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En garde. Prêts. Allez.
Balestra. Lunge. Parry. Touché.
Eijun moved like lightning, each action precise and calculated, the sequence of movements flowing seamlessly.
The tip of his saber swiped against his opponent’s, and the clash of steel echoed in the hall along with the beeping sound of the scoreboard.
He reset his stance, eyes locked onto his opponent. And the rhythm of his footwork was impeccable; the exchange was swift, their blades clashing in a rapid pattern.
Eijun's concentration was absolute, moving almost on instinct. He could feel the weight of exhaustion starting to press on his muscles, and the path of every singular bead of sweat running down his face under his mask.
Speed. Agility. Strength. Resilience. Awareness.
And Eijun lacked none of these. Each quality had been honed through hours of practice, through countless matches, each one more ferocious than the last.
His blade danced, cutting through the air, and his body moved with practiced ease, the saber an extension of his will. It felt light in his hand despite the raw blisters that stung with every movement. His grip still remained steady, fingers wrapped around the hilt, feeling the bloodied tape shifting against his skin. It no longer stuck to the palm of his hand properly, moving with each motion, but he still pushed through, because he had to.
Disengage. Riposte. Ippon.
And even through his mask, confusion must have flickered across Eijun’s face. The word reverberated in his mind, term foreign to his fencing terminology.
Eijun’s head snapped up at the sound, eyes darting from his opponent to the source of the shout. Across the room, on the judo mat, Miyuki Kazuya stood over his opponent — victorious.
For a second or two, Eijun believed their eyes met across the distance, his heart skipping a beat, amber staring into gold.
“Focus, Sawamura!” His coach’s voice cut through his thoughts, sharp and commanding, and so did the beeping of the scoreboard, not in his favor this time.
Eijun hadn’t even noticed the tip of his opponent’s saber curving right against his chest, taking advantage of his distraction and scoring a touch.
He shook his head, trying to clear the fog of confusion — he couldn’t afford to lose focus now.
His heartbeat was thrumming too fast, blood rushing through his veins. He tightened his grip on his saber, closing his eyes for a moment to center himself.
When he opened them again, readying his stance, it was already too late.
One swift move, not enough time to parry and the final touch landed against his arm. The final point had been scored, and just like that, the match was over.
Eijun saluted his opponent, and the frustration was most likely evident in his posture. When he removed his mask, wiping the sweat from his brow as he stepped off the piste, his eyes drifted back to the judo side of the gymnasium, scowl spreading to every line of his face upon landing on Miyuki.
Practice had often been ending like this recently, Eijun found. With a bitter groan and a strange feeling in his chest, he clutched the grip of his saber like a lifeline as he tried to focus on everything but his too-frantically beating heart.
His breath was still heavy when he came to sit against the wall, letting his head thump back against the cool surface, November cold seeping through the concrete. Eijun’s heartbeat gradually slowed as he stared at the ceiling, focusing on the sounds of the gym instead — footsteps and distant voices, the clashing of blades and the thud of bodies on the tatamis — all blended into a white noise, a backdrop to his racing thoughts.
Because Eijun’s frustration slowly simmered. The All-Japan slowly but surely approached, yet every practice match had seemed to slip away lately, focus faltering at the most crucial of moments.
And his eyes… his eyes were almost always drawn to something. Or more like someone.
Miyuki Kazuya stood out in any crowd. Sharp amber eyes framed by dark, often-tousled hair, a playful tilt of mischief pulling at his lips, and abs surely to die for. Not that Eijun had noticed in the few instances the belt of his judogi had loosened.
On the surface, both Miyuki Kazuya and him didn’t have much in common. Eijun was loud, fiery and impulsive, wearing his emotions in every line of his body, while Miyuki on the other hand was more composed and reserved, his sharp wit often hidden behind a casual demeanor.
But they both shared a relentless drive. A tendency to over practice until exhaustion, driven by an unwavering desire to be the best.
In the year and a half Eijun had been at Meiji, too often had he come to the gymnasium late at night, when tossing and turning in bed had gotten the best of him, only to find the fluorescent lights to still be buzzing and two silhouettes practicing off in the distance.
At first, Eijun hadn’t minded them. He was in his own little world, always had been, practicing with the dummy until his hands trembled and the blisters on his feet started to bleed, until all he could feel was the taste of iron on his tongue and the growing numbness at his fingertips.
Oftentimes, Miyuki and Kuramochi, the other judoka who trained with Miyuki, Eijun had come to learn, would leave long before he did.
And Eijun stayed behind, pushing himself further, harder. Training until his muscles screamed in protest, until they ached in all the wrong ways.
Vision blurred from the effort, sweat dripping down his face, Eijun found himself lost in the repetitive swing of his blade, and the single-minded focus on perfecting his technique.
That night, a little over a year ago, when he had finally paused to drink the last few drops of water remaining in his bottle, he had noticed the first light of dawn had started filtering through the gymnasium door, and the silhouette that came with it.
Eijun had blinked through the haze of fatigue, the figure at the door shimmering like a mirage on a desert horizon. “Been here all night?” The figure had moved closer, and his voice had been soft, breaking a silence that Eijun had grown accustomed to.
When Eijun’s vision had cleared slightly, he’d realized it was one of the judokas he’d often seen from afar. Miyuki, he’d come to learn — the name had been shouted across the mats during one of their many shared practices, but the two had never spoken.
Eijun had nodded, too exhausted to respond verbally and had watched as Miyuki approached, his movements confident and unhurried. He’d observed his posture, Miyuki’s arms crossed against his chest, and an eyebrow quirked up that made Eijun feel like a little kid about to get scolded.
Miyuki had stopped a few meters away, sharp amber eyes scanning Eijun’s exhausted form, gaze heavy on him, but not uncomfortable. “You need to take a break,” Miyuki had said, his tone firm yet not unkind; Eijun still remembered it now. “You’ll burn out if you keep this up. Or get injured.”
He could have felt it in his muscles then, the strain of every thrust and parry weighing down on him, and he still remembered the shiver running down his spine from his sweat rapidly turning cold. And Eijun had been more exhausted than he’d let on, both mentally and physically.
Eijun had smiled at him, but it had been a crooked, forced thing. “Just… needed to perfect it,” Eijun had muttered, his voice barely more than a whisper.
And now that he thought about it, Eijun wasn’t usually like that, so quiet, and so worn out. His hands had been less steady than he would have liked when they had reached down for the drenched towel he’d left next to the piste, and he had despised feeling that way, that unsteady and uncertain, all of it gnawing at him down to his core.
“I get it. But there’s a fine line between dedication and self-destruction.” The towel had slipped from his fingertips, and before Eijun could have reached for it again, Miyuki had bent down and picked it up, and from where he stood, Eijun noticed the mole under Miyuki’s left ear, and the slight puffiness under his eyes from how early it was. Eijun had looked slightly up, meeting Miyuki’s eyes, before getting handed his towel back. “Trust me, I’ve been here before.”
Eijun had looked puzzled back then — still was, not knowing what Miyuki had meant by that. But Eijun hadn't pushed, hadn’t dared look further into the downcast glint in his eyes, hadn’t questioned the slight shakiness in his voice.
“But —” Eijun had started, voice a little hesitant.
“Get some rest,” Miyuki had interrupted, and Eijun hadn’t even noticed the comforting weight of Miyuki’s hand on his shoulder until it was gone. “And try not to kill yourself next time. Unless you’re a bit of a masochist.”
Eijun didn't remember much of what had happened afterwards, except the good scolding he’d gotten from his fencing coach for having skipped morning practice, and the oh -so-good feeling of having his head finally hit his pillow that night.
And Eijun didn’t know how they got here at all, how Eijun found himself leaving practice around the same time as Miyuki and Kuramochi, more often than not forced by Miyuki’s more-than intense gaze on him, settling into a new routine that had seemed to form organically.
At first, all of it was purely practical; Miyuki had insisted on not letting Eijun overwork himself, and the late-night walk back home was a little more loud, and a lot less frightening.
But bit by bit, the practical had woven itself into something more intricate, more gentle.
It was in the small things that Eijun felt the shift. In the quiet exchanges and fleeting glances from across the gymnasium, in the way Miyuki’s laughter gradually got louder with every day spent in each other’s company in the past year or so, and in the subtle brush of shoulders as they walked side by side, Eijun often feeling the ghost of its touch long after he’d closed the door to his apartment and bid Miyuki goodbye.
Eijun didn’t dare look too much into it. Didn’t allow himself to. Because the crash would hurt harder than the fall, when Eijun undoubtedly would realize life wasn’t one of those shoujo mangas he liked so much, and that Miyuki Kazuya was just one amongst many he’d never get the chance to love in the way his heart yearned for.
And so he locked those burgeoning feelings away, yet somehow, Miyuki Kazuya often found a way in through the cracks and crevices, through teasing smirks and playful jabs. Eijun couldn't help but wonder if he truly might be a masochist after all.
It was the school’s bell that broke him out of his thoughts when the clock struck eight, along with the few pats on backs and good job today s that resonated throughout the gymnasium.
He lingered after practice, as was becoming his habit, and the gymnasium gradually emptied, teammates filtering out one by one, his coach reminding him to lock the door when he was done. And then he was alone in the silence, save for the occasional distant echo of voices bouncing off the locker room showers.
Eijun took a deep breath and blinked unfocused eyes, gazing upon the empty room, savoring the quiet moment before he set to work. He got up and changed out into a lighter shirt, something more ample and that wasn’t drenched in sweat, and meticulously went through the motions of setting up the training dummy, because no one in their right mind would keep practicing after the intense two-and-a-half hours that came with Friday evenings.
But with the All-Japan on the line, and a very likely first place waiting for him in the upcoming weeks, slacking off was but a distant dream.
And so he set to work, taking his stance, the room silent except for the sound of his breathing and the steady tick of the gymnasium clock. The tape he’d placed on his fingers to relax his grip was already drenched in blood from popped blisters that often came during the high season, but Eijun didn’t bother replacing it — instead, he adjusted his grip on his saber, moving through his drills, each precise motion cutting through the air.
Lost in the rhythm of his movements, the familiar motions bringing a sense of calm to his restless mind, he hadn’t noticed the first creak of the gymnasium door and had passed it for the wind.
Eijun still turned, expecting to see an empty hallway, but instead found Miyuki standing there, changed out in soft sweats that hung low at the waist and one of Meiji’s purple sweaters. He was a little pink in the cheeks, surely freshly out of the shower, with one hand tucked casually in his pocket.
The gesture was quintessentially Miyuki — relaxed and confident in the way he held himself. “You never stop, do you?” Miyuki said, stepping into the gymnasium fully and letting the door close behind him, November wind quick to seep into the room.
Eijun paused mid-swing and lowered his saber, the tip touching the floor as he turned to face Miyuki fully. “As if you weren’t about to do the same thing,” Eijun retorted with a small smile, looking around the seemingly empty room. “Where’s Kuramochi-senpai?”
“It’s just me tonight,” Miyuki replied, coming closer until he was standing right next to the piste. He was holding a plastic bag in his other hand, and Eijun wondered if he’d come right after running some quick errands. “Believe it or not I was just checking if you were still here.”
“Why?”
And there it was, that absolutely wicked smirk that made Eijun go weak in the knees every single time, plastered on Miyuki’s face, eyes gleaming with the usual mischief. “Can’t I check in on my lovely kouhai?” Eijun couldn’t help but sputter as Miyuki laughed, and for a fleeting moment, Eijun wished he could kiss that smirk away, the thought sending a rush of heat to his cheeks before he tried to banish it from his mind.
“Noticed you’ve been out of it lately.” Miyuki’s tone softened, but so did his eyes when they flicked over Eijun’s tired form. “Thinking about the championship?”
I can’t stop thinking about you sounded confessional, so instead, Eijun sighed. “It’s hard not to,” Eijun admitted quietly, before sitting down on the piste, allowing himself a few moments of respite to check on the extent of his blisters. With his fencing gloves came the blood-stained tape and some skin residue that made Eijun grimace.
He could feel the weight of Miyuki’s gaze watching him quietly from above, before crouching down beside him. “You’re pushing yourself too hard,” Miyuki said, voice ever so gentle yet holding that usual firmness when he reached out and gently took Eijun’s hands in his own.
Eijun tensed slightly at the sudden touch, struck by the contrast between Miyuki’s assertiveness on the judo mat and the unexpected gentleness of his grasp; how a man who could effortlessly overpower opponents twice his size could hold onto Eijun like he was fine china.
His hands were less steady than he would have liked when Miyuki’s thumbs grazed over the tape that had started falling, inspecting the raw blisters. Eijun felt the tingling of Miyuki’s touch working its way up his spine, and he was sure the hairs on the front of his thighs must have been standing up just then. “How about a change of pace?” Miyuki said, looking up at Eijun, staring right into his eyes.
“Huh?” Eijun blinked, not quite understanding.
“Try judo with me.” And his eyes crinkled at the corners with a smile, with a suggestion that had Eijun’s heart stammering in his chest.
The idea caught Eijun off guard. The last time he’d been on tatami mats was when he was only five and part of the small club of his hometown. He probably still had some moves in him, but it wasn’t the problem.
The physical closeness it would entail made his pulse quicken, because for a moment, he imagined Miyuki’s hands on him in a different context, and his cheeks flushed with some more warmth, and the color, he was sure, could put tomatoes to shame.
Eijun still raised an eyebrow, reluctant smile tugging at his lips. “You think tossing me around on the mat is going to help?”
Miyuki stood up, and his grin widened, the mischief in his eyes sparkling. “It might,” he said, hand reaching out for Eijun to hold onto. “And it will be fun for me.”
Eijun grimaced, but he still took Miyuki’s hand nonetheless, feeling the firm yet gentle grip as he was pulled to his feet, Miyuki’s grasp careful as Eijun’s blisters throbbed with a dull ache. “Alright,” Eijun said. The closeness made his heart race, the warmth of Miyuki’s hand seeping into his skin, grounding him even as his mind spun with excitement and nervous anticipation. “Show me what you’ve got.”
And so Eijun followed Miyuki to the judo club’s locker room so they could change into their judogis, Miyuki handing him the neatly folded spare uniform he always kept on hand.
His heart raced as he pulled off his t-shirt and set it aside, the cold air of the locker room prickling his skin.
When he reached for the jacket Miyuki handed him, his thumbs grazed the fabric just slightly. It felt rougher against his skin, more substantial than his usual attire, heavier than what he was used to.
Eijun was all too aware that they were the only people in the locker room, and in the whole gymnasium in fact. He was all too aware of Miyuki standing in the locker next to his, getting undressed in the quiet confines of the locker room, his hard nipples catching Eijun’s eyes every single time. So Eijun swallowed, put on the jacket, then slid into the pair of uniform pants. They felt looser around his thighs than what he was used to with fencing, fabric baggy at the inner thigh seams, but it didn’t feel so uncomfortable, like this.
The jacket smelled like Miyuki’s detergent and a bit of that sandalwood cologne Eijun had caught whiffs of during the few times they’d walked to practice together in the wee hours of morning, when their paths met those of late-night party-goers on their way to the arms of Morpheus.
The scent was subtle, yet unmistakably Miyuki, wrapping around Eijun like a warm blanket in winter.
Miyuki’s voice was the one that broke the silence, pulling Eijun out of his reverie. “Ready?” he asked, teasing lilt in his voice, a grin playing on his lips.
When he turned to face Miyuki, Eijun instantly noticed the blue of Miyuki’s judogi, the way it complemented his tan, making it stand out more vividly, the deep hue contrasting beautifully with Miyuki’s skin and bringing out the warm undertones in his complexion. And Eijun found it hard to look away, his eyes following the lean lines of his body, and he had a hard time suppressing the rush of warmth running to his cheeks. “Yeah,” Eijun exhaled shakily, finally managing to tear his gaze away.
They left the locker room and stepped onto the tatami mats, the scent of it so distinctive. There was a lingering earthy smell, reminiscent of dried grass, and a mix of woven straw and the overpowering smell of disinfectant that had freshly been applied.
They went back over the basics quickly, and Eijun remembered the easiest of things from when he was only just a child and becoming Japan’s fencing champion two years in a row wasn’t yet on his mind. When his thoughts weren’t clouded by the very boy that was about to throw him to the ground.
Miyuki demonstrated simple moves, his movements fluid and precise as Eijun watched intently from the sides, trying to absorb every detail. When it was his turn, he found himself mimicking Miyuki’s movements with as much precision as he could muster, albeit with less grace.
But Miyuki’s hands guided him, correcting his posture, adjusting his grip. Eijun could feel the warmth of Miyuki’s hands through the heavy fabric of the judogi where they steadied him, his hold reassuring and firm and on this side of dizzying.
Because Eijun could feel Miyuki’s light breathing against his neck when they stood too close to one another, the subtle rise and fall of Miyuki’s chest brushing against his back, and the sensation sent shivers down Eijun’s spine, and he could only blame the fumbling of his moves on their too-close proximity and the too-wide grin that Miyuki wore.
It was unfair, really, how Miyuki could keep his composure while Eijun struggled with even just focusing.
“Relax.” Miyuki’s voice was so close to his ear, he could almost feel the pressure of his lips in speech right by his neck, as if dropping soft pecks. “You’re too tense. Shift your weight here” — Miyuki’s hands moved to Eijun’s hips, gently guiding them into position, and Eijun had a hard time holding down the various noises wanting to make their way up his throat —“and focus on your center of gravity.”
Eijun tried to steady his breathing, all too aware of every point of contact between them, of Miyuki’s fingers pressing into his sides, firm but gentle, helping him find the right stance. “Like this?” Eijun asked, voice coming out a bit breathless.
“Yes, just like that.” Miyuki’s left hand remained steady on Eijun’s waist, his right placing Eijun’s hands on his judogi. “Now try the throw.”
Eijun nodded, swallowing hard as he prepared to execute the move. He shifted his weight as Miyuki had shown him, feeling the subtle shift in his center of gravity. And then, in one fluid motion, he turned his hip, pulling Miyuki against him, and tried to lift him off the ground.
For a moment, he felt the exhilaration of having Miyuki’s weight shift against him, of the way their motions intertwined, the way everything clicked, but just as quickly, Eijun faltered. The raw blisters on his hand made it difficult to maintain his grip, his movements feeling clumsy and disjointed, and he couldn’t quite follow through with the full motion.
Miyuki, sensing the misstep, quickly steadied himself to anticipate a fall, placing a firm hand on Eijun’s torso and preventing a tumble.
The unexpected contact made Eijun’s breath hitch, and Eijun wondered if Miyuki could feel his rapid heartbeat right next to his pinkie.
And they stood there for a few seconds, faces just inches apart, and all Eijun could see were those amber eyes, so easy to get lost into. “You’re getting there,” Miyuki said softly, breath warm against Eijun’s skin.
There was mischief written in the wrinkles around Miyuki’s eyes though, and in the teasing lilt of his chapped lips, but Eijun wasn’t sure what to make of it. “But don’t lose your focus,” he added, eyes flashing with amusement.
Before Eijun could respond, Miyuki shifted his weight and, with one swift, practiced movement, swept Eijun off his feet.
But Miyuki still grabbed him by his forearm before his back could even touch the floor, easing him into the tatami mats slowly before letting go of him just a few centimeters off the ground, only to just as quickly follow Eijun to the ground and pin both his shoulders to the tatamis.
The world titled, and Eijun found himself flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling, all of Miyuki’s weight pressing him down to the mat, upper body lying on top of his, a hand holding firmly onto the fabric of his judogi, palm still pressed against the exposed part of his chest.
He blinked up at the ceiling, a rush of air escaping him, and for a moment, Eijun wasn’t sure if it was the impact of hitting the mat or the closeness he shared with Miyuki that rendered him breathless.
“You’re crazy?!” Eijun’s voice bounced off the gymnasium's walls, and Miyuki’s chuckle vibrated through his chest.
When Eijun looked up, he couldn’t help but notice the shit-eating grin spreading across Miyuki’s face, and without thinking, Eijun pushed it away gently with his hand, mostly so he could hide his own expression, unsure what it might say.
“You’re thinking too much,” Miyuki said as he got back to his feet swiftly, brushing off his judogi. “Don’t hurt yourself in the process!”
Eijun grumbled under his breath, still unsure of what to make of the off-hand insults after a year of enduring them, before sitting up slowly and adjusting his own judogi.
He could still feel the warmth where Miyuki’s hand had been, could still feel the ghost of fingers slipping under his judogi where it had come a little loose around his pectorals.
After a quick moment, Eijun felt Miyuki’s hand extending towards him. “Come on,” Miyuki said, voice softened, devoid of any teasing. “Let’s try that throw again.”
And Eijun hesitated for just a fraction of a second before accepting Miyuki’s hand, his grip firm and reassuring as it pulled him upright. Eijun looked away just to stop himself from watching the movement of muscle under skin, where the judogi had stretched out in all their roly-polying on the tatami mats.
He took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart, and refocused on the task at hand.
When they reset their positions, Eijun couldn’t help but steal glances at Miyuki. Because Eijun had spent countless minutes, maybe hours now, observing Miyuki, but he’d never truly looked .
Miyuki was tall, just a few centimeters taller than him. He was always clean shaven, even in the wee hours of morning, when the sun was barely even up and the birds not yet chanting. His shoulders were broad, stretching the fabric of his judogi taut across his back, outlining muscles that he’d surely spent years carefully honing into what they were today.
But then his eyes lingered on the subtle details. The curve of Miyuki’s neck, the way his hair curled slightly at the ends with sweat, and the faint trace of a mole under his left ear. It was small, barely visible and easily missed, but yet seemed significant, like a secret only Eijun knew, like he was the only one allowed to know.
Eijun shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. He could feel his fringe starting to stick to his forehead with perspiration, and the ache in his muscles started to burn uncomfortably.
Focusing was proving itself to be a harder challenge than he thought, because every movement, every glance, every word seemed to pull him in, distracting him from the very task at hand.
Miyuki was tapping his foot impatiently on the mat, the sound of it resonating loudly through the gym, and the rhythm was something between a distraction and a motivator for Eijun.
When Eijun attempted yet another throw, taking a deep breath, this time, it felt almost effortless. Miyuki went down smoothly, landing on the mat below him with a soft thud.
The silence that followed was broken only by Miyuki’s laugh, and when Eijun looked down below, Miyuki was wearing his usual, teasing grin. “You’re almost as good as me.”
“Really?!” And Eijun felt his smile widen at the praise, and pride settled inside his chest with glee.
Miyuki’s grin only widened further. “No,” he replied, and with a quick, practiced motion, he swept Eijun’s feet out from under him, sending him tumbling to the mat.
Eijun landed with more force than last time, and he wondered how he hadn’t yet broken something in his body. Before he could even register the pain or catch his breath though, Miyuki was there, pinning him down against the mat into yet another position, smile brighter than a thousand suns. “Don’t get cocky.” Miyuki said, face so close that Eijun could feel his breath against his skin.
But Eijun’s back wasn’t fully on the ground; he wasn’t out of options. Summoning all the strength he had left, Eijun managed to twist his body just enough to lock his legs around Miyuki’s waist. Using the leverage, he shifted his hips and threw Miyuki off balance.
Eijun saw the flash of surprise in Miyuki’s eyes as he was flipped over, and before he could even react, Eijun used his momentum to roll them over, ending up on top, with both hands on Miyuki’s judogi to hold both his shoulders down onto the mat.
“Got you,” he exclaimed, triumphant laughter erupting from him when he saw Miyuki’s expression, his cheeks red and lips slightly parted.
And Eijun’s eyes zeroed in on the nervous bob of Miyuki’s throat of their own accord, and he felt dizzy with it.
He blinked down at Miyuki, and just for a second let his fingers uncurl on Miyuki’s torso where they were previously holding onto the fabric, and they stilled where the skin was thickest, surely from a scar hidden right there. It was only for a second. And just as it began, it was over.
Eijun was too close. It was too much and he was too close but he couldn’t bring it in himself to move away, not when he could see Miyuki like this, in all his glory, hair feathered out against the mat like a cloud, pupils blown wide, the pores of his skin just slightly opened.
“You look pretty like this,” Miyuki said, boldly, and Eijun would laugh, or cry, if he could spare even the smallest amount of air for it.
It took a moment for Eijun to register the words, all the breath knocked out of his lungs as if he’d been the one getting pinned to the floor. “Huh?” Eijun stammered, brain struggling to keep up. “Miyuki Kazuya if this is one of your sick jokes again—”
Before Eijun could move to get away from Miyuki’s lap, there was a hand at his nape, firm but always oh so gentle, retaining him in place. “It’s not a joke,” Miyuki’s voice was a rasp, and his eyes were serious now, locking onto Eijun’s. “I mean it.”
Eijun’s breath hitched, and his heart was beating painfully fast and loud. He was sure Miyuki could feel it where the tip of his index pressed against his carotid. “Stop messing with me,” Eijun finally muttered, but he didn’t pull away, didn’t try to break free from Miyuki’s hold, as if unable to.
Miyuki’s grip on his nape softened, fingers tangling in the wispy little hair just there. “I’m not.”
All Eijun could do was stare, his eyes wide and searching, trying to find some hint of the usual teasing or mockery in Miyuki’s expression, and the deeper he delved into it, the softer Miyuki’s features got. And it was just warmth and honesty and something else that made Eijun’s stomach flip.
“Miyuki…” he began, his voice trembling, hesitating now, as if he hadn’t been dreaming of this very day for months now, ever since Miyuki’s touch had become more deliberate on his lower back, shifting from encouraging pats to gentler, longer strokes, ever since Miyuki’s eyes had started lingering on him just a bit longer during practice, and Eijun refused to look too much into it.
Miyuki’s hand, still at the nape of Eijun’s neck, gave a soft squeeze. “Yeah?” Miyuki said, voice softer than Eijun had ever heard it.
And it was all the encouragement Eijun needed.
Without thinking, Eijun leaned in, their breaths mingling, their lips meeting in a first kiss that was both small and desperate, a little off-center for a first one, but it didn’t stop him from going at it again, this time a gentle press that quickly grew more urgent.
Eijun melted into it, his hands finding their way to Miyuki’s jaw, cupping his face and holding on as if Miyuki might disappear if he let go. He winced just slightly from a jolt of pain — he’d forgotten all about the blisters — but the sweetness of their kiss overshadowed it.
Miyuki’s tongue teased the seam of Eijun’s lips, and Eijun parted them eagerly, letting Miyuki deepen the kiss, letting his hands slide from Eijun’s nape to his back, pulling him closer, and Eijun responded in kind, both hands slipping under Miyuki’s judogi after his belt came unloose, his fingers brushing against the heated skin of his toned stomach. Eijun felt the full-body shiver from Miyuki at the contact, a soft gasp escaping his lips.
And all of it was making Eijun feel lightheaded and grounded all at once.
But Miyuki, always so determined, shifted his weight and rolled them over, bringing Eijun under him. And he was gentle with it, always had been, careful with his fencing arm, cradling Eijun’s body against his to lessen the impact. The sudden movement had their bodies pressing more firmly together, and Eijun felt a jolt of electricity up his spine at the renewed closeness, all the while Miyuki’s lips never left his, the kiss now more intense as they got into the motion.
Miyuki’s body was soft, pressed flush against his. His hair, falling messily with gravity, tickled Eijun’s forehead, and inside his mouth, he was scorching hot and wet.
Eijun could feel Miyuki’s heartbeat against his own, a steady quick beat, yet a reassuring rhythm that grounded him even as everything else felt like it was spinning out of control.
The kiss continued, fierce and unrelenting as they rolled over again and shifted on the mat, Eijun not quite able to stop his hips from moving where they were slotted against Miyuki’s, seeing stars behind his eyelids as the pleasure surged through his body and a small groan escaped him.
And the world outside their embrace faded into irrelevance as they lost themselves in all of it.
This time, Miyuki didn’t stay down for long, and with a quick move sat up, bringing Eijun with him. Eijun laughed, breathless against Miyuki, the sound lost in the insignificant space between them.
In yet another press of lips, their teeth kept clinking together, because stupidly neither of them could seem to stop smiling.
So Miyuki’s mouth moved from Eijun’s lips to his jawline, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down his neck, and Eijun could only tilt his head back, exposing more of his skin, and he felt a shiver of delight as Miyuki’s lips brushed against his pulse point.
Eijun’s eyelids fluttered closed as sparks of white appeared everywhere around the gym, and in the silence he could feel his heart racing, hard inside his chest and impossibly loud in his ears, so fast he couldn’t even count the beats.
Eijun’s hands were everywhere, exploring every inch of Miyuki they could reach, pushing off the judogi from his shoulders, fingers digging into the muscles of his shoulders as Miyuki’s teeth grazed the skin of his clavicles, tearing a gasp from Eijun.
“Sawamura—” Miyuki said, a prayer made in the dip of his collarbones, and his breath cooled the spots of wet that his kisses left on his neck.
Eijun shivered. He dragged Miyuki into a kiss, one he could participate in too, and it was hot and impatient and more than a little dirty; when he licked into Miyuki’s mouth, it was with force, and with purpose, setting a rhythm that soon had Miyuki moaning inside his mouth.
Miyuki’s hands tightened on Eijun’s waist as he guided them both back down onto the tatami mats, Eijun ending up on his back yet again, Miyuki so gentle with it Eijun thought he might melt.
He was red and panting, boneless against Miyuki’s body, and yet he couldn’t stop himself, couldn’t stop his hands from exploring more of those broad shoulders he’d too often seen peeking from under his judogi after a match well played, couldn’t stop himself from raising his hips to meet Miyuki’s halfway, couldn’t stop kissing Miyuki and tasting his mouth just to feel every hitch in his breath. He didn’t want to stop.
But it was noise outside that made them look up, some students laughing outside, surely on their way back from the dining hall, voices carried by the wind and echoing faintly into the gym.
They froze against each other, eyes wide as they reluctantly pulled apart, but Miyuki’s hand lingered on Eijun’s waist for a moment longer before it slowly moved up to brush away the stray bangs sticking to Eijun’s forehead. The touch was ever so gentle, almost reverent, as if Miyuki was absorbing the minutiae of Eijun’s skin in the library of his mind with his fingertips. “You’re unexpectedly handsy,” Miyuki rasped, a little breathless still.
Eijun wanted to tease back, but all he could do was stare into Miyuki’s eyes, black pupils devouring amber, gaze flicking every few seconds to his lips, admiring his handy work, red and swollen and spit-slicked and just on this side of perfect. His judogi was halfway off his shoulders, revealing more skin than it covered.
Trailing down, his eyes landed on a scar that marred the otherwise smooth skin of Miyuki’s shoulder. The skin was paler, thicker there, and its uneven texture indicated it was still recent, nothing like some of Eijun’s own that he’d gotten when he was just a child.
“My third year of high school.”
“Huh?” Eijun could feel his voice crack around the word, still a little rough from all the kissing, and cleared his throat, shooting a questioning look Miyuki’s way.
“Can see you staring at the scar on my shoulder.” Miyuki shrugged, but it wasn’t as casual as it usually was. “Rotator cuff. From over-practice. Wasn’t too pretty and I had a very embarrassing midnight walk to the coach’s dorm, just two days after he’d told me to slow down on practice a bit more.”
Eijun’s fingers hovered near the scar, hesitant yet drawn to it. “Does it still hurt?”
“Not really,” Miyuki trembled under his touch. “Could have healed without surgery but if I didn’t want my judo career to end with high school…”
Eijun’s hands trailed back up, cupping Miyuki’s jaw, his thumb brushing along his cheek, sliding over his bottom lip. “It must have been scary,” he whispered, as if anyone else could hear them in the stillness of the evening, and he couldn't resist leaning in and capturing Miyuki’s lips once again. “I’m glad it’s better now.”
Miyuki looked soft right there, eyes half-lidded and lips slightly parted, still a little breathless. And the sight of him like this, vulnerable and open, sent a warm feeling pooling low in Eijun’s belly, spreading out like molasses.
Lifting himself up, Miyuki sat back on his heels right then, pulling Eijun up with him when the sound of voices got too close again, sitting just far enough away from each other so that it looked less incriminating.
“Should we keep going?” Eijun asked, having enjoyed judo more than he thought he would have, all of it a nice distraction from his other pending worries that weren’t just Miyuki Kazuya.
His eyes searched Miyuki’s face, looking for a hint of agreement, but instead of an answer, Miyuki’s gaze shifted downwards, taking Eijun’s hands in his gently. His blisters were raw and angry, some of them oozing with a mixture of clear liquid and blood, the skin around them red and swollen. “No.” And Eijun winced; whether it was from the disappointment or feeling the sting in his hands now that the adrenaline was wearing off, he wouldn’t know. “You’ve popped all your blisters.”
When Miyuki stood up and walked over to retrieve the forgotten plastic bag he’d brought with him earlier, Eijun glanced up and noticed the spatters of blood on Miyuki’s judogi, dark brown stains stark against the deep blue of the fabric, and all of it looked a little bit like a crime scene.
“We’re gonna tend to these,” Miyuki said, rummaging through the bag and pulling out some antiseptic and gauze. “And eat famichiki,” he added with a grin, holding up the fried chicken. Eijun’s eyes widened in surprise and delight, surely looking like a kid on Christmas morning. “Your favorite right?”
And his heart swelled, because Eijun had mentioned it was his favorite in passing months ago, and Miyuki remembered. He somehow always did. “Yeah,” Eijun whispered, cheeks flushing hot and red, and he had to bite his lips so they wouldn’t spread into an even wider, unabashed grin.
As Miyuki began cleaning Eijun’s blisters, the antiseptic’s cool sting contrasted with the warmth of Miyuki’s touch. He winced just slightly, too overwhelmed by the gesture to focus on the pain.
Miyuki’s hands moved with practiced ease, wrapping the gauze around Eijun’s palm. “And you…” He brought Eijun’s hands to his lips and kissed each knuckle oh so gently, his touch feather-light, and it felt like a promise, each delicate press of Miyuki’s lips seeming to convey a silent vow. “You’ll do great in your tournament.”
Eijun looked up at Miyuki, through the veil of his eyelashes, eyes shimmering with gratitude. “And you?”
The hand in his shifted, and suddenly their fingers were entwined. “I’ll cheer you on in the stands.”
Eijun’s heart skipped a beat, the moment so delicate it felt as though time itself had slowed, and his next question came naturally. “And us?”
“I trust we’ll figure something out together,” Miyuki said into Eijun’s shoulder, and it came out muffled, yet so clear to Eijun. And now it was Miyuki’s turn to blush, heat rushing over him from raw honesty, giving himself away so completely.
Eijun felt the warmth of Miyuki’s blush seep into his own skin, a comforting heat that spread through him, settling deep in the pit of his belly.
“Together, huh?” Eijun whispered, let the concept roll around in his mind, savoring its depth.
And it didn’t feel so bad.