bakerstreet | Sexting

[There was nowhere for this interaction to go that wouldn't interfere with practice, and also his peace of mind, but the sense of absences is immediate, even when it's only a step back. As much as Midorima is loathe to admit it, the only word that fits this feeling is disappointment.

But what Takao says sends heat through his entire body, only to settle into a low pull in his stomach.

No, it must have been the build-up from the entire day and the insinuating proximity of the past few minutes. There is no way he's so weak to a compliment and the mere concept of Takao having trouble because of him.

Regardless of the reason, he had changed out of his uniform pants first, and the problem of the loose shorts is suddenly real. He casually drops the shirt lower, but he really wishes he could cover his face because of what he's about to say.]

In difficult physical situations, sometimes the only course of action is to take care of the problem in order to regain focus. So if you'll excuse me.

[There's a bathroom stall with his name on it, and Takao can have some bonus advice as well.]

[All of that's a part of the performance. Many people talk about the appeal of a uniform, but Takao's quite sold on casual clothing in that moment; practice shorts are a giveaway he notices just in time for Midorima's lowered shirt to be a formality. He's still stately, he speaks with impossible, rigid control. It's not quite talking down to him, but it's so painfully Midorima that Takao feels the color flaring up in his chest and face, leading to having to tug at his own collar and exhale slowly.

Things Takao Kazunari has learned today: way more about history, math, grammar and literature, and science than he's ever cared to cram in during an 8 hour period, that he doesn't have a fetish for uniforms or being insulted, that he does for Midorima specifically, that Midorima can be unexpectedly cute (in ways beyond what he already knew), and that that's not always just funny but also dangerous.

But being caught by their upperclassmen is no laughing matter. Good advice is good advice. He lingers outside a few split seconds before deciding on the stall next door instead of pestering to share a stall.]

[It had seemed like Takao's problem with loose shorts was hypothetical, a worry for later when he watched him in action and couldn't control his thoughts. Something to possibly be dealt with later. That is to say that Midorima isn't expecting to hear the sounds of someone else entering the bathroom just behind him and then a familiar pair of shoes walking into the stall next to him.

This is obviously because he didn't take the throw pillow to the bathroom with him.]

I didn't tell you-

[His voice echoes back at him, and too aware of the risk of someone else coming in just as easily as Takao joined him, he starts again more quietly.]

I didn't tell you so you would listen in!

It was good advice! I'm taking it!

[Learning from Midorima's own echo, Takao hisses back. He can't see around the walls to know who might be coming in, and he also knows the odds of him having the wherewithal once he's started to pick up on any sounds not from the stall next door are slim. He really shouldn't be trying to work up a conversation right now.]

It's not like I'm trying to add another dangerous memory to call up at the wrong time!

[Fate is testing him by throwing in his face all the times he wished someone would follow his advice.

Midorima doesn't have a reason to believe he's lying, though. Takao obviously needs this...stress relief, too.]

Then did you have to choose the stall right next to mine?

[Mentally, the idea of having an audience, even if hidden and otherwise occupied, is mortifying. Physically, he seems to have no problem with the idea of Takao as a witness because his horror doesn't even have the decency of solving his problem.]

[And there goes his uniform top and undershirt over the wall between their stalls.]

'Cause I don't want anyone else hearing you.

[The pants follow as if emphasizing that sentence. If he's going to change clothes anyway, he may as well take care of this problem without wearing anything for it to splatter on.

It's hard to tell by tone alone if that's a joke or not; more than possessiveness, it is protectiveness. Frankly his own pride would prefer not to be heard, too, but being heard by an understanding party is better than anyone else who might end up on either open side if they were separate.]

[There are limits to what any man should be expected to bear. It has the mark of Takao's usual careless statements, but the idea of Takao wanting to keep this for himself completely removes the option of walking away. He needs to take care of the result or skip practice completely. The latter is obviously not an option.

Midorima adds his shirt to the dividing wall but just slips his basketball shorts down along with his underwear.]

We should get to it so we're not late.

[Ah, but his fingers are still taped. If he wants this to go quickly, bare fingers are best.

And that just reminds him of last night. And that just - he will assume later - makes him lose his mind in the most clinical sense of the term because he's hanging his arm over the divider to present his covered fingers to Takao.]

Takao, remove my tape. Since you're the cause of this predicament in the first place, you can at least help with that.

[Midorima can't see the expression on Takao's face seeing that arm hang down, those taped fingers that had his attention for far too much of the day. He can't hear the way Takao's heart threatens to hammer through his rib cage. The swallowing sound is too soft to carry, either. This is a lot like how this whole mess started on the phone.

Fingertips slide over the tape, past bare knuckles and lightly over the back of that offered hand, uncharacteristically in awe. Things just took a significant jump from textual to real. The significance is too momentous for him to reason out, but it's big, enough that the only proper option if he wants to function at all is to forcibly stop thinking about the fact that he's touching Midorima's hand draped over the stall. They've seen each other directly naked before. Shared the same bath water. No walls. They've probably even touched before in such a state even if he can't remember it; Takao's prone to shoulder pats and contact. But this isn't the same. Even though it's just a hand.

His opposite hand plants on the wall and the toilet seat can be heard shifting as Takao uses it for a slight boost upwards, not enough to peek over the top. He shouldn't need that much support to just peel off tape, and his fingers getting to work feeling over his index finger find the tape tip quickly enough, peeling it back, down towards the middle knuckle. That's when the height boost comes in handy; Takao's nose lightly skims the offered hand as his teeth take the loose end of the tape, unraveling it the rest of the way while directing his hand to move as he needs it to.

It's a decidedly slower process for removing the tape than necessary. The quick slide of tongue along the single exposed finger doesn't change that fact, even if his fingers are swift at finding the next tab, unraveling that tape down further.

Whatever smart mouthed comment he might have had about the request is long lost. The second winding of tape ends up removed, crumpled, then dropped to the ground, Takao's tongue suggestively trailing along both digits together.]

[His entire body wants to shrink away from the first light touch, every sensible thought process telling him this is a bad idea. All the same, Midorima doesn't move his arm, and even "Get on with it," never leaves his mouth. He wants to see what Takao does unprompted. He wants to see if last night's idea left as much of an impression on him.

When it becomes apparent that he does remember, is replicating the fantasy, Midorima drags his free hand down his face. His mind can easily supply the visual to go along with the motions he can only sense, and more. The promises of quick fingers and a roving mouth leave him trembling. They shouldn't be doing this in school. They shouldn't be doing this at all, because naturally he's going to want more. He can admit that to himself when he's hard and aching, in danger of dripping onto his shorts. He can admit that even before the first lick.

The next swipe of Takao's tongue fills him with a truly urgent need to touch himself.]

That's enough.

[The first words Midorima manages to say since Takao started his attentions to his fingers come out strained. He pulls his arm back and removes the tape from the remaining fingers without any kind of delicacy, balls it up, and lets it fall to the floor. Two obvious signs that he's affected to the extent of near senselessness, and he slides right into the third. His hand wraps around his length and he's stroking himself so vigorously the sound must carry across the simple stall wall separating them.]

S'not anywhere near enough.

[But that throaty complaint comes with the sound of Takao settling both feet back on the floor rather than with some brazen attempt to spider-monkey his way over the barrier between them. There's nothing to see now, and the brief access he had wasn't nearly enough to get any sense of flavor. But before the embarrassment of what he just did can hit him in full force, the unmistakable sound of Midorima's masturbation, to him no less, claims the attention of his remaining functional brain cells.

Thanks to last night, a vivid mental image isn't hard to conjure up. The sound is live now, rather than recorded. Takao's aware of his own breath picking up as he wraps his fist around himself and starts at a slower pace. He really should hurry it up. He knows that. He also shouldn't be jerking it to his best friend and teammate. He also knows that.

What he doesn't know is if he should be complimenting the source of his arousal right that moment. He knows it'll be mutually embarrassing, and saying, doing certain embarrassing things is easier in one's room alone to a phone than to the real person, but he also knows, from experience, that embarrassing things can be really, really hot.]

S'a good sound over there. I'm definitely gonna be selfish with it.

[It comes out a lot more confident than he feels, which itself makes him feel a little more bold. Or is it that a person becomes more intrepid the more they get lost in these kinds of acts? Having just crossed the line from protective to more possessive, and having just stated he was getting off to Midorima's getting off, there's no reason to hold back. Leaning against their shared wall, his eyes close, picking up the pace to match the one he hears.]

[Surely there are societal rules against continuing to talk at a moment like this, agreements where both parties agree to obey the stall boundaries after everything has become too overwhelming. Of course he was the one talking only a moment ago, but now he is the one overwhelmed.

Takao's words bring a warmth, just like the wet but heated feeling when his tongue brushed his fingers. He likes what Midorima is giving him and he wants more.

Midorima can only form vague impressions of what this could mean and where they could go from here if they removed the last barriers between them. Details would be too much. That tone of voice is already too much. Again, he feels the need to say something to regain even a small sense of control.]

Focus on the-

[He doesn't dare say, "task at hand."

Just great. He's thinking in terms of double entendre now.]

Focus, Takao.

[With that said, he grows quiet. Mindful of their location, Midorima keeps even the smallest groans and gasps in check. It makes the sounds of skin against skin that much more obvious.

He's doing just what he told Takao to do. He's focusing, on the pull of his hand and the knowledge of what is happening right beside him. Last night's conversation gave him enough visuals to fill in the blanks. It doesn't take much more before he's spilling out into the toilet in front of him. Even then, he's quiet except for a telltale hitch in his breath and the suspicious lack of sound.]

[If Takao is reliable for anything, it's for talking; there's a certain unspoken rule about talking to the person in the next stall even without the obvious, mutually awkward gravity between them. But just the same he half-whispers out a chuckling, utterly unapologetic apology.]

Sorry, sorry.

[But he's also usually reliable for following orders. Focus though he does, however, Midorima's insufferably well controlled over there, meaning his imagination has to work with last night's leftovers instead of something fresh. Fortunately, they're extremely good leftovers. If he could take out his phone and use that fodder again, it'd be better still, and only the fact that he'd have to stop his hand and break his focus to get his phone out of the pocket of the pants hung over the wall keeps Takao settling for imagining what kind of state he's gotten their Ace into before practice.

Then Midorima makes the first sound that's not his hand; the audible hitch of breath leads Takao's free hand having to press over his own mouth. It's less decency than it is wanting to hear any other sounds he can and doing his best to shut himself up so as not to drown it out. But there's only the splatter in the toilet and silence from Midorima's stall. And the sound of Takao's own hand continuing alone.

And then there's the belated (it's not the most quick witted state of mind he's in) realization of what it means, a rush of memory of release over Midorima's naked abdomen and Takao's own hand over his mouth doesn't fully suppress the moan that punctuates the final few strokes, tapering off into a heavy sigh that's part humiliation, part satisfaction, part relief that they've made it through safely.

But if facing each other after phone sex was potentially awkward (Takao's of the belief he pulled it off like a champ that morning), then seeing each other outside of the stall is really going to be something.]

[For a brief time post-orgasm, Midorima is relaxed, what others might point out to be the least uptight he ever is. He would tell them to die, of course, but there's truth to it. The calm lets him enjoy the lingering sounds from the other stall, especially the final moan Takao can't quite contain. It might not be a file saved on his phone, but it's a sound he knows he'll remember and recall. His body hasn't recovered enough for further arousal to be a worry, and his brain hasn't recovered enough to focus on the problems of the situation.

It's nice while it lasts.

The first thing that comes back to him is knowledge of the time. They've already taken too long. They're going to be in trouble for being late to practice. It's something he hates, but it's preferable to the alternative of someone coming to look for them. They need to get out of the bathroom as soon as possible.

With a few swipes of toilet paper and a quick flush, he's destroyed the physical evidence, and pulling his clothes back on only takes a moment. But now he has to face problem number two. Once he leaves the stall, Takao will there, face-to-face again.

He could make a run for it, but he refuses to leave without washing his hands.

The answer once again is pretended confidence. Midorima steps out of the stall and walks to the sinks with a brisk stride, all business.]

[The silence from Takao's stall is brief; as nice and warm as the afterglow is, the razzing he'll get for being late rears itself in his mind. He can hear Midorima's stall door open, and he hears brisk strides instead of a mad dash. And no order to hurry up.

Pulling on his practice clothes and flushing the paper used to clean up down the toilet, Takao's out not more than a few seconds later, door open before his head's fully through the hole and the shirt pulled down, hurrying to the sink with more urgency than Midorima let himself have.]

The usual today?

[It wouldn't normally even be a question if they were staying late; but he can think of a few good reasons why perhaps he would prefer not to be alone together without any place to be for a long stretch of time. The safety earned by the bathroom retreat definitely won't last that long.]

[Fate smiles on him and when Takao speaks, he doesn't say a word about what just happened. What he says creates its own problems, though. As loathe as he is to avoid his standard extra practice, he just doesn't know if he can make it. At the rate he's going, if he gets Takao alone, he's in danger of jumping him in the middle of the basketball court because all sense has apparently left him today. Even with the reprieve of classes, today has strained his social and emotional muscles, the ones he would claim not to need at all, almost to the point of snapping.

Midorima isn't proud of it, but he's going to take this out. He'll spend some quality time with his pillow this evening, and face tomorrow with extra focus and dedication.]

We should go home after practice. Rest and mental preparation are also vital parts of any athlete's training.

[Cutting the after-practice practice, then. With a pained smile, he splashes his face, then turns off the sink, hoping any lingering color on his features will pass for just having washed up.]

You've had good ideas for handling this so far today. Guess we'll keep assuming you never miss the mark!

[A little too good for something with no visuals and access to nothing but his fingers. But letting out a full day's frustrations inevitably feels better than a regular jerk session. As good as that bathroom romp was, things are pretty bad. Normally, he'd think a pretty major fight could get them to skip practice for interpersonal reasons, but most people would consider what they were doing becoming more friendly than less. With that friendly spirit in mind, Takao pats him on the shoulder and gets to hurrying on ahead.

As usual, practice is long. And for the crime of being late, without even offering any particular excuse beyond an apology, it's nice and greuling for one who has no selfish whim or long accepted oddity to use as a shield.]

[Midorima replies almost automatically.]

Of course my ideas are good.

[When he fully realizes what the compliment of his "good ideas" included, Takao is already out the door. He hurries after him and then doesn't have a chance to think of anything but claiming one of his selfish requests to excuse his late arrival and then facing a difficult practice highly influenced by the captain's bad mood over their lateness.

Another good idea comes to him near the end of practice - tell Takao he doesn't need to drive him home today. (Naturally, it's assumed Takao will be the one driving.) They can avoid any awkward conversations and start fresh in the morning. Yes, an excellent idea.

It would have been if he ever got a chance to mention it. They've both barely stepped into the locker room when their teammates latch on to this strange occurrence and questions like, "You're really not staying late tonight?" quickly turn into pushing to come out and eat with them. Forced closeness. Midorima glances at his pillow on the bench beside him and thinks that maybe he relied on its help too much today and used up the power it offered.]

[As the one who had asked for help before practice, Takao owes a debt of gratitude to Midorima for that steamy solution that helped him get through practice. An appropriate expression thereof would be to read his obvious desire to end it all and get away from him. He sees Midorima's eyes go to that pillow as if wishing for a miracle from it.]

Let's do it, Shin-chan! Lemme at least buy you dinner after all that!

[...But Takao is not always appropriate. Today they're skipping practice. What if tomorrow they're coming to school separately? Even without knowing Midorima's plan to have them head home separately, the threat of trying to ward off their newfound problem by separation is one he won't stand for.

If there's a blessing, it's that they're together so often that "all that" could be any number of things, innocent things.]

Takao!

[To Midorima, "all that" telegraphs everything they've done in the past 18 hours or so. But when he looks around the locker room, no one is acting scandalized or leering at them. At the most, they're slightly confused about why he got so angry about it, but for the most part they're used to these kind of outbursts from him.

Attempting to draw attention away from his shock, he pushes up his glasses and adds an assumed reason for yelling at him.]

Don't presume to make decisions for me.

[Attempts at giving him a heart attack aside, he should have known that not only would Takao be of no help in avoiding a social activity, but would actively try to sabotage his attempts to get out of it.

His last-ditch attempt to use his final selfish request of the day to get out of it is denied because practice is over. They're going out to eat. Midorima looks appropriately displeased.]

Hm?

[Takao's face mirrors the confusion of those around him at the outburst, with one key difference: he looks distinctly happy in his feigned innocent confusion. This, too, draws no suspicion: Takao delighting in Midorima's plights is commonplace and seemingly not knowing the exact nature of it shouldn't change that.

Even though he fully knows.

Even though he walks right alongside him en route.

Even though he's going to sit right on next to him. Normally he'd sit across from him at a table or booth. but they're eating in a larger group than usual and space is a little tighter.

Even though he quickly lost sight of whatever more noble goal of protecting the sanctity of their normal relationship by refusing to let running away become their strategy. But in a way, this might be a return to normalcy, such a form of harassment.]

[Midorima mostly gives Takao the silent treatment on the walk over. Also the glaring treatment. It would be more satisfying if Takao wasn't already the one who drives their conversations and if his glaring had any effect on him.

His pillow is in his lap, not because he needs it right now - he is at negative arousal, but because they're so crammed into this booth that there isn't room for it to his side. Any attempt to call out the ridiculousness of their seating arrangement is denied in the name of team bonding. They're all becoming much too quick to brush him off. This must be Takao's fault somehow. With a small huff, he directs his first unsolicited comment at him since they left the locker room.]

I'm sure you're enjoying yourself.

Yeah! It's fun! We don't get to hang out with the whole team that often!

[That smile is as innocent as can be, just as innocent as the way he simply failed to notice the glares or the silent treatment amongst the abundant conversation he could start up with any number of their fellow teammates. The hand patting his thigh under the table is surely also just as innocent.]

[So much for a lack of interest. A slight pat on the leg does what being shoved together didn't. He used to be someone with impeccable self-control. He blames Takao for this change as well.

Not wanting to draw attention to Takao touching his leg under the table, he tries to stop him through a disapproving stare alone.]

[Midorima's going to have to try harder than that, that's practically his default expression. Deciding he didn't get too negative a reaction, even after the testing pat, his hand settles in place. At times, his fingers slide or squeeze. It's impossible to tell what kind of reaction he's getting from their position. Or rather, it's not impossible at all, even if Midorima's default expression is less than warm and fuzzy, he knows him well enough to know disapproval when he sees it. But it's not enough to know if he doesn't like it, or doesn't like that he likes it.

Takao, for his part, can hold entire, fluid conversations with his hand right there in Midorima's lap. Given he was the party less composed during the video exchange, he's a little proud of it.]

[Maybe in a different location, he would allow himself to enjoy Takao's touch. Now that they've done the things they've done together, removing that distance and actually touching each other is a possible next step. This would of course take place in an appropriate location, such as his locked bedroom when his parents aren't home, ideally in another country. Right now they are in a public place. The only logical solution is to remove himself, or at least a portion of himself, from the situation. Midorima jerks his leg out of Takao's reach.

Promptly slamming it into a joint under the table, making plates and glasses rattle and drawing all attention his way.]

This is your fault.

[He allows himself this because everyone else will think he means it's Takao's fault for helping to drag him along on this social outing. Possibly that it's Takao's fault for existing. Only Takjao will know what he's truly blaming him for.]

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