The water sloshes in the tub, when Fukutomi stands up. It laps against Arakita, splashing his chest and spraying just the littlest bit into his face, but neither of those things give him pause. In an instant he's gone from joking with Shinkai about their friends, their plans, the silly things Fukutomi sometimes likes to do, to staring his captain right in the junk.
It's not that he's ever had a problem with nudity, not like he hasn't been doing team sports ever since he could step up to the plate and swing a bat, doing it with all the communal changing athletics entail, it's just—
It's just, it's Fuku-chan, the one person who has somehow always found the way to blindside Arakita, even in situations where he swears he's got a read on all the angles. It's Fuku-chan suddenly towering over him, with rivulets of water streaming down his well-muscled thighs and trickling toward his calves still submerged in the water. It's Fuku-chan flashing him a faceful of his dick, arms crossed and face smooth and everything about his posture telegraphing authority, authority, authority.
Arakita's tongue goes dry in his mouth, his eyes popped too wide and flicking furtively between the stubborn set of Fukutomi's face and the length of his cock and back again. It's not the first time they've bathed together. It's just the first time Fukutomi has gone and presented the goods like he's waiting for something.
For a single, long moment, Arakita thinks that maybe Fukutomi is, that maybe if he just— leaned forward—
"Juichi, we were only kidding," Shinkai says, waving one arm like he's beckoning for Fukutomi to sit down.
Shinkai's voice douses out all of Arakita's slow-burning longing, tosses him too hard into the present moment and allows him to finally tear his gaze away from Fukutomi's groin. His face feels hot, but they are in a hot bath and Fuku-chan never was the type to notice that sort of insignificant detail, anyway.
"I know," Fukutomi says, his arms slowly unfolding from across his chest. There's still that hint of a frown on his face, and he doesn't sit back down. "But if you're going to joke like that, I think I'll take my leave."
"Don't," Shinkai says, reaching out and catching at one of Fukutomi's legs behind the knee. He tugs at it, in playful entreaty. "Sit back down. Finish your bath. Don't let us scare you off, we didn't mean it — right, Yasutomo?"
The last thing Arakita wants is to be made complicit in Shinkai's bullshit teasing once again, when it's been the source of all his damn problems in the first place. He jerks his head to the side, and shrugs, feigning indifference.
"If Fuku-chan wants to get outta the bath, let Fuku-chan get outta the fuckin' bath, it's not like I'm gonna try an' stop him."
Arakita can tell Shinkai is pouting, even without looking at him directly. Arakita doesn't care. He's too busy being drowned in his own continuing mortification, even as the water sloshes again and he feels more than sees the moment when Fukutomi slides back into the water.
"Arakita is right," Fukutomi says. "But if I'm doing as I like, I may as well finish my bath."
"I'm glad," Shinkai says, leaning back as if everything is now right with the world.
"Whatever," Arakita mutters. "The both of you can do whatever the fuck you want, I'm gonna go towel off."
As he steps out of the tub he tells himself that neither Shinkai nor Fukutomi is staring after his skinny butt — it's just him, always him — as he makes absolutely certain not to allow himself to look back and check.
FILL: TEAM FUKUTOMI JUICHI/KINJOU SHINGO, M
Word Count: 620
Remixed from this fill by
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The water sloshes in the tub, when Fukutomi stands up. It laps against Arakita, splashing his chest and spraying just the littlest bit into his face, but neither of those things give him pause. In an instant he's gone from joking with Shinkai about their friends, their plans, the silly things Fukutomi sometimes likes to do, to staring his captain right in the junk.
It's not that he's ever had a problem with nudity, not like he hasn't been doing team sports ever since he could step up to the plate and swing a bat, doing it with all the communal changing athletics entail, it's just—
It's just, it's Fuku-chan, the one person who has somehow always found the way to blindside Arakita, even in situations where he swears he's got a read on all the angles. It's Fuku-chan suddenly towering over him, with rivulets of water streaming down his well-muscled thighs and trickling toward his calves still submerged in the water. It's Fuku-chan flashing him a faceful of his dick, arms crossed and face smooth and everything about his posture telegraphing authority, authority, authority.
Arakita's tongue goes dry in his mouth, his eyes popped too wide and flicking furtively between the stubborn set of Fukutomi's face and the length of his cock and back again. It's not the first time they've bathed together. It's just the first time Fukutomi has gone and presented the goods like he's waiting for something.
For a single, long moment, Arakita thinks that maybe Fukutomi is, that maybe if he just— leaned forward—
"Juichi, we were only kidding," Shinkai says, waving one arm like he's beckoning for Fukutomi to sit down.
Shinkai's voice douses out all of Arakita's slow-burning longing, tosses him too hard into the present moment and allows him to finally tear his gaze away from Fukutomi's groin. His face feels hot, but they are in a hot bath and Fuku-chan never was the type to notice that sort of insignificant detail, anyway.
"I know," Fukutomi says, his arms slowly unfolding from across his chest. There's still that hint of a frown on his face, and he doesn't sit back down. "But if you're going to joke like that, I think I'll take my leave."
"Don't," Shinkai says, reaching out and catching at one of Fukutomi's legs behind the knee. He tugs at it, in playful entreaty. "Sit back down. Finish your bath. Don't let us scare you off, we didn't mean it — right, Yasutomo?"
The last thing Arakita wants is to be made complicit in Shinkai's bullshit teasing once again, when it's been the source of all his damn problems in the first place. He jerks his head to the side, and shrugs, feigning indifference.
"If Fuku-chan wants to get outta the bath, let Fuku-chan get outta the fuckin' bath, it's not like I'm gonna try an' stop him."
Arakita can tell Shinkai is pouting, even without looking at him directly. Arakita doesn't care. He's too busy being drowned in his own continuing mortification, even as the water sloshes again and he feels more than sees the moment when Fukutomi slides back into the water.
"Arakita is right," Fukutomi says. "But if I'm doing as I like, I may as well finish my bath."
"I'm glad," Shinkai says, leaning back as if everything is now right with the world.
"Whatever," Arakita mutters. "The both of you can do whatever the fuck you want, I'm gonna go towel off."
As he steps out of the tub he tells himself that neither Shinkai nor Fukutomi is staring after his skinny butt — it's just him, always him — as he makes absolutely certain not to allow himself to look back and check.