayed edges of his pants. Chigiri can hear his breath even over the sound of his own ragged panting and, after all this, it’s strangely enough to make him embarrassed. He’s about to force himself up when he hears the shift of clothing and is promptly startled by the wet glide of Sae’s tongue along his ass. He gasps at the stimulation, the fading pink in his face blooming back to bright red.
“Wh-what are you, a cat?” he hisses out.
Sae steps back, the action punctuated with a pointed smack of his lips, and Chigiri is finally granted freedom from the now awfully compromised table.
“Would you rather I leave you a mess?”
Chigiri scoffs, daintily making his way over to the clothing rack. He starts to unbutton his shirt when he swears the whisper of a laugh filters through his ears; he pivots around to eye Sae with an incredulous glare.
“Did you just laugh?”
A less perceptive person might miss the split-second quirk of Sae’s lips, the vivid shadow that flashes across his eyes in practiced recalibration. But Chigiri sees it.
“You must be imagining things,” Sae says flatly. Chigiri watches him smooth down his shirt and retrieve his bag from the chair, the very picture of cool and collected. He gestures dismissively toward Chigiri as he makes for the door. “Do whatever you want with the pants. I’ll pay for them.”
Chigiri’s mouth slackens, bemusement washing over his features. “You really are something,” he says, finally sloughing off his shirt.