title: illust
genre: pointless smut that tries to make a point just like all south park episodes preach an underlying message. matt and trey should really consider hiring me after grad school (...bitch.)
pairings: kirihara akaya x marui bunta
warnings: language & graphic content
rating: M
word count: 1794
frequency: standalone excerpt
update rate: n/a
disclaimer: i own only the scrabble words i played.
prompt: one sunshine-filled day, a dallop a daisy and i began to play scrabble over facebook. during this particular game, we made lots of naughty words out of our limited resources, which included crappy hands like (I I T A U U O). then i decided to write them all in a fic that wasn't as dark as some of my other stuff, and i succeeded, albeit taking a whole month.

the title, illust, comes from a collection of rikkai-centric artwork by randomblue
scrabble words are written in bold.
set in the middle of apples of apples, after niou had broken up with marui for some time. kirihara is also no longer addicted to cocaine, much to the chagrin of mizuki.

(1) notum is the singular form of nota, the original word played on the board. it refers to the dorsal part of the thoracic segment of an insect.
(2) fiord is an alternative spelling of fjord.
(3) li is an obsolete unit of measurement, equivalent to 500 meters in modern terms.


"Bunta?" Kirihara said. His boyfriend was in a testy mood since he flunked his differential equations test, a mood that clouded his agility and spunkiness during tennis practice. Before Yukimura called it a day, he had already retreated back to the clubroom. Kirihara saw him nursing his cheek.

"You all right?"

Marui refused to answer.

"There's a gout of blood on your face," said Kirihara, moving closer to where Marui sat. "Want a towel?"

The boy took one look at the extended rag, then at the pouting eyes of his lover, and slid off the bench.

Kirihara glowered.

"You know, you're being kind of bratty, Bun-chan."

"Yeah?" came Marui's voice, muffled by a wall of lockers. "Go fuck yourself."

"Buuunta," Kirihara whined.

"Wipe that look off your face, I can see all the way from here."

"No," corrected Kirihara. "You can't. You just want me so badly you're still seeing my afterimage."

"Akaya," Marui said. "I told you, I'm not in the mood for it today. Being dopey isn't going to soften me up."

Kirihara's smirk grew wider. "Maybe not, but – " He drew a bottle from his backpack. " – I have something that might."

In spite of himself, Marui poked his head around the lockers. His face was still bloody from the place Sanada had slapped him, but the blood brought out the redness of his hair. It took a moment before he registered the label.

"Belgian aleWhere the fuck did you steal that, Akaya!"

"Ahh well," Kirihara stretched, "Yukimura's mom gave one to me, you know, for celebratory purposes."

"No, I don't know. What the hell do you have to celebrate?"

"For having a boyfriend who doesn't look like a toad," said Kirihara, as he got up with his bottle of ale. "Who runs in this zig zag motion on the court..."

Marui sighed and continued to stuff his jacket into the locker, straining to reach for his showering supplies.

"...and does his cute little metal bell hit..."

He failed to hear Kirihara unscrewing the drink.

"...while eating a delicious meal, which consists of a chocolate torte, a bag of espresso beans, and a tube of strawberry lipgloss..."

"I'll give you a delicious meal," muttered Marui. A bottle of shampoo thudded to the ground.

"...but unfortunately..."

Kirihara closed in.

"...has no alcoholic tolerance whatsoever."

Marui suddenly found himself inches away from Kirihara. Before he had a chance to react, he was thrown – with surprising force – against the west-facing wall. The more the sun dipped behind a thicket of trees, the more Kirihara's face glowed with a naughty expression.

"I am this close to hitting you across the head," snarled Marui.

"I wouldn't recommend that," said Kirihara. "You might get carried away..."


"Are you sure you don't want a towel?"


"An iced towel?"


"Because, you know, you're flushing pretty badly."


"Six," chanted Kirihara, sticking his tongue out at Marui.

Marui stopped struggling. "Ne, Aka-chan."


"I've figured out what I did wrong on problem six," he smiled.


In that instant Kirihara's grip eased, Marui whipped around, once again glaring at his lover. "One of these days, an opponent is going to exploit your gullibility," he said.

Kirihara, who was momentarily surprised, caught Marui's arm in mid-swing. "One of these days," he snickered, "I'm going exploit my fast recovery time."

"Let go of me!" Marui yelled, kicking Kirihara in the shins.

"Now, now. That's no way to treat your kouhai."

Kirihara leaned over Marui's hair and gave his wound a nice peck.

"Akaya, you bitch, I'm not playing around!"

"Does that feel better?" asked Kirihara, ignoring Marui's protests.

"Find someone else to mess with if you're so horny!"

Kirihara ran his finger down Marui's spine in a slow, deliberate gait. "Oh, I don't know..." he slurred.

"...There's no one with a cuter squeal than you."


In an accidental twist, Marui's shoes slipped off against a long, vertical pipe that had once tripped many first-years unfamiliar with the clubhouse. Their tussle left streaks of moss across the ground. Marui was no longer furious toward Kirihara, or the fact that Kirihara smelled like stolen body spray. He was unleashing something that had been fermenting inside for days. Kirihara watched, bemusedly, as Marui attempted to claw out of his hold; he might as well have been a bison trying to climb out of a fiord. No matter how many sweets Marui devoured, he still had poor endurance compared to his teammates, especially after an afternoon full of penalty laps.

"You know, you're really cute when you're angry," whispered Kirihara.

Marui thrashed even harder. Within seconds, Kirihara would reach the edge of his boxers. Until then, he was going to put up the most difficult tantrum he could muster.

"You know what'd be cuter?" Kirihara asked, pressing Marui firmly against his abs. "If you lost those clothes."

"They're not coming off on their own," hissed Marui.

"That's all right," he laughed. "If I remember correctly, you didn't have anything to drink after practice."

Kirihara dug into the base of Marui's spine. "This ought to quench your thirst."

"You bast – "

– The moment Marui gasped, his mouth was full of ale. Kirihara held his head firmly in place while he forced the bottle between his lips. Incomprehensible noises issued from the corner. Liquid poured down the sides of Marui's neck. When his left sleeve became completely saturated, the drink continued into his showering towel, which laid crumpled by his feet. Kirihara pushed the bottle harder.

"Your attitude isn't helping, Bunta," Kirihara taunted. "It'd be a sin not to finish this stuff."

Marui felt his head grind into marble. He was twitching, like a half-dead wasp being poked in the notum.

"Relax," Kirihara breathed.

Another word, and Marui knew he was going to lose it. He hated himself for feeling that heat on his neck – that slow, torpid, but rhythmic breathing in his ear, that undetectable parasite thriving in a host as susceptible as him. His nose began to sting from inhaling unreasonable amounts of air; now that his mouth was clogged, he had no choice but to overwork himself for oxygen. His eyes began to water, too, from looking at anywhere but Kirihara. How much would Niou pay to see him now?

Then, out of nowhere, his throat began to burn.

Somehow, the ale had made it past his sieve of teeth and into the rest of his body. There was no choice anymore.

After four large gulps, Marui began to slouch, his socks providing little compatibility or friction against the tiled floor. If sugar bypassed his metabolism, so did alcohol. The room buzzed out of focus, and Marui draped both arms around Kirihara to avoid falling. The bottle was tossed into the trash bin.

Kirihara grabbed Marui's head to speak again.

"I've won."

"Mmm," Marui said, not bothering to contradict. It was true. A drugged Marui was no match for Kirihara, who wasted no time stripping his uniform.

"Practice... end..." Marui mumbled.

"One step ahead of you," said Kirihara loftily. "Double bolted, preset alarm, with a maintenance sign saying this room's plumbing is under construction."


"...Taught me some tricks, yeah," completed Kirihara. "God, you look hot topless..."

His hands roved to the back of Marui's hips.

"...And even better nude... but we'll work our way there..."

Marui yelped. Kirihara had just sunk the nib of his teeth into his shoulder, and was trailing toward his chin.

"Keep eating cakes," Kirihara muttered, in between bites. "You taste like what you eat."

"T-that's not always t-true," whimpered Marui.

"You know what I saw yesterday?" Kirihara pressed on, kneading his hands into Marui's thighs. "I saw fukubuchou's wiener."

"Don't joke."

"I love how you're trying so hard to be sarcastic. Why can't you try just as hard being nice to me?"

"Fuck o-off," said Marui unconvincingly.

"From what I saw, it was probably rape. Buchou yanked fukubuchou right out class," beamed Kirihara, "and sensei let him go, even though they were taking midterms that day. 'Mura must have had a very solid excuse to pull that off... well, despite whatever he told sensei, they just ended up having sex. And 'Mura, he stripped fukubuchou senseless... he reduced him to a cowering little brat begging him to stick his dick in him like an ox, or whatever -- "

" -- Your pride for buchou is nauseating," said Marui, but he was much more relaxed, now that Kirihara was telling him a story instead of feeling him up. Since when did comforting a lover derail into fucking? He had never seen his boyfriend this manipulative... uncontrollably aroused, yes, but he usually expressed that with distemper...

"So then, I crouched a little closer to the door, 'cause I wanted to make some blackmail material. And believe me, this was worth every moment of crouching. Did you know they had pet names for each other, like 'piggy' and 'runty'? I would have ran several li for that information alone! I mean, the way they said it..."

Kirihara suddenly realized he was in still in the middle bending Marui to his will.

"...the way they said it was like 'Haru circling around his prey," he purred, adopting a completely different tone. He slipped his hands into Marui's boxers and picked up where he left off.

"Fuck -- what are you... unn..."

Kirihara took one finger and stroked Marui's cock, in the same deliberate way he had calming Marui down.

"N-no... please..."

"Good things come to people who wait," Kirihara said.

"S-stop – aaah – no... not there... s-stop, please... no..."

Kirihara laughed and kicked his backpack out of the way to make more room. A plastic bag tumbled out of the opening.

"What's... th-that...?" Marui panted.

"Blue grama," replied Kirihara.

"Isn't that... perennial grass... n-not native here...?"

"Yes. God, how do you know everything?"

Marui widened his eyes. "How the fuck...?"

Kirihara tipped his head to the entrance. "'Haru's. Not mine."

"Why..." Marui began, but Kirihara dissolved the rest of his words with long, hungry kiss.

"'Haru..." he explained, in between taking breaths, "...chemistry... discovered... mix... potential... reaction... experiment... psychoactive..."

Marui broke away, alarmed. "Are you smoking that?"

"No! I – "

" – When was the last time you touched cocaine?"

"Two months," said Kirihara proudly. "Like I promised."

When Marui looked doubtful, Kirihara wrapped his arms around Marui's frame.

"I wouldn't lie to you," he said.

Marui took one last glance at the bag, then shifted into a more comfortable position. If Kirihara was honest, he filled a void in Marui's life; if he wasn't, he still filled the same void. There was no distinction between truth and fantasy, except truth was supposed to be better. For once, he decided to believe Kirihara. ♥