Archive of Our Own

Isagi had managed to block Rin’s shot. That was the important part– that was how this all came about.

Though– Isagi isn't really sure when it started.

It could have been during the NEL, or all the way back during their second– the first real– match, or the U20 match to hijack the Japanese national team, or anywhere in between. It’s not even like it was an uncommon thing, on or off the pitch, Rin and his terminal need to throw a swing or eat shit doing something gutsy or stupid.

One thing was certain though: Rin never shied away taking a shot to the face. And Isagi is only realizing now how much of a problem it’s going to be.

"You're making a mess." He tells him, trying to sound mad about it.

Rin snorts, the sound vibrating through his throat, and Isagi’s hips twitch forward on instinct. Smug green eyes flick up at him from under dark lashes, and as arresting a force the full attention of Itoshi Rin tends to be, especially when he’s got his mouth on him, it’s still the bruised, flushed bridge of his elegant nose that captivates Isagi, the steady drip of crimson from it as it coats Rin’s cheek and chin and now no small amount of Isagi’s uniform shorts and dick.

And of course Rin sees through it, sees through him, pulling off with a sloppy sound and holding Isagi against his bloodied cheek. "Shut up." Rin says, the rasp in his voice scraping the air between them.

Isagi shivers, flexing his fingers where they’re still clutched Rin’s hair, and presses his face back in. "Good idea.”

The grip on his head is loose enough Rin could break it anytime he wants. He does it now, shoving himself up into Isagi’s space, raking his own hand up through Isagi's hair before pulling sharply.

"Go to hell."

Isagi smirks, tilting his chin so their lips brush, the heated heave of Rin’s breath tinged with the metallic edge of his blood. "You'd miss me too much."

Rin descends upon him, their mouths crushing together. Isagi can’t help the moan that escapes as Rin’s tongue bullies its way in, at the bright copper-coated burst that fills his mouth. Rin pulls back, a fresh stream of red trailing off his lips, twined in the line of spit leaking from his chin. He brushes his thumb over Isagi’s bottom lip, and Isagi feels the blood that smears across his mouth, pressed into his teeth. Rin leans forward again, nipping into his bottom lip, a bright fractured second of pain before he’s back with his tongue, laving at his teeth, the roof of his mouth, at every bit of Isagi he can get.

He’s still fully dressed from practice. They both are. Everything had been fine up until the scrimmage they ended it with. All the regulars split between two teams, minus a goalie, Rin and Isagi on opposite sides because it wasn’t fair to anyone when they were on the same team. And they had played, played as they always did, the adrenaline rush of facing Rin head on hardly different from facing the field at his side, how he always acted to one up anything anyone expected of him, always raced against himself to see how fast he could wreak destruction on them all.

It’d happened as Rin had gone in for the kill, rounding the defense to make a killer outside shot that would’ve broken the 1-1 tie. Isagi had read his movements and jumped in at the last second, taking it to the chest and managing a retaliating shot on the drop before he hit the ground, impact striking the field like thunder as they both went down. When Isagi got the breath back in him enough to move, he saw Rin on his knees, hands cupped around the bruised well of his nose. Red leaked steadily between his fingers, eyes dazed and unfocused until he noticed Isagi staring at him.

Their gazes met. Someone pressed a towel into Rin’s nose, the team ribbing them both for their antics, but he held Isagi’s gaze like a feral thing, cold and black. Even when they started back up again, he’d kept staring at him like that, legs spread in an easy stance, head cocked slightly, eyes dark and flat as he watched Isagi from across the field. Rin would never waste his flow state on a practice match. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t still play like an absolute beast.

The rest of it was a blur. The end of scrimmage, the locker room afterwards, the expeditious trip back to the hotel. It was just right across the street from the stadium and it still felt like an eternity between dodging cars and suffering the elevator to the top floor, that dark stare penetrating his back the entire time. The moment the door to Isagi’s room closed, Rin was shoving him back, back and away, until he hit a bed. He’d fallen to the mattress, looking up at Rin looming over him. And then Rin’s knees hit the floor the same way they had hit the pitch.

Now he bites one more kiss against Isagi’s mouth before standing again, reaching up and pulling his ruined practice jersey off by the collar. It’s stained at the edges from both the grass and his nose bleed, white and red giving way to his chiseled, sweat soaked body. Thin trails of blood lace his throat and have started to clot in the hollows of his sharp collarbones, and he licks his lips, eyes hooded as thumbs press into the band of his shorts.

“Strip already. Lukewarm.”

Rin’s shorts hit the hotel room floor. And Isagi doesn’t have to be told twice.

He hurls himself out of his practice uniform, and no sooner has it gone over the side of the bed Rin claims Isagi’s thighs, panting and spread and leaking everywhere he looks. His breath breaks itself over Isagi’s temple, his wild pulse everywhere– in his neck, in his chest, his thighs. Isagi feels every beat with own body, all the places their skin touches as Rin pulls and pushes Isagi as he likes.

He gets a hand around Isagi’s wrist and shoves it against himself, grinding wet and voracious against his palm. Rin sighs when it makes contact with his clit, hips snapping forward, and Isagi groans long and loud with his dick trapped between them, hot and stimulated on every front.

A snort ruptures from Rin’s throat, short and mean. Isagi digs his nails into the meat of Rin’s thighs, and he rocks against him again, dragging a high sigh from his mouth.

“You can laugh, but you spent the back half of practice like this, didn’t you? All needy, making a mess of your shorts…"

Rin sinks a little further down, straddling his hand. He's like an octopus, the impossible way he fits himself against him, how hard he clings. “So what. You spent it like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like you want to eat me alive.”

And it's the ragged moan that falls from his mouth that pulls Isagi’s eyes up from the cataclysm between his legs.

Rin’s eyelashes flutter as he rolls his hips, taking Isagi’s fingers for himself. His breath catches, first in his chest, then his stomach, a ripple through his body, and when he gasps it sends a fresh drip of red down his front. Blood and saliva trickle down the hard edge of his sternum, a flush blooming from the center of his chest and embracing, clawing, up his shoulders and neck, to the delicate, battered bridge of his nose and the purpling bruise forming beneath one of those vicious green eyes.

He licks his lips, blood and sweat and spit smearing across his sharp face. He looks like a massacre.

Rocking down, he starts to ride Isagi’s fingers, the pointed pink slip of his tongue already spilling from his lips with a line of drool. He trails a finger through the blood collecting in the line of his chest, dragging it slowly down his front over faded top surgery scars, through the ridges of his abs, coasting over the slight rise at the bottom of his stomach before slipping between his thighs. The single blood-soaked finger circles his clit lazily, easy and slow, a tease, a taunt.

“This does something for you.”

Isagi blinks, eyes flickering across Rin’s face as he looks down his busted nose at him.

“What? No way.” Isagi croaks.

Rin hums, grinding sinuously into Isagi’s lap. “You’re a shit liar.”

“Then it does something for you too!”

Rin crushes closer, forcing their bodies together, no space between heated flesh as he noses at Isagi’s ear. “And they call me a sadist,” He mutters, trailing his tongue over the curve, legs tightened around Isagi’s wrist, so hot and close and wet. “Is this some kind of new fetish for you then? Or have you always had a blood kink, freak?”

“Takes one to know one, Rin,” Isagi coughs up, twisting his fingers within him despite the limited movement it allows. “Don’t act like making a mess of me isn’t your second favorite pastime."

Rin chuckles, a rich, low sound that fills up Isagi’s belly, still such a sweet delicacy after all these years.

“That’s right. I'll ruin you.”

“As much as I let you– hey!”

Isagi finds his neck tilting as Rin continues to bully him, licking and biting and pressing at him until he has Isagi flat under him. He’s pinned by shoulders, one strong, corded arm on each side holding him down, and the way he looms over him has Isagi regretting that Rin always leaves his strap at home when they travel, but any grievance he could possibly have evaporates as Rin begins to crawl forward. Over his hips, up his chest, coming to a stop with one delicious thigh framing either side of Isagi’s head.

“Oh shit.” He stutters, staring up, and up, miles of beautifully toned body in every direction.

Rin doesn’t do anything about it, green eyes black and glassy as he widens his knees, stomach heaving as he hovers there, just out of reach. It was a hook Isagi wanted to bury deep in himself, Rin looking at him like that, to make sure that the barb caught so that even when he eventually got loose a chunk of him stayed behind. The bleed has slowed to a crawl, mostly sweat and saliva now as it runs down his front, pale skin glistening and soaked. All for the taking, all for him.

So he cranes his neck up and takes it. Pressing his mouth to him, Rin hums, thighs tightening just the slightest bit. Isagi kisses up his cunt, to the spot below his belly button, and down again, hands slipping around Rin’s back and pressing flat to his spine, pulling him lower, closer.

He fits him flush with his mouth and Rin gasps, shuddering when Isagi licks into him. “Like that.” He murmurs, rocking his hips. “Mmm. Faster.”

Rin whines some more when Isagi slips a finger back inside, and then louder, sweeter, when it starts working in tandem with his tongue. Isagi adds another so he can get the stretch, and then a third, just to drive him crazy.

Rin fucks himself on Isagi's face, all brute force and blunt nails. And Isagi can’t help smirking as he gets louder, gets frantic, keeping pace with his fingers, curling and stretching and scissoring. He wants to flip them over, shove his face in the sheets, watch the white turn red. He wants to rough him up, get him clawing, snarling, begging. All for the way he'll look so cute later when they patch him up, puffed cheeks and wadded up gauze to stem any remaining bleeding, a bright blue bandage over the bridge of his nose.

Alright, yeah. This is definitely doing something for him.

"I wonder which part gets wetter," Isagi wonders idly, drawing his tongue up the soft split of Rin’s cunt. He presses it into his hard clit, thrilled at the whole-body shiver it wrings out of him, the greedy, even tighter clench of Rin down on his fingers. "I know which part makes the biggest mess."

He shudders atop him, a beautiful bend to his spine as he arches back, head thrown to the side, red splattering the bed. Thick thighs flex like a vice around his head, Rin working himself against Isagi in short, sharp thrusts.

“I– ha… I told you to s-shut up.”

“Just thinking out loud–”

Rin snaps his hips savagely, burying Isagi deeper. “Disgusting. Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

He leans forward, pitching down with a sharp drop as he straddles his face fully now, knees spread, cunt dripping. Every one of Isagi’s senses is full of him as he thrusts against him faster, filthy moans falling, crashing from his lips, and he keeps him pressed right there, strong hands knotted in his hair as Rin rides Isagi’s face to his satisfaction.

With Isagi’s tongue against a particular spot, his breath is catching and catching and catching, and it’s all Isagi can do to hold onto him, let him have what he wants. And then Rin’s shuddering, eyes locking onto Isagi’s as he crashes down against him once more time, grinding the long, bloody length of his body against his face as he convulses, shakes, and comes.

Isagi’s chin and neck are soaked when he slides off, strings of saliva and cum tying their skin back together as Rin moves back to sit on his stomach. Isagi licks his lips, watching his thighs quiver, his spent cunt twitch. They're gonna need new sheets after this. The hotel might need a whole new bed. It's a miracle he's lasted this long, let alone since Rin clamped those killer thighs around his damn head.

Rin catches him looking, brows raising. Isagi grins and makes a show of swiping some of the mess off his lips, popping each defiled finger in his mouth with a satisfied sound. Rolling his eyes, Rin swings forward, not to be outdone, licking himself off Isagi’s mouth. When he pulls back, he seals it with a hard, closed-mouth kiss.

And then wrapping arms around Isagi’s neck, Rin tucks his flush face away into his shoulder and squeezes.

“You’re a wreck. Get on with it.”

Isagi grins, nuzzling against his temple. "Already tapping out? Can't take it?"

"Never." Rin grits lowly, like he’s offended at the very thought. He curses under his breath and then reappears, face lovely and pink as he tilts his forehead against Isagi’s own. "I can take anything you do to me." Green eyes open, spearing him straight through to his soul. "So give it, Yoichi."

The shiver it elicits wreaks havoc on his body. And Isagi doesn't doubt it for a second– he never does. Rin took it dry, he took it raw. He took it unprepared and squirming, and he took it sobbing, soaked and willing. He took it on the field and he took it in private and he always gave as good as he got. Everything Isagi's got is Rin's anyway.

Isagi wraps a hand at last around his aching cock, pressing himself to the firm muscle of Rin’s stomach, thrusting once, twice. Rin widens his legs, giving him more to work with. And between that and the way Rin clings ,it’s all it takes, stroking himself over the edge, painting Rin sternum to cunt in white.

Rin shudders, rocking to a stop as he tenses up. He looks like a wet dream in Isagi’s lap, pink and red skin, dark whorls of hair stuck to cheeks, blood, spit, sweat, cum running down his body in lazy rivets, collecting in the dips of his neck, abs, hips. Breathing fast and tight as he pants, shivers, eyes hazy when they reopen.

"You came on me." Rin says dizzily, blinking at his stomach.

Isagi snorts, running a hand through his sweaty hair as he sinks down to the mattress. "Couldn’t help it. Figured you wouldn’t mind, since you’ve already made such a mess.”

That snaps him back. Rin smacks Isagi on the shoulder, hard. "You're supposed to come in me."

"What, can’t get off if I don’t get off in you? You wanna talk about kinks…” Isagi mutters, skin stinging, and pulls Rin down on top of him, pressing his mouth to his wet chin. “We'll see how that breeding kink treats you when–”

“Absolutely not.”

“That’s what I thought.”

An annoyed huff ruffles his hair, even as Rin melts into him. He mouths at his cheek, tasting the remnants of his nosebleed, and Rin huffs again. Pushing up in his arms, he surprises Isagi by rolling to the side, taking Isagi with him. They switch positions, Isagi allowed on top as Rin lifts his legs and situates them on his shoulders, pulling him back in.

"Again.” Rin says, licking his red lips, giving Isagi that look again, like a dropkick to the face. “And do it properly this time.”