The Winner Is…

Mizuki and Fuji play head games with each other. Psychological Drama with Porn, I-5, D/s overtones

Mizuki Hajime knew that Shuusuke had had a bad day. Even if he hadn’t known from other sources, one look at the way he was walking would have told the story: stride a bit longer than usual, feet coming down a touch too emphatically.

More significantly, he was walking alone.

All of which meant that Hajime had chosen what should be the right time for his approach. It was hard to be sure, with Shuusuke. But, then, that was what this was all about. And Shuusuke had just come close enough to identify who was leaning against the wall of this particular, usefully deserted, stretch of his way home, which meant it was time to begin. Hajime swallowed his nerves and called out.

“Shuusuke. How good to see you again.” Shuusuke didn’t acknowledge his presence by so much as the twitch of an eyebrow. Perfect. “Why, Shuusuke, I’m injured,” Hajime added, “and here everyone always says you have such excellent manners, even when you’re angry. Or, should I say, especially when you’re angry.”

Shuusuke checked in front of him and spoke without turning his head.

“Don’t overestimate the tolerance afforded you because you’re keeping Yuuta company.”

“Oh, I don’t,” Hajime replied, hoping that he was speaking the truth. “You’re very careful of your brother’s things. Do you think he’s all that averse to sharing?” That got Shuusuke to look at him, disbelief flickering briefly in the hard, brilliant blue.

“Excuse me?” Shuusuke said, as though he thought he might genuinely have misheard. Hajime smiled. He knew perfectly well that the thought of touching anything belonging to his brother truly never would cross Shuusuke’s mind. Shuusuke was predictable when it came to Yuuta—and only when it came to Yuuta. If he was lucky, Shuusuke wouldn’t know how sure Hajime was of that, though.

“Yuuta knows I want you, too,” he explained smoothly. “I told him.”

And that turned Shuusuke all the way toward him, eyes narrowing dangerously.


Hajime leaned back a little more ostentatiously against the wall.

“He asked. I told him. Surely,” he looked at Shuusuke through his lashes, “you wouldn’t want me to be dishonest with him.” Before Shuusuke calmed himself enough to dissect that particularly specious bit of logic chopping, Hajime continued in a thoughtful tone. “I was a bit distracted at the time, but if I recall correctly, I mentioned that I expected to get you, too, because I can give you something you want.”

A subtle snarl twisted Shuusuke’s mouth.

“And what,” he inquired, low and cutting, “could you imagine you might have that I would want?”

He was still too far away, Hajime decided. One more goad, then, and pray he got the timing right.

“Well, I have Yuuta, for one,” he noted. Shuusuke took one long step toward him, and he forced the next sentence past the tightness in his chest. “But you’re right, it isn’t something I have.”

Shuusuke paused, less than arm’s reach from him, and Hajime breathed again.

“It’s what you want,” he said, quietly, “and what I can give you.”

Shuusuke raised a devastatingly eloquent eyebrow. The part of Hajime’s mind that insisted on focusing on inconsequentialities wondered whether he had learned that by observing Atobe. But this was the first critical moment, and it was only a tiny part. He reached out and laced his fingers lightly through Shuusuke’s. Taking Shuusuke’s hands with him, he raised his own and laid them back against the wall by his head.

“Control,” he murmured. “Anything you want. Anything you choose.”

From Shuusuke’s sudden stillness, he knew he had called it right. Exultation that he had the pattern correct battled with anxiety over what his being correct meant for the near future. But just the first step wasn’t enough for him, and he didn’t, quite, want to stop. Shuusuke was leaning in just a bit, starting to press his hands into the brick.

“Anything?” he repeated, and there was a darker edge to the soft voice now. Hajime bit down a shudder; not yet.

“Anything,” he agreed.

“And you get what out of this? You enjoy being controlled?” There was disbelief in Shuusuke’s tone, and Hajime had to admit it was justified. He answered with part of the truth, the part that he hoped would see him through this in one piece.

“I enjoy power. Strength. Having it is nice. Being touched by it is… also enjoyable. You are very strong.”

Shuusuke was leaning harder now, hands closed around Hajime’s wrists.

“Strong enough that even throwing yourself on my non-existent mercy excites you?” he asked, pleasantly.

Now Hajime released the shudder, let his smirk slip away to show the fear and anticipation underneath as he raised his eyes to Shuusuke’s.

“It terrifies me,” he said with complete honesty. “I don’t have any illusions about you, Shuusuke. You made sure I wouldn’t. But I want this.”

The sharp eyes drilled into him, as Shuusuke closed the last distance between them. He lowered his head and ran his lips down Hajime’s neck, nuzzled past his unbuttoned collar.

Bit down savagely.

Hajime jerked sharply against the body pressing his to the wall, a harsh choke drawing out into a groan as Shuusuke’s lips slid softly back up. He slumped back against the brick, trembling under Shuusuke’s hands, breathing fast. Waiting for what Shuusuke would choose. Shuusuke drew back enough to study him.

“You really are serious,” he observed.

“Yes,” Hajime whispered, leaning his head against the wall.

The slow smile that curved Shuusuke’s mouth would have sent any sane person running, very far and very fast. Just as well, probably, that Hajime had never made any strong claims to sanity when he was in pursuit of a goal he wanted.

“Come with me.” Shuusuke led the way toward his house, and Hajime followed. No one else was home, which Hajime took as a sign of favor from fate. Shuusuke led him up to his bedroom and gestured, as if politely, for Hajime to precede him. Suspecting what the point of this was, Hajime didn’t turn around once he had entered.

He was distantly pleased with another correct perception when he felt Shuusuke against his back, and arms reached around him. Long fingers undid the knot of his tie, worked loose the buttons of his shirt, and then the button of his slacks, delicately drew away his clothing and only brushed his skin every now and then. Shuusuke’s fingers sliding over his stomach made the muscles twist and jump in response, and Hajime struggled to breathe. Shuusuke’s hands on his shoulders guided him to the bed, pressed him down on his back.

Shuusuke stood back, regarding him for a long moment, and then briskly stripped off his own clothes. Hajime let out his breath, with silent thanks to all the gods he didn’t believe in. There had been a high probability that Shuusuke would choose sex over outright violence. It paralleled Hajime’s relationship with Yuuta in a way that would appeal to Shuusuke’s mind, whether he admitted it or not. But the probability hadn’t been high enough for Hajime to have real confidence in it.

Having some idea of where things were going gave Hajime a measure of equanimity as Shuusuke gathered his wrists in one hand and pinned them over his head. Another long look, another unnerving smile, and Shuusuke ran his other hand down Hajime’s thigh, up his side.


Hajime’s eyes widened as the gentleness of Shuusuke’s touch registered. Soft caresses, firm enough not to tickle, soothing his body, seducing him toward pleasure. Shuusuke’s eyes glinted down at him.


Such a small word to contain so much challenge. A challenge to submit, not just to domination, but to pleasure at Shuusuke’s hands. Hajime knew that if he accepted it, if he relaxed that much, it would make the shock exponentially worse if Shuusuke chose to alter his approach and use pain after all. He knew that Shuusuke knew it too, and was aware of their mutual knowledge.

That had, after all, been the pattern of their first match on the court.

That was Shuusuke’s challenge; his suggestion that Hajime would not actually be able to give him the measure of control he wanted. Hajime was shaking again. But this was why he was here. He would bet on this. If Shuusuke wanted to truly unsettle him, he would not, in fact, repeat himself. He would stay with pleasure.

And enjoy the edge of uncertainty he had placed Hajime on.

One last, convulsive, shudder, and Hajime forced himself to go limp under Shuusuke’s grasp.

“Anything,” he reiterated, voice breaking even on that single word.

“Hmmm,” Shuusuke murmured, thoughtfully. And then that appallingly gentle touch returned, and Hajime pushed aside his perfectly reasonable fear and abandoned himself to the pleasure his longest standing opponent seemed to want to bring him. And it was always, and only, pleasure. Shuusuke didn’t tease him, or seek to startle him; only caressed and stroked until he was hard and panting, arching under Shuusuke’s touch, legs spread wantonly. Shuusuke answered the pleading look Hajime didn’t have the coherence to give voice to, and rubbed a finger softly against his entrance, drawing a long moan from him as Shuusuke pressed, slowly, in.

The rather disconnected thought crossed Hajime’s mind, that it was probably an awkward stretch for Shuusuke, who hadn’t once released Hajime’s wrists. But, yes, this was right, Shuusuke would want to watch his face. And then the feeling of Shuusuke’s fingers thrusting into him derailed any attempt at thought.

Shuusuke prepared him thoroughly, and when he set a hand under one of Hajime’s knees and pressed it back, opening him, when he slid into Hajime, there was still no pain. The layered pleasure was becoming a pressure in him, instead. Hajime couldn’t even cry out as Shuusuke’s first, long thrust drove home, slowly, slowly. Shuusuke was still for a moment, letting him catch his breath, and then he was moving, long and slow, drowning Hajime in a flood of hot, electric sensation, building it higher. As soon as Hajime found his voice again Shuusuke leaned forward, thrust harder, and the world turned white, and the moan turned into something like a scream. Shuusuke didn’t let up, and the the jolts of pleasure unwound Hajime’s muscles and broke the world into licks of unbearable heat, and a true scream clawed its way out of his throat as he came.

It didn’t take Shuusuke long to follow him, and the shallow, rocking thrusts as he did coaxed the last possible response out of Hajime, leaving him utterly unstrung and overwhelmed by the care Shuusuke had taken and the pleasure he had given. A few tears of sheer overload spilled from Hajime’s eyes. Shuusuke, recovering himself, looked down at them.

Bent down and kissed them away.

It was a gesture of triumph, the kind of graciousness in victory that only drives the fact of defeat home. They both knew Shuusuke felt no tenderness toward him whatsoever. For one moment Hajime thought it might break him, that he would not be able to stop the tears or the trembling.

But as he closed his eyes he also knew that he had won. Shuusuke had overwhelmed him, reduced him to prostration, quite literally. But Hajime had successfully calculated and predicted all of it: the pattern of Shuusuke’s actions, the branches that the pattern might take. Hajime had won on his true chosen ground, and the shame of his first defeat was washed away.

That thought was enough to calm him and still him. He thought some of it probably showed in his eyes as he opened them and looked up, because Shuusuke cocked his head and gave him one last long, thoughtful look before finally letting Hajime go. It took a few tries before he gained his feet.

“The bathroom is down the hall on the left,” Shuusuke informed him quietly.

“Thank you,” Hajime returned in a similar tone. He snagged his clothes on the way out, and returned, once prepared for polite society again, to stand in the doorway. “I’ll see you later, Shuusuke,” he said, exhaustion draining the usual edge from his voice.

“Yes,” Shuusuke agreed, with a faint smile.

He wondered, as he made his occasionally wobbly way back to St. Rudolph, just how much of his real purpose Shuusuke had divined, and what form of retribution he could expect if Shuusuke took offense at losing in any way. Well, he’d figure it out. He was confident of that, again.

He certainly wouldn’t say no to a little extra reassurance, after that experience, though, and he let his feet take him to Yuuta’s door rather than his own. He had never been more grateful for Yuuta’s tendency not to lock his door, which let him walk straight to where Yuuta sat, and sink down and lay his head on Yuuta’s knees without the need for greetings or explanations.

Not that the latter seemed very necessary. After a startled moment he felt Yuuta’s long fingers combing through his hair, and they sighed almost in unison.

“You went to Aniki, didn’t you?” Yuuta more stated than asked. Hajime nodded slightly. “Did he hurt you?” Yuuta wanted to know.

The question was so utterly unanswerable that Hajime started laughing. And then it was a bit difficult to stop. Yuuta slid out of his chair and pulled Hajime into his arms, as he chortled, rubbing his back until he calmed, gasping for breath.

“I invited him to rip out my soul and wring it like a washcloth,” Hajime said, eventually. “He accepted. But, no, he didn’t hurt me.” His head was resting on Yuuta’s shoulder, but Hajime could almost see the Look Yuuta gave him.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have bad hobbies?” Yuuta muttered. That set Hajime off again. Yuuta scooted them both around until he could lean back against his bed, pulling Hajime to lean on his chest.

“I won, Yuuta,” Hajime said, softly. “It was the only way I could win.”

“On your own terms,” Yuuta filled in. “Yes. I know.”

Which was fairly impressive, considering that Hajime had never told him what he wanted with or from Shuusuke, but this was Yuuta, after all. He understood that kind of thing.

“Yes, you do understand,” Hajime mused, only half aware he was speaking out loud. “I love that you understand.”

Yuuta’s startlement telegraphed in his moment of stillness, but he seemed to decide that his boyfriend was just more strung out than previously suspected, because he didn’t answer. Only gathered Hajime a bit closer. It was pleasant to rest against him. Hajime didn’t realize he was dozing until Yuuta woke him up so they could move up to the bed.

In the course of moving, Yuuta noticed the now-dark bruise above Hajime’s collarbone, and gave him another Look, clearly questioning the claim that Shuusuke hadn’t hurt him.

“It was just the one moment during the initial negotiations,” Hajime assured him. Yuuta bristled anyway, glaring at the bite mark. He had the family possessive streak, all right, Hajime reflected. Fair enough; Hajime did, too, without the excuse of genetics.

Which was partly why, when Yuuta gave him a soft kiss, he answered passionately, drawing Yuuta’s tongue into his mouth, inviting him to taste that there had been no intruders. It was the one gesture, the one advance, Shuusuke had not made. When Yuuta drew back, a little breathless, Hajime gave him a pleased and sleepy smile.

They twined around each other, Yuuta still running his fingers through Hajime’s hair as he drifted off. He was almost entirely asleep when he thought he heard Yuuta murmur to him.

“We both understand, Mizuki. And we’ll always find a way to win. Always.”