Lol this. I don't even. The idea just came into my head one day and I was like "Hey, I should do this," and here we are a month later.
I don't own Niou and Kirihara, but boy do I wish I do.
Their relationship was not love. Their relationship was a release of tension, a competition, a way to get at each other without beating each other senseless. Despite this agreement, there was still pain taken on both sides—it usually came in the form of bites and scratches, sometimes a pulled muscle or a bump on the head from rolling into something while they grappled at each other for the top. Kirihara won these fights just as often as Niou won them. Even if he didn't win, he'd accept the loss and strive to beat him next time.
These usually happened after practice, during which one of them had jerked on the other's chain a little too much. Other times, both of them were angry. Still other times, it was just routine, to remind whoever happened to lose that day who was better. It was the latter this time.
Kirihara and Niou deliberately took their time in the locker room, spending most of it in the showers, even after the water ran cold and Marui asked if they'd both drowned. Yukimura had left them the keys when they came out of the shower, drying off and dressing partially to give them time to leave. Kirihara's locker shut with a finite crash. He turned to face his sempai.
Niou looked back at him with a sneaky, feral grin. Kirihara hated that cocky smirk. Without warning, Niou found himself tackled to the floor, wiry arms wrapped around his torso. So began the wrestling match. The silver-haired trickster rolled, moving to pin the devil beneath him. Sharp teeth bit into his neck, hands tried to restrain his arms while feet sought to upset him and get him on his back. He fought the grip, pulling his head away from the mouth. In the same movement, Niou felt a shove to his left side—off balance, he swore as his head came down hard on the floor, Kirihara moving quickly to straddle him and pin his arms. Before Kirihara's left arm touched his, he pulled his hand away, throwing the younger one for a loop. He let out a surprised yelp as Niou flipped him on his front and pinned his arms by the shoulders.
Kirihara growled viciously and reached back to jab Niou's sides—he yipped and jerked his arms away. Kirihara tackled him again and stuck his wrists to the floor, bracing most of his weight on his arms. Niou put up a mighty struggle, getting a leg up under Kirihara's stomach and levering him off. The silver-haired boy snagged his hands and pinned him flat, gazing serenely into the challenging apple-green eyes. Kirihara fought as hard as he could, but Niou held him firmly, though not without effort.
The devil tired eventually, stilling and glaring up at him. Niou's face split into a smirk. "I win again, bratling."
Kirihara let out a defeated, disgusted noise. That was three times in a row now; this was getting ridiculous. "Call me bratling one more time—" he didn't finish the sentence—Niou crushed their mouths together.
They didn't kiss often, and when they did, it was to shut up whoever was talking. It wasn't gentle. Neither cared, as long as the action served its purpose. Kirihara pulled away a moment later, lips already bruised. Niou's bottom lip had split, having caught on a tooth in haste; he could see the swelling mark and taste his blood in his mouth.
Before he could thoroughly process this information, Niou had dipped again and bitten his neck, nimble hands popping the half-done buttons on his shirt. Kirihara grunted at the sting, attempting to squirm away and push Niou on his back. This was part of the reason he hated when Niou topped—the older boy was an absolutely insufferable tease. He knew it too, and took great pride in it.
Niou left a string of red marks leading all the way down his neck, opening Kirihara's shirt to continue it. The line traveled partially down the ridge of the muscle in his chest, the younger boy tensing further every single second. When Niou reached the end of that, he paused, moving back up a little to flick his tongue over a nipple. Kirihara, with an effort, refrained from moving. This became harder to keep doing when the silver-haired trickster teased mercilessly, grinning and waiting for him to snap.
Kirihara's back started to arch minutely, despite his mental efforts to keep it from doing so. Damn that Niou, knowing exactly where on his sensitive spots he was most sensitive. He gnawed his lip, then bit it, strangling a gasp in his throat when the older boy nipped at the bud. His slim chest bucked with the continuous nibbling; the constant scrape of his teeth was driving him nuts. Kirihara scrabbled at the floor, trying to pull away from the mouth. He got himself into a half-sitting position before Niou's strong hands pinned his wrists back to the floor. He felt Niou's lips on his stomach, flinching at the tongue rippling out across—into—his belly button. The lips went lower, and a hard knot formed in Kirihara's throat when they twisted into a smirk against his waist, fingertips curling under the hem of his shorts. That smirk never bode well, no matter what the situation was.
Niou slipped the shorts off, still smiling against Kirihara's smooth skin. The floor was stone-cold under his now-bare back—goosebumps rushed up his back and an involuntary shiver passed through him. Niou hummed softly, the ever-present smirk widening when he felt Kirihara shudder at the barely-there vibrations.
The older boy braced himself on his elbows and left a nice bite mark on Kirihara's waist. Slightly swollen lips swept to the side, slowly tracing the delicate curve of his hipbone. Kirihara's stomach tightened. This was new... The devil could feel him very lightly kissing the ridge, the tips of his silver-dyed hair tickling the skin along with the slow stream of his breath. Kirihara let out a breathy, half-jolted noise when teeth dug into his hip, sucking, marking... Kirihara wasn't surprised—Niou loved to bite.
In the space of a minute, there was a large red mark, and all the flesh up his left side tingled. Niou purred, pleased with his work. The air hissed over Kirihara's side—he cringed away. The older boy quirked an eyebrow, curious, and pressed his mouth to the seam of his side. Kirihara unconsciously shuddered, tilting his head back to gaze at the ceiling.
Niou smiled and fixed his lips to the spot, running his tongue out to slither over the skin. The black-haired boy shied from the tickling sensation, the hair on the nape of his neck rising. Niou kissed the spot once, twice; each time, Kirihara's hands curled a little tighter on the floor. The teasing continued with tongue, teeth, touch—Kirihara fell back, unable to hold himself straight. He twisted and squirmed under Niou's attentions, breathing quickened and heat prickling up his neck and cheeks. Niou's hands seemed to burn on his back in contrast to the cold locker room floor.
Niou finished his attentions with a little bite and leaned up, hovering over Kirihara. The black-haired boy stilled and looked him in the eyes, tempted to whip up and headbutt him.
The older boy's lips twitched into that familiar grin. Kirihara was suddenly aware of hands on the insides of his thighs, pushing his legs a bit wider. He tensed and hissed in warning, feeling a supple, warm hand cup the area between his legs. His breathing clipped a little shorter, glaring into the blue eyes.
Niou trailed his palm and calloused fingers up and down the hard length, watching with his own brand of twisted joy how the younger boy shifted, breath broken. He could feel his hips arching to his touch. His head fell to the side and tipped up, exposing his long, slender neck. The older boy was taken with the glassy quality of Kirihara's green eyes; the look in them could almost be mistaken for begging. Niou curved his fingers around and gripped the length firmly, relishing in the throaty, husky sound the junior dropped and how his eyes rolled back until they shut.
Kirihara bit his lip again, eyes shutting tighter when the hand squeezed and a thumb rubbed over the sensitive tip. His hips rolled into Niou's hand, silently demanding more. Niou was more than happy to oblige. He slid down, brushing his mouth over the trail of bites he'd made on Kirihara's chest earlier, lower still, until Kirihara could feel his hot breath on his member. He swallowed, half in anticipation and half in apprehension.
He gave a soft hiss at the first flickering swipe, something hard forming in his chest and throat. Niou gave a longer, harder, more teasing lick and it tightened, forcing his lips to part in a soundless moan. The older boy's hand slid down to the base of his length, mouth closing over the upper half. Kirihara bucked at the tongue running over his skin, slick and hot... the absent thought flushed through his body and a raspy sound echoed from his body. The hand squeezed and the tongue slithered over the hard flesh—this time, a deep, thick groan poured from Kirihara's mouth.
Niou worked diligently, sucking and licking up and down, moving his hand to take in all of him, reveling in each little noise and mumbled swear Kirihara made. In time, Kirihara's stomach tightened and Niou could feel a warning throb against his lips—he let go, making the black-haired boy groan irately. His chest was heaving, one or two tracks of sweat showing on his temples. Green eyes were narrowed at Niou, though the look was offset and rendered ineffectual by how his jaw hung slack in a pant, undignified. Niou wiped a line of saliva from the corner of his mouth, watching the other boy. Kirihara said nothing, staring back at him.
Niou stood up and turned around to kick an empty locker near the floor—it was old and the lock was broken in such a way that it was half-impossible to get open normally. The door popped open; Niou bent and reached inside while Kirihara sat himself on his elbows and waited in silence. There was an unspoken agreement that the two had, regardless of who happened to top. They had mutually decided that this entire process would be as painless as possible—it was not out of specific care for each other, but rather that they didn't want any aftereffects to hinder practice the next day (part of the reason why most of these sessions happened the day before the weekend: more of an excuse to mess around with each other.) Questions might be raised and the two were sure Sanada and Yukimura would not take the fact that they had been screwing on the locker room floor in stride. Therefore, the stuck locker had become their hiding place for a small tube of Astroglide.
Kirihara heard the snap of the lube opening and gazed up at Niou as he turned back around and divested himself of his track shorts, seeming to put on a show for the younger one's enjoyment. His eyes glinted and a playful smile ghosted about his lips. The devil was not amused. The trickster didn't care.
He knelt and bit Kirihara's neck harshly, pushing two slippery fingers into his entrance and stretching them to admit the third. The black-haired boy tensed in an arc, letting loose a sharp, pained cry. Niou was never gentle with this part, and Kirihara never expected him to be. He was acutely aware of the stinging burn in his rear now, and thick digits filling him, thrusting, loosening and searching for the small node that made Kirihara see stars whenever the older boy ground against it.
Niou found it quickly like he always did; the fingers were soon gone and Kirihara suddenly found himself pressed front-first against a set of lockers. He might have screamed from how freaking cold that metal was on his skin, if not for the hand that covered his mouth, little finger dipping in to touch his tongue. Kirihara panted, breath condensing on the surface of the locker and moistening Niou's hand as the older boy leaned over his back, ragged breath tickling his ear as he pushed inside. Kirihara buckled slightly, head arched back sharply. He could feel Niou's grin on the hollow of his ear. He dug fingertips and blunt nails into the grooves on the locker, teeth gritted painfully while Niou took his damn sweet time. It hurt despite lubrication, and it was irritating as all hell.
Fed up and tired of purposely shallow thrusts, Kirihara cocked his head back and looked Niou coldly in the eyes. "Come on," he growled, the first words he'd said to the older boy in easily twenty minutes (which was rare, given that Niou usually enjoyed bothering his kouhai).
Niou smirked and said nothing, just gave him what he wanted in a hard, swift motion. Kirihara gasped and clenched; that was more like him. He curled against the lockers, pressing back to Niou's body with a groan. Niou hunched over him, akin to a predator over its prey, and rocked his hips, tongue lolling out to tease the curve of his ear.
He was still being too slow for Kirihara's liking; he tightened his muscles around the older boy's member (taking satisfaction in the surprised gasp he got) and glared over his shoulder. He knew their agreement, of a certain gentleness to this animal rut, but there were times when Kirihara wanted something that was more like Niou. Gentleness was not Niou. The glare he cast to the silver-haired boy spoke everything.
Sanada and Yukimura be damned. Do it.
Niou licked his lips smoothly. "Gotcha," he murmured with a grin, gripping Kirihara's sides and slamming him down on his cock. The younger boy tossed his head back with a cry, jade eyes squeezing shut. Niou bucked into him erratically, savoring the permission to lose control and the strained grunts, curses, moans that came from the figure beneath him.
The current position was too awkward for them to continue too much longer in; at a hissed command from Niou, they both slid to the floor, Kirihara's sweaty palms sliding easily down the metal. Supported on his hands and knees, the black-haired boy lurched with the next long, deep thrust, letting out a pained and pleasured groan.
Niou frowned—he couldn't get where he needed to at this angle. He reached a hand out and grabbed Kirihara's head, nails scraping the scalp beneath the tangles, and forced him down, watching Kirihara's elbows collapse sufficiently and hearing a muffled yelp come from his mouth. Perfect. Niou leaned over him, licking the line up his back as he pumped flawlessly in, strike the sweet spot hard. Kirihara shuddered and let out a wail, liquid lightning streaking down his back.
He ground back against Niou's hips, moving with the merciless drive and clenching his body with every thrust. He felt so owned, writhing and clawing blindly under his sempai while being held down in this position and moaning like a bitch. As if he could stop the sounds and words bleeding from his lips, not when Niou was so accurate with every motion, with a relentlessness that Kirihara loved. Niou never did anything halfway—sex was no different. In Kirihara's eyes, it was one of his only redeeming qualities.
Niou was finding his own sadistic high in watching him squirm and howl, and the tight, fluctuating pressure that wrapped all around him. The grip on his head constricted and he pushed him down even more; Kirihara's back hollowed and he let out a noise that fell somewhere between a grunt and a whine. His eyes fluttered shut and the motion became automatic, continuous and fluid while at the same time jerky and uncontrolled.
Kirihara broke first, stifling his scream by biting his forearm hard enough to leave marks. Niou's hand game around and grasped the burning flesh, milking the younger boy for everything he was worth. The hand left after his shudders and twitches died down and all he could do was sit there numbly and recover while Niou continued above him, straining and panting until he too came, essence flooding Kirihara's insides.
They rested there until the floor was too hard and the feel of drying seed became repulsive. Kirihara pulled himself out from under his sempai, wincing from the pain. He'd definitely feel that tomorrow, but Kirihara didn't believe in regret. Niou stood and followed him to the showers, yanking his rattail loose. They took separate stalls, and the only sound was hissing water for a long while.
After cleaning themselves and their mess and the towel that cleaned the mess up, straightening everything up in the locker room and dressing, they turned to each other. It was these awkward pauses where neither knew what to say that Kirihara hated most.
Niou eventually cracked a grin. "How many wins for me is that now?"
Kirihara slugged him hard in the shoulder and started running home with Niou hot on his heels.
Crappy ending, sue me. I finished this at three in the morning. Goodnight.