Ship: Kinjou Shingo/Imaizumi Shunsuke/Arakita Yasutomo Fandom: Yowamushi Pedal Major tags: None Other tags: polyamory and its attending negotiations Word count: 1525
this is imakinara but it's really just about people who love kinjou, hope it's close enough
***
It's raining, and water lashes against his shoulders and thighs and the top of his helmet, head bowed low over the handlebars. His legs don't register as anything except a blurry, leaden weight, and his breaths feel like sharp blades in his lungs, but he keeps pushing anyway. He can't see the finish line but he can imagine it in his mind's eye, he can see himself crossing it, him and Kinjou both—
Then he wakes up. He's lying rigid on his back, his fists clenched so tightly that they ache. He remembers, then, that Arakita's the one who pulls Kinjou to the finish line more than he does now.
After a long moment spent contemplating the ceiling, he slips out of bed and pads down the short hallway towards Kinjou's room. He hesitates for a moment, then remembers that Kinjou is always telling him to ask for more. He pushes the door open without knocking and moves forward cautiously, feeling the way with his feet in the dark.
He takes long enough that when he reaches the bed, he's not surprised to hear Kinjou's voice. "Is something wrong?"
Imaizumi shakes his head, and then realizes it's too dark; to Kinjou he must only appear as a vague silhouette. "May I..."
Kinjou breathes out, long and slow, and then reaches for Imaizumi's wrist. "Come," he says.
There's only a thin bedsheet, but the space beneath it is warm. Kinjou rolls onto his side and presses a quiet kiss to Imaizumi's mouth when he's settled. Imaizumi can feel his shoulders relaxing in the silence.
Kinjou shuffles a bit in bed, making himself comfortable again, but leaves one arm slung around Imaizumi's waist. Imaizumi can feel the weight of it grow heavier as Kinjou drifts back into sleep. Something—fondness, wanting Kinjou to listen to him like he always does—loosens his tongue.
"I had a dream," he says, and instantly feels foolish.
Kinjou rouses again; Imaizumi can hear the slight acceleration of his breath. His voice is thick with drowsiness. "Hmm?"
Now that he's started, he feels an obligation to see it through. "It was when we were still at Sohoku," he says. "I was pulling you to the finish line. But you were waiting for me at the finish line, too." He licks his lips, hesitating. "That's how I realized it was a dream, and I woke up."
Kinjou's face is softer without his glasses. His fingers squeeze against Imaizumi's side. "You came looking for me?" he says.
Imaizumi sighs. "Yes."
Kinjou tugs again, and Imaizumi rolls over, tucking his head against Kinjou's chest. Cuddling wasn't something Imaizumi was good at, at first; he had no experience, no inclination for it. Kinjou was patient, as he is always patient, teaching him how to accommodate for extra limbs twining around his own, letting him adjust to breathing someone else's air. Learning how to be close to someone settled something in Imaizumi that had always been restless, allows the anxious noise in his head to settle into quiet.
Kinjou has always been there, ever since they met. That will not change regardless of whatever outer trappings may surround them, cycling or academics or their two years' age apart.
Quieted, Imaizumi sleeps.
--
A few days later, the doorbell rings and keeps ringing.
Imaizumi looks up, frowning. It could only be Arakita, but Kinjou gave Arakita a key before he and Imaizumi started living together. It was something Kinjou had discussed with him when Imaizumi first moved in, along with all the implications that came with it. It took several months before Imaizumi got used to having Arakita in his space, used to sharing, but eventually they reached an accord.
That doesn't change the fact that the doorbell has been ringing for thirty seconds and Imaizumi can feel a headache starting. He stands from his desk and stalks toward the entranceway just as Arakita gives up on the bell and starts to bang on the door.
"Shingo!" he can hear him snarling. "Shingo, damnit, I know you're in there, open the—"
Imaizumi yanks it open and Arakita nearly punches him in the face. Imaizumi ducks, and for a second they both stand there, glaring at each other.
"He's not here," Imaizumi says, and Arakita's eyes widen. In the next second he's pushing past Imaizumi, looking around the apartment and then storming toward Kinjou's room, barely pausing to kick off his shoes. Imaizumi trails a few steps behind him, arms folded. "I was studying," he grumbles.
"You're always studying," Arakita snaps, flinging Kinjou's door open, "you're a regular fucking bookworm, you and Shingo both—" he strides through the room to the bathroom and sticks his head in. Imaizumi rolls his eyes.
"I told you," he says, and Arakita lets off a ripsaw of a growl before he whirls, facing Imaizumi properly for the first time since he arrived. Imaizumi blinks at the genuine upset he sees in his expression, and the surprise loosens his tongue. "He went to get groceries," he says. "He'll be back in half an hour."
Arakita stares at him, his fists clenching and unclenching, before he flops onto Kinjou's bed and buries his face in the pillow.
Imaizumi stares at him, at how longing is stamped on every bone in his body as he stretches across the mattress, and feels a combination of embarrassment and jealousy that makes him want to squirm. Part of him wants to flee the room; another part of him is still annoyed, and has never learned how to give ground.
That part wins out. Imaizumi walks over and sits on the edge of the bed. Arakita's one visible eye gives him a baleful glare. Imaizumi raises an eyebrow, nonplussed.
But they don't say anything to each other. Arakita growls again but it's less angry this time, more petulant. He flops around on the bed, rumpling the sheets, before pushing up onto his elbows to fold Kinjou's pillow in half. The move makes Imaizumi wince.
"That's his favorite pillow," he points out.
"Of course it is, that's why it smells like him the most," Arakita says, his voice muffled. "Ugh. This sucks."
"It's only thirty minutes," Imaizumi says. With a start he realizes that he's also caused a small amount of damage to Kinjou's bed, one hand crumpling a small handful of the sheet into his fist.
He doesn't ask what's wrong, because it's not his place and also, if he's honest, he doesn't care. Instead he scoots higher up on the bed so he's closer to Arakita's head, close enough to lay a hand on his tense shoulders, though he doesn't move to touch him. He remembers Kinjou doing this sometimes, hovering close to Arakita when he was too volatile to touch, letting him work his aggression out in periphery.
Arakita whines, squirming around for another moment, before he rears up and flops onto Imaizumi too fast for him to dodge. Imaizumi lets out a little oof of surprise, his hands flying in the air in an attempt to avoid contact and then staying there.
Arakita nuzzles into Imaizumi's thigh, and the movement makes his breath catch. "That's better," he mumbles, his voice sounding less strained. "It's worse when everything smells like him, you know?"
Imaizumi does know, kind of. His hands drift back down, one returning to the mattress, one hovering inches from Arakita's ear. Arakita whines again, the sound softer but more distressed. Imaizumi's hand alights on his head, petting gently.
He never gets to do this with Kinjou. It just isn't something Kinjou ever seems to want, to be coddled the way he enjoys coddling Imaizumi and Arakita in equal measure. Imaizumi knows what Kinjou's hair feels like against his palm but he never gets to linger over it like this, applying gentle pressure to his scalp with his fingertips, watching the way his eyes flutter closed in response. Arakita sighs, a long slow breath that pulls the tension from his shoulders and back, and snuggles a little closer.
Imaizumi reclines to rest his weight against the headboard. Arakita growls a little at being jostled but settles again when Imaizumi returns to running his fingers through his hair, careful around the shell of his ear, lingering on the nape of his neck. Eventually his breaths deepen and Imaizumi realizes he's fallen asleep.
He sighs, and reaches for one of the several books Kinjou keeps on his nightstand. Kinjou finds them like that, Arakita half in Imaizumi's lap and passed out, Imaizumi holding the book open with one hand while keeping one hand on Arakita's shoulder with the other.
Kinjou slips into the room so quietly that Arakita, always alert to everything, doesn't stir. Imaizumi looks up at him and feels a sudden rush of warmth in his chest from the fond, pleased look on Kinjou's face.
He comes over and pulls both of them toward him. Imaizumi tucks himself in against Kinjou's side, and Arakita hardly rouses, only pouring himself half over Kinjou's lap too in an ungainly sprawl. Imaizumi feels something in himself settle internally the same way Arakita settles externally, now that Kinjou is here.
Fill: team oikawa tooru/ushijima wakatoshi, G
Fandom: Yowamushi Pedal
Major tags: None
Other tags: polyamory and its attending negotiations
Word count: 1525
this is imakinara but it's really just about people who love kinjou, hope it's close enough
***
It's raining, and water lashes against his shoulders and thighs and the top of his helmet, head bowed low over the handlebars. His legs don't register as anything except a blurry, leaden weight, and his breaths feel like sharp blades in his lungs, but he keeps pushing anyway. He can't see the finish line but he can imagine it in his mind's eye, he can see himself crossing it, him and Kinjou both—
Then he wakes up. He's lying rigid on his back, his fists clenched so tightly that they ache. He remembers, then, that Arakita's the one who pulls Kinjou to the finish line more than he does now.
After a long moment spent contemplating the ceiling, he slips out of bed and pads down the short hallway towards Kinjou's room. He hesitates for a moment, then remembers that Kinjou is always telling him to ask for more. He pushes the door open without knocking and moves forward cautiously, feeling the way with his feet in the dark.
He takes long enough that when he reaches the bed, he's not surprised to hear Kinjou's voice. "Is something wrong?"
Imaizumi shakes his head, and then realizes it's too dark; to Kinjou he must only appear as a vague silhouette. "May I..."
Kinjou breathes out, long and slow, and then reaches for Imaizumi's wrist. "Come," he says.
There's only a thin bedsheet, but the space beneath it is warm. Kinjou rolls onto his side and presses a quiet kiss to Imaizumi's mouth when he's settled. Imaizumi can feel his shoulders relaxing in the silence.
Kinjou shuffles a bit in bed, making himself comfortable again, but leaves one arm slung around Imaizumi's waist. Imaizumi can feel the weight of it grow heavier as Kinjou drifts back into sleep. Something—fondness, wanting Kinjou to listen to him like he always does—loosens his tongue.
"I had a dream," he says, and instantly feels foolish.
Kinjou rouses again; Imaizumi can hear the slight acceleration of his breath. His voice is thick with drowsiness. "Hmm?"
Now that he's started, he feels an obligation to see it through. "It was when we were still at Sohoku," he says. "I was pulling you to the finish line. But you were waiting for me at the finish line, too." He licks his lips, hesitating. "That's how I realized it was a dream, and I woke up."
Kinjou's face is softer without his glasses. His fingers squeeze against Imaizumi's side. "You came looking for me?" he says.
Imaizumi sighs. "Yes."
Kinjou tugs again, and Imaizumi rolls over, tucking his head against Kinjou's chest. Cuddling wasn't something Imaizumi was good at, at first; he had no experience, no inclination for it. Kinjou was patient, as he is always patient, teaching him how to accommodate for extra limbs twining around his own, letting him adjust to breathing someone else's air. Learning how to be close to someone settled something in Imaizumi that had always been restless, allows the anxious noise in his head to settle into quiet.
Kinjou has always been there, ever since they met. That will not change regardless of whatever outer trappings may surround them, cycling or academics or their two years' age apart.
Quieted, Imaizumi sleeps.
--
A few days later, the doorbell rings and keeps ringing.
Imaizumi looks up, frowning. It could only be Arakita, but Kinjou gave Arakita a key before he and Imaizumi started living together. It was something Kinjou had discussed with him when Imaizumi first moved in, along with all the implications that came with it. It took several months before Imaizumi got used to having Arakita in his space, used to sharing, but eventually they reached an accord.
That doesn't change the fact that the doorbell has been ringing for thirty seconds and Imaizumi can feel a headache starting. He stands from his desk and stalks toward the entranceway just as Arakita gives up on the bell and starts to bang on the door.
"Shingo!" he can hear him snarling. "Shingo, damnit, I know you're in there, open the—"
Imaizumi yanks it open and Arakita nearly punches him in the face. Imaizumi ducks, and for a second they both stand there, glaring at each other.
"He's not here," Imaizumi says, and Arakita's eyes widen. In the next second he's pushing past Imaizumi, looking around the apartment and then storming toward Kinjou's room, barely pausing to kick off his shoes. Imaizumi trails a few steps behind him, arms folded. "I was studying," he grumbles.
"You're always studying," Arakita snaps, flinging Kinjou's door open, "you're a regular fucking bookworm, you and Shingo both—" he strides through the room to the bathroom and sticks his head in. Imaizumi rolls his eyes.
"I told you," he says, and Arakita lets off a ripsaw of a growl before he whirls, facing Imaizumi properly for the first time since he arrived. Imaizumi blinks at the genuine upset he sees in his expression, and the surprise loosens his tongue. "He went to get groceries," he says. "He'll be back in half an hour."
Arakita stares at him, his fists clenching and unclenching, before he flops onto Kinjou's bed and buries his face in the pillow.
Imaizumi stares at him, at how longing is stamped on every bone in his body as he stretches across the mattress, and feels a combination of embarrassment and jealousy that makes him want to squirm. Part of him wants to flee the room; another part of him is still annoyed, and has never learned how to give ground.
That part wins out. Imaizumi walks over and sits on the edge of the bed. Arakita's one visible eye gives him a baleful glare. Imaizumi raises an eyebrow, nonplussed.
But they don't say anything to each other. Arakita growls again but it's less angry this time, more petulant. He flops around on the bed, rumpling the sheets, before pushing up onto his elbows to fold Kinjou's pillow in half. The move makes Imaizumi wince.
"That's his favorite pillow," he points out.
"Of course it is, that's why it smells like him the most," Arakita says, his voice muffled. "Ugh. This sucks."
"It's only thirty minutes," Imaizumi says. With a start he realizes that he's also caused a small amount of damage to Kinjou's bed, one hand crumpling a small handful of the sheet into his fist.
He doesn't ask what's wrong, because it's not his place and also, if he's honest, he doesn't care. Instead he scoots higher up on the bed so he's closer to Arakita's head, close enough to lay a hand on his tense shoulders, though he doesn't move to touch him. He remembers Kinjou doing this sometimes, hovering close to Arakita when he was too volatile to touch, letting him work his aggression out in periphery.
Arakita whines, squirming around for another moment, before he rears up and flops onto Imaizumi too fast for him to dodge. Imaizumi lets out a little oof of surprise, his hands flying in the air in an attempt to avoid contact and then staying there.
Arakita nuzzles into Imaizumi's thigh, and the movement makes his breath catch. "That's better," he mumbles, his voice sounding less strained. "It's worse when everything smells like him, you know?"
Imaizumi does know, kind of. His hands drift back down, one returning to the mattress, one hovering inches from Arakita's ear. Arakita whines again, the sound softer but more distressed. Imaizumi's hand alights on his head, petting gently.
He never gets to do this with Kinjou. It just isn't something Kinjou ever seems to want, to be coddled the way he enjoys coddling Imaizumi and Arakita in equal measure. Imaizumi knows what Kinjou's hair feels like against his palm but he never gets to linger over it like this, applying gentle pressure to his scalp with his fingertips, watching the way his eyes flutter closed in response. Arakita sighs, a long slow breath that pulls the tension from his shoulders and back, and snuggles a little closer.
Imaizumi reclines to rest his weight against the headboard. Arakita growls a little at being jostled but settles again when Imaizumi returns to running his fingers through his hair, careful around the shell of his ear, lingering on the nape of his neck. Eventually his breaths deepen and Imaizumi realizes he's fallen asleep.
He sighs, and reaches for one of the several books Kinjou keeps on his nightstand. Kinjou finds them like that, Arakita half in Imaizumi's lap and passed out, Imaizumi holding the book open with one hand while keeping one hand on Arakita's shoulder with the other.
Kinjou slips into the room so quietly that Arakita, always alert to everything, doesn't stir. Imaizumi looks up at him and feels a sudden rush of warmth in his chest from the fond, pleased look on Kinjou's face.
He comes over and pulls both of them toward him. Imaizumi tucks himself in against Kinjou's side, and Arakita hardly rouses, only pouring himself half over Kinjou's lap too in an ungainly sprawl. Imaizumi feels something in himself settle internally the same way Arakita settles externally, now that Kinjou is here.