The Deflowering of Yukimura Seiichi

Part 2

Midorino Mizu

Disclaimer: Tennis no Ohjisama and all associated characters are the property of Konomi Takeshi. Inihara Aki is an original character.

Author’s Notes: I probably should stop neglecting my homework in favor of boisex, but boisex is much more fun than Cataloging and Networking.

~*~*~

Yukimura Seiichi found excuses not to return to his father’s firm for almost an entire week.

Once he went shopping with his mother, and once he volunteered to take his younger sister to a play date at the local playground, but mostly, he played tennis – long, hard games, so he could forget, so he could just collapse into bed at the end of the day, and escape into dreams.

But he couldn’t even manage to do that, really.

At first, the dreams were dark and vague – the feel of a warm mouth on his, the faint sounds of sighs and moans. Waking up feeling strange, waking up wanting something he couldn’t quite grasp.

Then his dreams had gotten sharper, more focused. He’d begun recognizing the intern’s face, and he’d started hearing his deep voice echoing in his mind.

The man called him “Seiichi,” in his dreams, but Yukimura still didn’t know his name.

He asked his father the next day, at breakfast.

“Dad?” he said tentatively.

His father looked up over the rim of his bowl of miso, and raised his eyebrows inquisitively. “Hmm? What is it, Seiichi?”

“Well…” Yukimura ran a hand through his hair. He wasn’t quite sure how to ask this, because, as far as his father knew, he didn’t know the intern. “I was wondering about the intern you have working in your department.”

“Inihara Aki?” the elder Yukimura supplied. “He’s a very talented designer,” he said. He gave his son a curious look. “I didn’t know you’d been introduced, though, Seiichi.”

Yukimura blushed a little. This was why he hadn’t asked his father before. The head of the Yukimura household was mostly absent-minded, but he could occasionally be insatiably curious. Especially when his children showed an interest in something.

“Uh, well, we haven’t, really,” muttered Seiichi. “I…saw him work, the last time I went to the firm with you. I was, um, wondering where he studies?”

He hadn’t been wondering, not really; when he’d blurted out the question, it had only been because it was convenient and reasonable. But now that he’d asked it, Yukimura found that he really did want to know.

He didn’t know anything about Inihara Aki, and he found that he wanted to.

His father smiled a little as he skimmed the newspaper in front of him “Rikkai University,” he said.

Seiichi’s eyes widened – he hadn’t been expecting that, though he didn’t know why. “My school?” he asked.

His father chuckled softly and his eyes sparkled as he peered at his son over the edge of his paper. “Yes, your school, Seiichi.” He reached over and impulsively ruffled his son’s hair. “You did choose it for the art program, and not just the tennis club, right?”

Yukimura ducked his head, hiding a sheepish blush. “Yeah,” he said.

His father shook his head at him. Sometimes, he thought, Seiichi could be really absent-minded.

Of course, his wife complained that he was exactly the same way.

The two Yukimura sat in silence for a few moments, until the elder spoke again.

“You seem interested in Inihara,” he said. He smiled when Seiichi’s eyes shot up. “Do you want to go with me today and talk to him again? You haven’t been by the office for nearly a week.”

He’d missed having his son around work – there was an energy in the office, when Seiichi was around. Even he’d noticed it.

“Today?” squeaked Yukimura. “Uh, no, I can’t today. I promised to…practice tennis!”

“Oh.” His father looked a little deflated for a second, but then he brightened. “Tomorrow, then?”

“S-Sure,” Seiichi stammered. “Tomorrow.”

He didn’t think of anything else the entire day.

He played tennis at the courts in the park, and took his younger sister to a candy store. He let his mother fit him for his new school uniform, and always, his thoughts were on the next day.

When he finally settled into his bed and closed his eyes, he dreamed again.

The dreams were different this time.

They’d been dark and vague before; nothing had been certain, except the feel of the intern’s mouth on his, and a hot, intense stare pinning him in place.

Everything was more sharply focused this time -- there was no hazy darkness cloaking this dream.

It was as if all of his senses had been boosted the moment Yukimura knew the name of the man he’d been dreaming of; and it was as if his dream-self had suddenly become much bolder, much more demanding.

Yukimura dreamed of his own small fingers sliding Inihara’s zipper down, of smiling at the young man almost innocently as he reached his fingers inside to curl around his cock.

He dreamed of whispering Aki’s name as he leaned in for a long, deep kiss.

And when he woke the next morning, lazily blinking his eyes open and staring up at the shadowy ceiling of his bedroom, a smile curved his lips.

He was still nervous, Yukimura thought as he crawled out of bed and stumbled towards his closet; he was still wary of the young man who made him feel so uncomfortable.

He stared into his wardrobe, at the colorful rows of shirts, and the neat piles of pants folded on the shelves. He still wasn’t sure what exactly Inihara wanted from him, and he had no idea what he wanted from Inihara. But he knew he wanted something. Something that he could only get from the quiet college student.

That was enough for now.

Yukimura reached into the closet, pushing sweaters and pullovers aside. His brow creased.

He’d always liked wearing nice clothes, and he instinctively knew what looked good, but he’d never really spent much time picking out his outfits. Almost everything in his closet went well with everything else, and it had never really mattered exactly what he was wearing.

It mattered this morning, for some reason, Yukimura thought. Faint color rose in his cheeks.

Intellectually, he knew that Inihara probably wouldn’t really care about what he wore. But that didn’t stop him from agonizing over it for twenty minutes.

By the time he emerged, in a loose, dark blue-purple button-down shirt and his favorite jeans, he only had time to grab a piece of toast before he and his father had to catch the train.

His father shook his head at him as he slipped a disk into his briefcase. “You shouldn’t get in the habit of oversleeping, Seiichi,” he reprimanded. “You start school again in less than a month, and you don’t want to make a bad impression.”

Yukimura ducked his head, hiding a bright blush. He awakened on time – he’d actually been up early, but he couldn’t tell his father that. The elder Yukimura would have had no clue what had been taking so long, and there wouldn’t have been any way to explain it.

“No, Dad,” he finally muttered. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” his father said with a smile. He brushed a hand over Seiichi’s tangled hair. “But we should go now, before we miss the train.”

Yukimura nodded, smiling up at his father as he grabbed his jacket.

They passed most of the walk to the station in silence, and they were both equally quiet on the train trip.

Yukimura was lost in his thoughts the entire time, until he abruptly realized that they were in the elevator at his father’s advertising firm.

“Dad?” he asked.

His father looked up, startled. Seiichi had been unnaturally quiet all morning, he’d noticed that much. His son had never been an extremely talkative sort, and he occasionally got into pensive moods.

The elder Yukimura had long ago decided that it was probably best to let his son work himself through those moods.

“Yes, Seiichi?” he returned.

“Do you have a meeting this morning?”

His father nodded. “Yes, a new client,” he confirmed. “I can formally introduce you to Inihara beforehand, though.”

Seiichi shook his head wildly. “No, that’s okay, Dad,” he said. “I can probably find his cubicle on my own, and I don’t want to bother him if he’s…busy.”

His father shrugged. “If you’re sure,” he said. The elevator doors slid open and they stepped out.

“Yukimura,” barked a deep voice. “You’re…oh, hello, Seiichi-kun. You haven’t been in for awhile.”

Seiichi smiled winningly at his father’s immediate superior. He was a gruff older man with a tendency to worry himself into a frenzy.

But like everyone else in the design department, he had a soft spot for Yukimura’s pretty son.

“I was busy with preparing for middle school,” Seiichi said softly. He flicked a strand of dark hair off his brow and blinked at the older man. “But I wanted to come in again. I hope I won’t be much trouble?”

His father’s manager blushed slightly. He was one of the men, Seiichi recalled, who had started looking at him differently this year.

“No, it’s no problem at all,” the manager replied with a slight stammer. There was something about Yukimura Seiichi that made him nervous and uncomfortable, and he had no real desire to examine why. “I’m afraid I have to take your father away, though. He has an early meeting.”

His dark eyes hardened as he switched his gaze to Seiichi’s father. “It was moved up half an hour. Didn’t you check your messages?”

The other man shook his head. “No,” he gulped. He started down the hall, making it halfway to his office before he paused. “I don’t know when I’ll be free, Seiichi,” he said apologetically. “But have a good day! Bye!”

“Bye,” echoed his son, lifting a hand as he watched his father dash down the hall.

It looked like his father was going to have another typical day at work, he thought, rushing into meetings at the last minute, like he always did.

Seiichi let his gaze flick towards the shadowy back of the design department, where he knew the interns’ cubicles always were.

His day, on the other hand, promised to be far from typical. He didn’t know exactly what to expect, but he was absolutely certain that it wouldn’t much resemble most of his other experiences.

He slowly walked to the back of the department and carefully peeked around the corner of Inihara’s cubicle.

He was wearing headphones, and typing something on his computer. Yukimura was sure that the college student didn’t even know he was there.

He waited a few moments before speaking, staring at the back of the intern’s head, watching his long fingers fly across the keyboard.

“Excuse me, Inihara-san?” he finally said in a hesitant murmur.

The man turned his head and smiled at him. “Ah, Yuki-kun,” he said. “I was beginning to wonder if you were just going to stand there all day.”

Yukimura’s eyes widened and he flushed bright red. He’d thought he was being unobtrusive, but in truth, Inihara had just been waiting for him to speak.

“Y-You’re working,” he stammered, taking a step back. “ Sorry. I don’t want to disturb you.”

Inihara half-rose out of his chair, grabbing Yukimura around his wrist. “No,” he said. “It’s alright. I was almost finished, anyway.”

He smiled, pulling Yukimura all the way into the small space. “I haven’t seen you for the past couple of days,” he said. “I wondered if you were coming back.”

Yukimura’s startled gaze dropped from Inihara’s smiling face to his hands. The young man’s much larger, much darker hand was wrapped around his wrist.

“Yuki-kun?” Inihara inquired. He smiled when the young boy’s dark eyes flew up to meet his. “Is there something wrong?”

Yukimura quickly shook his head. “No, Inihara-san,” he said. “Uh, I haven’t been around lately because I was busy. Playing tennis.”

Inihara raised his eyebrows. “You play tennis?” he asked. Somehow that surprised him.

Yukimura was graceful, but he was also small and slender. It was hard to associate him with something as athletic as a game of tennis.

He stroked his thumb lightly across the soft skin of the boy’s wrist and grinned when Yukimura jumped slightly. “I didn’t know you played tennis,” he said.

Yukimura’s brown eyes lit up. Tennis, along with art, was one of the things that excited him, always. “Yeah,” he said. “I want to make the team when I go to Rikkai, so I have to practice.”

“Rikkaidai Fuzoku?” Inihara asked, raising his eyebrows. An amused smile quirked the corners of his lips. “You must be good then.”

Yukimura smiled back, tossing his head. Tennis was one of the few things he was utterly confident about. He knew he was good; he even knew he was better than most other players. “I am good,” he said. “Very good.”

Inihara let out a soft, delighted laugh, tugging Yukimura even closer, until there was almost no space between them. “I don’t doubt that you are,” he murmured.

Yukimura’s eyes widened in alarm as his mind registered where he was standing – just how close to Inihara he was.

But he didn’t want to pull away, he thought as his cheeks heated again.

“Do you play any sports, Inihara-san?” he asked hesitantly. “You’re in the University division at Rikkai, right?”

Inihara nodded, amused. Yukimura must have asked about him, he thought; he must have been curious. “I play basketball,” he said, “but not seriously. I’m not on the school team.”

Yukimura frowned slightly. He didn’t understand that – tennis was so much of a part of who he was, that he couldn’t understand anyone playing something without taking it seriously.

Aki let their hands rest on his knee, giving Yukimura a considering look. “I was surprised that you knew my name,” he said.

Yukimura ducked his head, letting his dark hair cover his flushed cheeks. “I asked my dad,” he muttered.

“Your dad?” Inihara asked, amused. “Didn’t he ask you why you wanted to know?”

“He thinks it’s because you’re a good designer.”

“And that’s not the reason?” Inihara Aki asked, amusement lacing his voice.

Yukimura’s face burned even brighter red and he peeked up at Inihara through his eyelashes. “Well,” he mumbled. “Not entirely.”

“Hmm,” murmured Inihara. He released Yukimura’s wrist and reached up to brush his hand over the boy’s fine, silky hair. “I was beginning to wonder if you didn’t like me.”

Yukimura gnawed on his bottom lip slightly before looking up at Inihara, his cheeks still red from embarrassment. “I do like you,” he said. “I was just, uh…”

“It’s okay, Yuki,” Inihara reassured him. He curved his hand under Yukimura’s chin, tipping his head up. “I understand,” he murmured as he bent his head.

Yukimura’s eyes widened and his pulse raced in this throat. He was going to be kissed again – something he’d dreamed of all week. A warm feeling spread across his belly and he parted his lips on a soft sigh.

This was what he had wanted, he thought as his eyes drifted closed.

Inihara’s mouth met his in a kiss that almost immediately became something deep and hot, something he could lose himself in far too easily.

Yukimura pulled away gasping. “Inihara-san!” he breathed. “Should we really be doing this here? Someone might see.”

Inihara raised his eyebrows. “That makes it more exciting, don’t you think?” His mouth curved in a wicked grin as he traced the curve of Yukimura’s cheek. “What do you think your father would do if he walked past and saw us, saw me kissing you?” he mused.

Yukimura blanched, and he started to back away, casting furtive glances at the wide opening in Inihara’s cubicle. “I-I don’t know,” he stammered.

Inihara chuckled, and curved a hand around Yukimura’s waist.

“Yuki,” he said. “I could get into so much trouble for this.” He ran a hand lightly down the boy’s denim-clad hip, and smiled. “I could get fired.”

“Fired?” squeaked Yukimura. “Then why…”

“Because,” Inihara murmured as he pressed another kiss to Yukimura’s parted lips, “you’re mouth is the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted. I can’t resist it.”

He broke the kiss and tilted his head, nipping lightly at Yukimura’s earlobe. “I can’t resist you.”

Yukimura moaned softly as he felt Inihara’s teeth close around his delicate skin and fisted his hands in the fabric of the young man’s shirt. “Inihara-san…”

The college student smiled, his eyes gleaming with amusement and something else, something Yukimura instinctively recognized. “You can call me Aki,” he murmured. “Inihara-san is very formal.”

He quickly flicked open the top button of Yukimura’s shirt and bent his head, tracing the line of the young boy’s collarbone with his tongue.

“Aki,” gasped Yukimura.

“Good, Yuki,” murmured Inihara. He lifted his head, smiling, and sliding one hand up the back of Yukimura’s loose shirt, curving his fingers around the soft skin of his back.

He kissed Yukimura again, tracing the contours of the boy’s lips with his tongue before deepening the kiss, tugging the small boy closer with one hand curved around his neck, while he let the other slip lightly over the curve of Yukimura’s ass.

Yukimura’s jeans were, by Inihara’s estimation, about half a size too small.

He squeezed the soft curves through the faded denim and suppressed a chuckle when Yukimura squeaked.

“Shh,” he murmured as he slowly broke the kiss. “You don’t,” he continued, lightly nipping at Yukimura’s full bottom lip, “want to alert someone, do you?”

Yukimura shook his head mutely.

Inihara smiled at him. “Then,” he said, as he brushed his lips down Yukimura’s pale throat, “you need to be quiet. Understand?”

Yukimura nodded.

“Good,” smiled Inihara. He leaned back, flicking open the button of his pants and slowly lowering the zipper.

“Will you touch me, Yuki?”

“Touch you?” asked Yukimura. He reached up, lightly brushing his fingertips against Inihara’s cheek. “Like this?”

Inihara shook his head slightly and caught hold of Yukimura’s slender hand. “No,” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to the palm. “Like this, Yuki,” he continued, guiding the twelve year old’s hand downward, slipping his small hand into the opening in his pants

He smiled when he felt Yukimura jerk slightly. “That means I want you, you know,” he murmured, bending his head close to the young boy’s ear.

“Oh,” whispered Yukimura in a small voice. He bent his head again, staring down at where his hand was curled inside the dark fabric of Inihara’s trousers.

Yuki was so cute, thought Inihara. He curved one hand around the nape of Yukimura’s neck, tipping his head back up. “Yes, Yuki,” he said, in a soft, teasing voice. “’Oh.’”

“I-It’s hard,” Yukimura stammered. He’d known it would be, he’d remembered it – but somehow it was even more than he expected, harder and hotter.

“Yes, Yuki, it is.” His lips quirked upwards as he brushed the collar of Yukimura’s shirt out of the way, and pressed a kiss to the boy’s shoulder. “I want you to suck it,” he said.

“Suck… it?” asked Yukimura. A faint line formed between his eyebrows. “Aki, why?”

Inihara tipped his head to the side as he regarded Yukimura. “Because it will feel good,” he said finally. “Please, Yuki?”

Yukimura stared at the college student for a long moment, uncertainty clouding his eyes. He didn’t understand exactly why Aki wanted this, but he was intrigued.

He sank slowly and awkwardly to his knees, his eyes fixed on the hard flesh he could see through Inihara’s half-opened pants.

“It’ll be okay,” murmured Inihara, brushing a hand lightly over the top of Yukimura’s head. “Trust me.”

Yukimura tipped his head up, staring into Inihara’s eyes. He was still uncertain; that much was obvious. But he finally nodded.

“I trust you, Aki,” he murmured, letting his eyelashes veil his brown eyes. “But I don’t know what to do.”

“I’ll show you,” reassured Inihara. “Don’t worry.”

Yukimura watched with wide eyes as Inihara finished unzipping his pants, letting his fingers brush over his cock gently.

He’d done that to Aki, he thought, as the young man let his head fall back; he was making Aki feel like this.

He’d never known he could do that to anyone before.

He liked it, Yukimura thought as he rested his hands on Inihara’s thighs. He liked knowing that he could make Aki want something this badly.

Inihara threaded his fingers through Yukimura’s long curls, guiding his head slowly forward. His smiled when the boy tilted his head upwards, peering at him uncertainly.

“It’s like a kiss, Yuki,” he whispered softly. “Remember how I kissed you? How my tongue felt around yours?”

Yukimura nodded slightly, his eyes still uncertain.

Inihara smiled, stroking his hand across the back of Yukimura’s neck. “It’s just like that.”

“Okay, Aki,” whispered Yukimura. He let his eyes drift shut as he leaned forward, licking hesitantly at Inihara’s hot shaft, and closing his mouth gently over the head, curling his tongue gently around it.

He heard Inihara gasp, and the sound seemed loud to Yukimura in the small space.

“That’s…good, Yuki,” Inihara managed in a hoarse whisper. “Now, move your mouth over it.”

He drew in a breath, tightening his grip on Yukimura’s hair as the twelve year old followed his directive, burning a wet path up his cock with his lips and tongue.

“Yeah, just like that,” he muttered, letting his head fall back again. “Oh, Yuki…” he moaned quietly, using his grip on the boy’s hair to guide his mouth. “God.”

Yukimura let Inihara guide his mouth for a few moments, fisting his hands in the fabric of the young man’s pants. It felt strange, he thought, not bad, just strange.

He curled his tongue around Aki’s cock, licking and sucking as his head moved up and down the shaft, almost smiling at the college boy’s increasingly incoherent murmurings.

Yes, he thought again as he gripped at Inihara’s heavy pants and moved his head faster up and down his cock, it felt strange. But it felt good, too. He liked making Aki feel like this.

It made him feel powerful – and he’d rarely felt like that in his twelve years. Being pretty and slim, he’d found, usually left him feeling the opposite way.

“Yuki,” Aki moaned. He lifted a hand and pushed firmly at Yukimura’s narrow shoulder, and the boy sprawled awkwardly across the floor. “I’m...I’m going to…”

An instant later, Yukimura heard Inihara’s voice catch on something between a gasp and a moan, and felt something hot and thick spread across his face.

He blinked open his eyes, swiping a strand of the slippery cum off his cheek.

“I’m sorry,” murmured Inihara. He lifted Yukimura’s chin, wiping off his face and fingers. “I didn’t want to do it in your mouth, and I was too close.”

Yukimura blushed, his cheeks turning a faint pink as Inihara brushed a tissue over them. “It’s okay,” he muttered.

He could still taste Aki in his mouth, he thought, a strong, almost salty aftertaste. He didn’t mind it, really, he mused as he ducked his head, covering his burning cheeks. Was he dirty because he didn’t mind it?

“Yuki,” murmured Inihara. He tilted the boy’s head back up, meeting his lips in a brief kiss. “Thank you.”

Yukimura nodded, worrying his lip with his teeth, and Inihara smiled.

He wrapped his hands firmly around Yukimura’s waist, pulling the twelve year old up for a long, deep kiss.

When they broke apart, he traced a finger down the curve of Yukimura’s pale cheek, and softly rubbed it across the boy’s swollen lips. “You’re beautiful, Yukimura Seiichi,” he whispered with a soft smile. “Sometimes it’s hard to believe that anyone could be this beautiful.”

Yukimura blushed again, letting his gaze drop. “I…I should go,” he mumbled. He took a few hesitant steps away from Inihara, avoiding his eyes.

Somehow, Inihara’s words had embarrassed him more than anything else they had done.

“Yuki,” murmured Inihara. He caught the boy’s small hand in his and tugged him closer, kissing him again – a long, gentle kiss, sweeter than the last.

“Will you come back?” he asked when the parted for breath.

Yukimura stared at Inihara Aki for a long moment. It had been a confusing day, and he’d managed to fall into a strange relationship with a man nine years his senior. But he found he couldn’t regret it.

He sighed, peeking up at Inihara through long eyelashes. “Yes,” he murmured, finally. “I…I’ll be back tomorrow.”

Inihara smiled, brushing a hand over Yukimura’s head. “Good,” he said. “I’ll see you then.”

Yukimura nodded, smiling a little uncertainly, before backing out of Inihara’s cubicle and disappearing down the hall.

He settled into a chair away from the bustle of the design department and gazed blankly at the abstract mural on the wall opposite him, before glancing back towards Inihara’s cubicle.

Yes, he thought, he would be back the next day – he would probably come back to the firm as many days as he could, until school began again.

There was something about Inihara Aki that pulled at him, and Yukimura Seiichi didn’t think he could make himself stay away. Not anymore.