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Kasamatsu-senpai looks exasperated but sounds fond when he says Kise, so Ryouta doesn’t feel too bad about interrupting, what appears to be, a small gathering of senpai’s friends. All four of them watch Ryouta with wide eyes, probably connecting him to the wristwatch advertisement on the billboard across from their university.
Ryouta toes off his leather wingtips, keeping his lashes low when he murmurs, “Excuse the intrusion.”
Kasamatsu snorts. “Welcome back,” he says. With one arm draped across the back of the couch, and his black shirt straining across his chest, Kasamatsu looks good. Ryouta wants to crawl into his lap and press his cheek against his chest. “How was the party?”
“Boring,” he chirps, making his way across the small living room. He doesn’t look away from Kasamatsu. “My time could be better spent.”
“My kouhai,” Kasamatsu explains to the other guys. He takes a long pull from his beer bottle, and Kise wants to pull it away from Kasamatsu’s mouth and finish it while he watches. Maybe Senpai will choke him a little tonight, not enough to hurt but just enough pressure to match the weight of his gaze. Man, Ryouta’s more riled up than he thought. “From basketball. He played two years on the university team, too.”
“Oh yeah,” one of the guys says, face open in recognition. “Man, that game against Aomine Daiki was something else. I heard he’s up for the NBA draft—”
Ryouta drifts out of the conversation. He grabs a water bottle from the fridge and downs half of it.
“So what kind of party was it?” The friend who speaks has a pleasant smile and eager body language. Ryouta glances at him, then Kasamatsu.
“Cologne launch,” Ryouta says. He rubs his thumb against the bottle's rim, noting how the other man glances down. “They doused me in it during hair and make-up. Kasamatsu-senpai, can I use your shower?”
Kasamatsu waves him off and Ryouta finishes the rest of his water. The night can be salvaged. He can’t imagine Kasamatsu’s friends will stick around now that he’s here, banging around the apartment. He almost feels bad about cutting the party short, but he is the one with a key to Kasamatsu’s apartment, and Senpai said he was welcome whenever.
So Ryouta takes his time in the bathroom, wiping his face clean of the make-up and checking his skin for dry spots. There’s an unopened package of the make-up wipes he prefers and Ryouta grins, turning the lavender package over in his hands. His cheeks heat. Kasamatsu really has no room to complain about Ryouta’s particularities (“You’re a fussy brat.” “I have sensitive skin!”) when he humors them like this.
Ryouta almost feels bad about removing the rhinestones Ayame-san placed so delicately around his eyes, but they’re starting to itch and he doesn’t think he can keep them on patiently long enough to blow Kasamatsu.
He’s been thinking about Kasamatsu’s hands on him all night, and standing in his bathroom, the lingering smell of his body wash around Ryouta, makes him hot. His stomach aches a little, pulling tight under his belly button. His cock is half-hard, and Ryouta contemplates jerking off, splaying his hand across his cock and pressing against the head. The water runs over his shoulders and chest, the heat relaxing him.
The choice is taken from him when Kasamatsu knocks on the door, sharp and short. “Kise, are you hungry?”
“For you,” he sings. In the following silence, Ryouta imagines Kasamatsu rolling his eyes. He grins and turns off the water. “I’m almost done.”
- - -
“This isn’t sexy at all, senpai,” Ryouta pouts, looking up at Kasamatsu through his damp bangs. “I’ve been thinking about you giving it to me all night, you know.”
Unamused, Kasamatsu scrubs the towel across his face. Ryouta whines. “You’re the one who pranced out of the bathroom, soaking wet, and nearly ate shit against the doorway because, again, you were soaking wet.”
He drags the towel across Ryouta’s shoulders and down his shoulder blades. Kasamatsu rubs the nape of his neck roughly, and the motion brings Ryouta against Kasamatsu’s stomach. Ryouta, slowly, purposely, nuzzles him. He drags his fingertips down the side of Kasamatsu’s jeans, palming his hips. “Hey, Kasamatsu-senpai, I wanna suck your dick.”
Kasamatsu’s hand stills for a moment. Voice low, he says, “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Ryouta repeats. He keeps his expression soft and looks up at Kasamatsu. A little needy, even though Ryouta’s practiced pleading rarely works because Kasamatsu’s fucked him to tears before, made him beg to come, so anything short of that doesn’t have much of an impact. But Ryouta likes to think his senpai likes the pageantry of their encounters. “I’ve been thinking about you for hours .”
He leans into Kasamatsu’s touch, shuddering when the other man’s hand slides over his neck, a brand of heat against his skin. He drags his thumb down the curve of his throat, and Kasamatsu’s eyes get darker when Ryouta’s breath hitches. “I was thinking about you, too,” Kasamatsu admits. He keeps stroking Ryouta’s throat. “I’m glad you came over.”
Pleased, Ryouta leans into him. It’s not like he doubts Kasamatsu’s desire—he did agree to this arrangement—but Ryouta will never turn down a reminder.
It’s nice, just sitting there while Kasamatsu holds him. Kasamatsu’s hands are warm and broad, and he keeps his hand curled around Ryouta’s neck when he kisses him. Ryouta shivers, heat pooling in his belly as Kasamatsu’s mouth moves against his. “Senpai,” he murmurs when Kasamatsu pulls away. “Get on the bed so I can suck you off.”
The weight of Kasamatsu’s cock is familiar, and for not the first time Ryouta is glad that the other man was his first. How terrible would it be for his first dick to be some sad, small thing, left to be compared to all others? As it is, Ryouta can’t imagine a better one than Kasamatsu’s, as thick and pretty as it is, and how perfectly it fits in his mouth. When Ryouta swallows, the cockhead snug in the back of his throat, he’s rewarded with Kasamatsu sweeping his fingers through his hair. He moans, low and soft, and the other man’s thighs twitch under his hands.
“Gorgeous,” Kasamatsu says, tender in the way he cradles Ryouta’s head. The praise only matters when it’s Kasamatsu, who’s seen Ryouta at his most unattractive, sobbing and incoherent, trembling in a sweat-soaked jersey. “I can’t believe—” he cuts himself off, jaw clenching when Ryouta swallows again, trying to take him deeper. Ryouta blinks.
“Can’t believe what?” He asks. Kasamatsu’s eyes flutter open, dark and blown out. He lingers on Ryouta’s mouth, lips swollen and wet. “Can’t believe what?”
All he gets is a head shake, and Ryouta pouts, wrapping his arms around Kasamatsu’s waist. Cheek to cock, Ryouta is sure he looks absurd, but the other just strokes his hair.
“Get up here, Kise.”
Well, Ryouta isn’t going to turn down that invitation.
- - -
Ryouta wakes up to an empty room and the sound of rain. “Senpai?” he mumbles, blinking around the room. At some point, he rolled into Kasamatsu’s spot and drooled onto his pillow. Ryouta rubs at the damp spot then at his chin. He sniffles and burrows back into the bedding, pulling the pillow more comfortably under his cheek.
His mind stays blissfully blank for a few more moments, then his brain catches up and he starts cycling over his schedule for the day.
Luckily, Kasamatsu reappears when Ryouta remembers he’s taping an interview segment later that day.
“Get up sleeping beauty,” Kasamatsu says, box under his arm. He’s dressed in his running clothes. “Unless you want to sleep the whole day.”
Ryouta debates pulling the blanket over his head. He would like to sleep the whole day, ideally with Kasamatsu. But he’s already told Kasamatsu about his schedule and he’s seen Kasamatsu drag Moriyama out of his futon at training camp. Ryouta might have height and weight on the other man, but Kasamatsu has big brother strength and he isn’t above playing dirty. As lovely as an early morning wrestle would be, Ryouta resists.
“Senpai’s kicking me out already,” he complains instead. “I see how it is. You’re embarrassed of me.”
“I am,” Kasamatsu deadpans, pushing off the doorway. “Because you are embarrassing. Did you know you drool in your sleep?”
“Mean!” Ryouta retorts, turning his face into the pillow so the other can’t see him smile. He scoots over so Kasamatsu can sit down. “You know, people would kill for my drool.”
“I know.” Kasamatsu sounds a little disgusted. “Your fans are something else.”
“Aominecchi once bid on Horikita Mai’s drool.”
“Your friends are also something else.” He shakes the box at Ryouta. “I jogged past that bakery you like. I know croissants aren’t in your diet, but—”
Ryouta snatches the box from him and tears it while trying to open it. Kasamatsu watches him struggle with a faint smirk, only angling the box in Ryouta’s lap once he succeeds in opening it and grabbing a croissant. “I have such an indulgent, thoughtful senpai,” Ryouta says around the pastry. He licks a stray pastry flake off his lip, making eye contact with Kasamatsu. Voice dipping, he adds, “I might get spoiled and expect this all the time.”
“Impossible,” Kasamatsu snorts, leaning back on his hands. His hair is wet from the rain, and the tips of his ears are pink. Without much thought, Ryouta presses a quick kiss to his cheek. Kasamatsu flushes and looks away. After a moment, he says, “Would that be so bad?”
“Hm?”
“Getting spoiled. By me.” He picks at a stray string on the sheets. Ryouta swallows roughly. “Would it be so bad expecting this all the time, from me?”
He waits. At length, Kasamatsu slides his hand to Ryouta’s, just enough that he can hook their fingers together loosely. Ryouta stares at their joined hands, heat prickling on his neck. When he glances up, Kasamatsu is watching him.
“Go out with me Kise.”
- - -
Ryouta leans on his fist, trying to keep an eager and curious expression on his face. Once a week he hosts an interview segment on a popular daytime show, interviewing different celebrities. He accepted the gig after some thought, reasoning that one day he wouldn’t be modeling anymore, and the pivot to television and movies required some degree of planning and a larger degree of luck. The hosting gig fell into his lap after the previous host went on maternity leave and decided she did not want to return. Since another woman probably would not have been able to measure up to the previous host, the network with Ryouta.
It helped that the previous host and Ryouta had hit it off after she interviewed him before he started at Kaijou. Ryouta has always had a way with older women, for better or for worse.
So here he was, ooh-ing and ahh-ing over Ito Sayuri’s engagement ring. “So pretty!” he exclaims, holding her dainty hand in his for the appropriate length of time. And the ring is a princess-cut diamond that suits her slender fingers. Ito-san had been one of the top idols since she was 15 until her retirement, so she was experienced in front of the camera, too. She smiles at Ryouta and, when pulling her hand away, flashes her ring at an angle that the camera could catch it. “You must be very happy.”
For perhaps the first time in the interview, Ito-san gets flustered. And it’s genuine Ryouta notes, taking in the blush blossoming across her cheeks and the delicate way she cradles her hand to look down at her ring. When she looks back at him, her eyes are bright. “I’m so happy, Kise-san. Ken makes me so happy. He’s always thinking about how to make me happy. And all I think about is how I can make him happy, too.”
“I’m happy for you, too, Ito-san.” He gestures at the audience. “We all are.”
Ryouta thinks about the interview for the rest of the day. He half listens to his manager during their meeting, as she runs down the shoots she procured for him for the next few months. He perks up when she mentions a fashion circuit in Spain and agrees to meet with a new menswear designer in Los Angeles. He can turn the trip into a visit to Kagami. Maybe that burger shack on the beach is still there.
“Thank you for your hard work, Ryouta,” Kashima-san says. “I’ll send you the flight details, and—”
“I’m dating Kasamatsu-san,” Ryouta interrupts. He holds his hands on his lap. Kashima stares at him. “My old basketball captain. Well, I guess we’re also friends. But—”
“I know about your relationship with Kasamatsu-san.” She pauses, an uncertain twist to her mouth. Kashima-san has been Ryouta’s manager since he was 13. She was once a model, as well, and Ryouta has never seen her as less than put-together. She’s balanced his basketball career with his modeling career, making space in his schedule for anything he’s wanted to do. Nothing fazes her; nothing catches her off-guard. Even when Ryouta broke down over his ruined ankles, Kashima had just started booking more editorial shoots and fewer runway shows. She was the one who put his career on a course into television and film, booking him guest spots on dramas. His presence on the set guaranteed that that drama would get a bump in viewership.
After another length of silence, as Ryouta fidgets, Kashima says, “Congratulations. I hope you and Kasamatsu-san are happy together.”
“We just started,” Ryouta admits, a weight lifting off his chest. He twists his fingers together. “This morning. I don’t know what that means, but . . . I imagine he will want to . . . go out and be. Public.” He clears his throat. “I trust Kashima-san will continue to guide me successfully as you always have.”
“Of course,” she nods. Her face softens a little. “Of course.”
- - -
“I’ll go out with you,” Ryouta says, hoping his announcement will distract Kasamatsu from the burnt fish and salty miso soup. He didn’t think he could sit on his decision any longer. “You can’t take it back now, Kasamatsu-senpai.”
It works because Kasamatsu looks up from where he’s separating the burnt fish parts from the less-burnt parts. A smile spreads across his face, and Ryouta can’t help but smile back. Kasamatsu’s sharp features soften and Ryouta wants to touch him. He wants to kiss him.
He settles when Kasamatsu comes around the table, tipping Ryouta’s face up for a kiss. “Of course not,” he says when they pull apart. He traces the swell of Ryouta’s lip with his thumb. He’s still smiling. “As though you would let me.”
- - -
In the dark of the room, Ryouta says, “I don’t have any shoots coming up.” Against his back, Kasamatsu shifts, and his arm slips over Ryouta’s waist. Ryouta’s breath catches, coming out hitched when Kasamatsu kisses the base of his neck. He leaves a trail of kisses across Ryouta’s skin, dragging his teeth down his shoulder blade. He presses another kiss between Ryouta's shoulder blades, mouth leaving a warm print on the knobs of his spine.
Voice thick with sleep, Kasamatsu murmurs, “Good. Now go to sleep, Ryouta.”
Ryouta’s breath catches again. Ryouta. Even held in Kasamatsu’s warmth, sleep takes its time.
- - -
Momoi and Aomine react the same way Moriyama does, except with more vulgar language.
“What do you mean you’re now dating?” Aomine demands, stopping his lazy dribble and pinning a narrow look on Ryouta. “What the fuck does that mean?”
Caught in Momoi’s ecstatic hug, and dragged down to her level, Ryouta gives him a shrug. Momoi squeals again, pressing her lips against Ryouta’s temple. Over her shoulder, Ryouta addresses Aomine. “It means you’ll have to be on your best behavior,” he teases. “I don’t want to have to choose between my boyfriend and best friend.”
Aomine scoffs, a dusting of red across his face at best friend. “I just mean, you and Kasamatsu have been . . . you and Kasamatsu for years. I don’t know what all this ‘we’re dating now’ means. Now.”
“What Dai-chan means,” Momoi says, clearing her throat and finally releasing Ryouta, “is we thought you and Kasamatsu-san were already dating. Like for years.”
Ryouta laughs. His stomach twists a little, but he hopes his put-on cheer will be distracting. “It was just an arrangement,” he emphasizes. “Senpai had a bad breakup, and I . . . “ he gestures vaguely. He’s not sure how to summarize ‘My basketball career was over, I was stuck in a terrible fake relationship with a rising starlet, and the boy I’ve loved since I was 16 got an erection while we were play wrestling and then apologized and admitted that it had been a while since he got off, and asking him to fuck me seemed reasonable.’ Ryouta doesn’t try. “We found comfort in each other,” he says primly.
Aomine and Momoi exchange looks and, in creepy unison, turn back to him with disappointed faces. Momoi’s is somehow more judgmental. But they still look fond, so Ryouta won’t complain.
“Are you trying to tell me this is a bad idea?” Ryouta asks instead.
“No,” they say together.
Momoi adds, “This is a great idea. We support you.”
“I have no idea what Kasamatsu sees in you,” Aomine says, “but he likes you. Dating him would be one of your better ideas.”
“Aw,” Ryouta says, only a little sarcastic. He thinks about Kasamatsu’s arm around his waist. “I love you both, too.”
- - -
“What do you mean you’re dating Kasamatsu now?” Midorima frowns at him. He also looks a little annoyed. This is the last time Ryouta makes an appointment at his clinic. Next time he’ll just show up.
“You know, it’s sad that only Akashicchi and Murasakibarrachi and Kagamicchi have congratulated me. Well, I suppose Kurokoccchi did too. He sent me a thumbs up.” Ryouta swings his feet. “Can you page Takaocchi so I can tell him, too?”
“Get out.” After a beat, he says, “You’re in perfect health.”
“I love you too, Midorimacchi.”
- - -
The problem is that Ryouta doesn’t know what it means to be a boyfriend. He’s seen enough boyfriends in action to go through the motions, but he also knows Kasamatsu isn’t a simple teenage girl. And in his contractual relationships, the expectations were explicitly laid out and agreed upon—four dates a month, at a restaurant of the girl’s choosing; two coffee dates at a cafe of his choosing; a minimum of five social media posts each, offering an update of their relationship; no sexual activity.
Ryouta has never been found in violation of a contract.
But his relationship with Kasamatsu has never been as straightforward as a contract. When Kasamatsu made it clear that Kaijou was not, and would never be, Teiko, Ryouta was at a loss. Relieved, because Teiko was still a tender bruise, but unsteady because Teiko was all that Ryouta knew. Grudgingly, Ryouta followed Kasamatsu’s lead.
And he was better off for it.
He doesn’t want to be someone who ends up breaking Kasamatsu’s heart. Not when Kasamatsu has always been there, and Ryouta has always wanted him close.
“Yukio,” he says. Kasamatsu fumbles his chopsticks, dropping the braised beef he was about to eat. Ryouta’s heart starts to race when slate-blue eyes lock onto him. Ryouta smiles, making sure it’s the most charming one he has. His tone is only a little teasing. He hopes Kasamatsu doesn't catch the way he wavers. “Or do you prefer Yukio-senpai?”
“You really should drop the ‘senpai,’” Kasamatsu mumbles. “We’ve known each other for almost a decade now.” Ryouta watches in awe as the pink spreads across the other man’s face, creeping down his neck. Ryouta knows Kasamatsu’s blush reaches his chest. He catches Ryouta’s grin, and he glowers. “You’re shameless.”
“What about Yukio-san?” he tries. He thinks about his grandmother, and how she tacked on ‘san’ to his grandfather’s name. He realizes he’s probably as pink as Kasamatsu now. “I’ll just stick to Kasamatsu-senpai.”
Ryouta is about to dig into his bowl of ramen, pushing away the lingering embarrassment, when Kasamatsu gets his attention. A little awkwardly, face still pink, Kasamatsu says, “You can call me by my name. I want you to.”
- - -
Kashima-san tells him that she’s preparing a coming out plan, of sorts, and Ryouta tells Yukio. He doesn’t expect Yukio to react the way he does.
“Was that okay?” He tips his head back, moaning when Yukio kisses the dip of his throat. He grips Yukio’s biceps. “Yukio-san, I told Kashima-san—”
“You can tell anyone you want,” Yukio says, cupping Ryouta’s face. He kisses him, nipping Ryouta’s lower lip and then kissing away the sting. Ryouta squirms, breath picking up. He slides his arms around Yukio’s shoulders and arches against him.
“I told the guys,” Ryouta admits, tracing the curve of Yukio’s ear. He spreads his legs so Yukio can settle between his thighs. He’s never denied being eager for Yukio. “All of them. Everyone. Moriyama-senpai cried. Aominecchi asked what you saw in me.”
“Aomine can fuck off,” Yukio says. He sits up enough to help Ryouta pull off his shirt. “If your idiot friends give you a hard time—”
“They’re very supportive,” he says mildly, playing with Yukio’s hair. He shifts until he can feel Yukio’s cock against the crease of his thigh. “Kobori-senpai asked when the wedding is—”
“Not for a few years,” Yukio says. He splays his fingers over Ryouta’s heart. Ryouta wonders if he can hear how fast it beats, just for him. Ryouta laughs, but quiets when Yukio just looks at him. “Yukimura is retiring next year, and I will apply for his role. It’s a promotion, and I won’t have to go out to Sapporo on assignment anymore. I figure by then you’ll have your own television show.”
Ryouta blinks, his heart swelling with something precious the longer he looks at Yukio. He might burst. “Kobori-senpai was kidding,” he says in a small voice. “We can’t even . . .” His voice cracks a little. “Senpai, you think I’ll have my own show?”
“You’re Kise Ryouta,” Yukio says softly, “Why wouldn’t you?”
Ryouta doesn’t say anything. He sniffles. His eyes burn a little. Yukio’s expression, somehow, gets softer. He wipes away a stray tear and huffs out a laugh when Ryouta covers his face.
“Don’t tease me, Yukio-senpai.” Ryouta keeps his face covered. Yukio gives up pulling at his hands. “It isn’t nice to bully your cute boyfriend, who is also your cute kouhai.”
“It is fun, though,” Yukio replies. “Hey, Ryouta. Aren’t you going to ask me how long?”
Ryouta shakes his head. He runs over his memories; he’s not sure. Petulantly, he says, “Not longer than me.” He stops resisting and lets Yukio pull away his hands. “You dated other people. You never even looked at me.”
Yukio holds his hands. He rubs Ryouta’s knuckles comfortingly. “I was never going to ask you for more than you could give, Ryouta. I still won’t. Then you suggested friends with benefits, and I agreed. But I was never going to leave it at that.” Quieter, “I think about you all the time. I always have.”
Ryouta kisses him.