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Everything Over Nothing

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Hiroshi didn’t know when this… obsession started. The one he had over an (adorable) ebony-haired calligrapher who recently moved onto the island.

It probably started when Handa hugged him after Hiroshi passed him the ink (the second time Handa was in his arms- not that Hiroshi was counting or anything. The first time was when he passed out due to exhaustion- once again, not that Hiroshi was recording all of this). Having Handa in such close proximity allowed his dark locks to tickle Hiroshi’s cheeks, and he was unable to stop himself from noticing just how soft they were. Softer than expected of the hysterical calligrapher Handa was, at least. Besides that, he’d also realized how much he liked how Handa smelled (much like the sunflowers he grew in his garden). At that moment, he thanked god that Handa's face was buried in his neck (not just because it felt really good, but because it meant that he didn’t see Hiroshi’s cheeks flare up).

And that was pretty much how Hiroshi realized that he was probably in love with Handa.

From that day onwards, things just took a downturn for Hiroshi. He could no longer be in the calligrapher’s presence without his heart beating a hundred miles a minute, and every time they touched, Hiroshi would quickly pull back and turn away before Handa saw the blush which would inevitably spread across his cheeks. His parents had already said he’d be straight (hahaha straight- as if) on the road to mediocrity (with his progress report full of 3s), but out of all the things he could exceed the “mediocrity barrier” on, it winds up his feelings for the older man.

Yeah, it was definitely not normal to desire another man (and a much older one, at that- well five years isn’t that bad). Hiroshi even found himself entertaining thoughts of Handa collapsing or tripping and falling into his arms again, despite that being rather cruel to the other. But could you blame him? One-sided love often made people selfish.

Not to mention, when Naru ran around the village announcing that Handa was into S&M (even though Hiroshi knew that it was probably not true or extremely exaggerated), he found himself wondering how Handa would look, tied up and begging, under him. Needless to say, he used up quite a handful of tissues afterward.

Hiroshi, obviously, had no intention of letting anyone find out. He was pretty sure Naru and Miwa wouldn’t mind too much, but Tama already acted weird when something concerned Handa and him, so he figured she must like Handa or something (not that Hiroshi could blame her, since Handa was such a- Hiroshi, stop). He figured that if Handa decided to go out with Tama, he’d have his entire heart broken. Not even by Handa’s hands, but by his own. And Tama would be the luckiest girl- no, person- in existence.

Tama. Handa. Tama. Handa. Ew.

Their two names sounded awful together (just together- Handa’s name could never sound awful to Hiroshi).

Hiroshi. Handa. Hiroshi. Handa. Yeah, much better.

Hell, their names even started with the same letter, and if that wasn’t fate, Hiroshi didn’t know what was. Unless, of course, Handa let him call him Seishuu. Damn, Hiroshi would probably die of sheer happiness, as unlikely as it was.

He wondered how his parents would react, though. His dad would probably be proud that he was no longer so average, but his mom already adored Handa. Would she be glad that she could see him more often or be jealous that Hiroshi had more of his attention than she did?

Wait, that would be assuming Handa returned his affections.

Hah, as if, Hiroshi told himself, ignoring how the painful truth made his chest tighten uncomfortably.

Either way, he forced his thoughts of the alluring dark-haired male out of his mind long enough to fall asleep. He’d be able to see him tomorrow anyway, at Naru’s surprise birthday party.

The night passed quickly and the time until the planned surprise party would be held grew shorter. But somehow, as he stood in front of Handa’s house the next day, Hiroshi knew that the party wouldn’t go well. For him, at least.

And he was right.

In preparation for Naru’s surprise birthday, Tama and Miwa had bought a nice cake decorated with strawberries for her. Handa was responsible for putting it on the table situated at the door (in front of the one Naru usually entered by- which was definitely not the front door). Needless to say, that clumsy, bumbling, lovable idiot of a calligrapher tripped over something on the ground while carrying the cake, and although he (luckily) managed to catch the cake before it fell, he wound up with vanilla icing all over his hand.

While Tama and Miwa freaked out and tried to fix the ruined cake, Handa apologised profusely and scratched the back of his head awkwardly. Meanwhile, Hiroshi let himself think that the blush on the older man’s face was cute before quickly slapping himself back to reality.

Hiroshi also tried to hide the fact that the creamy icing was doing things to him, like making his mind wander so damn far that he wondered what Handa would look like after jerking off (Or jerking me off, his stupid mind added). Instead, he hid his lust-filled thoughts with an annoyed tone, “Sensei, I can’t believe you managed to mess that up. Hurry and wash it off before Naru gets here.”

And before I jump you, he added to himself.

But no, that idiot of a calligrapher couldn’t just shut up and follow what he said for just that once. He mumbled, “But Hiro, that’d be a real waste of cake.”

And before Hiroshi could enjoy how his nickname sounded on the man’s tongue (That’s not the only thing that’ll be good on his tongue- shut up), Handa began to slowly lick the icing off.

Hiroshi had completely frozen in place, unable to say anything snarky or insulting or so much as tear his gaze from the unconsciously seductive man earnestly licking cream off every inch of his hand.

As a result, Hiroshi had to quickly excuse himself to sprint to the toilet before the growing problem between his thighs became any more prominent.

And that was basically how Hiroshi ended up on Handa’s toilet floor, back pressed against the door, trying to think of anything that would turn him off long enough such that he wouldn’t have to jerk off in the toilet of the guy he loved and lusted after like some dog in heat (and, during Naru’s surprise birthday party, to boot).

But of course, nothing ever goes as one hopes it to.

Panchi. Naked Panchi. Naru’s cicada shells. Grandpa in a bikini. Handa’s awful cooking. Handa’s decent curry. Handa in an apron. Handa licking icing off his fingers.


Nothing worked for Hiroshi, and everything he tried to think of always ended up traveling back to one thing: Handa and that damned vanilla icing.

Outside, he heard said male’s (gorgeous) voice, “Hey, Hiro, you’ve been in there for a while. You okay? Naru’s almost here so Tama and Miwa are yelling for you to hurry up.”

Damn, I really love it when he says my name.

As he replied with a “Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll be out soon," Hiroshi realized that there really wasn’t much of a choice left for him.

He unzipped the fly of his pants, wrapped his hands around his half-hard member and closed his eyes, pretending that Handa was there with him, hand still covered in icing.

“Nngh… H-Handa…” he moaned, steadily pumping himself to his love’s name as he let his imagination take over.

Hiroshi grabbed Handa’s icing-coated hand before he could bring it to his lips, shaking his head slowly in a silent chiding. Instead, Hiroshi brought the hand up to his own lips, smirking, before licking the cream off. He made sure to cover the full area of Handa’s palm, paying special attention to his fingers, which he sucked on with fervor. Handa let out a moan when he realized what the other was insinuating.

When Handa’s digits were sufficiently cleaned, Hiroshi pulled back, allowing a trail of saliva to join Handa’s fingers to his lips as he saw the calligrapher’s eyes darken with lust. Immediately, he slanted his lips against the teenager’s, slipping his tongue into the open and expecting lips. Handa tasted really sweet, Hiroshi concluded, as their tongues melded together.

It seemed like forever before they broke apart for air and Hiroshi panted out, “You, me, bedroom. Now.” He couldn’t even recognise his own voice, completely laced with sheer desire for the other male.

With half-lidded eyes, Handa nodded dumbly, and Hiroshi smashed their lips together before virtually dragging him into the bedroom. He pushed the other onto the futon, lips still joined, as he pushed a hand under Handa’s white shirt, feeling the smoothness of his chest. Handa broke the kiss first, muttering, “Nn... Hiro… you’re fingers are really rough.”

Hiroshi chuckled, “It’s from the fishing.”

Pushing the shirt further up, Hiroshi took one pert nipple into his lips as he brought his hand up to play with the other. Handa arched his back, moaning Hiroshi’s name and effectively sending a jolt of arousal to the teenager's already hard member.

He was interrupted as Handa tugged on his dyed hair. Breathless from pleasure, he panted out, “Nngh… H-Hiro… I want to touch you too…”

Seeing Handa flushed with pleasure, practically begging to touch him, Hiroshi could do nothing but give in. Guiding Handa’s hand to his hard member, he moaned as he felt the calligrapher gripping him firmly. Their lips met again as Handa began pumping him in time to their lip movements. Hiroshi couldn’t help the soft moan that escaped his lips, momentarily breaking the kiss.

“A-ah… Sensei… I-I’m close…”

“Handa,” the other insisted in a low voice, “Call me Handa when we’re alone.”

Hiroshi didn’t even have time to register just how sexy Handa sounded in bed as the other male began increasing the pace of his pumping and Hiroshi, when the pleasure became too much for him to bear, came with a cry of the calligrapher’s name into said male’s hand.

At that moment, Hiroshi bit the back of his hand to muffle his cry of Handa’s name as he came into his own hand, slumping against the door as he spent himself. Wiping the evidence of what he did away with toilet paper, he felt like a wretched person for doing something like that in Handa’s toilet.

Hell, Miwa, Tama and all were just in the other room.

After tossing the stained toilet paper into the toilet bowl and flushing it down, he scrubbed his hands furiously, hoping to erase all traces of what he just did and what he felt for Handa Seishuu.

Leaving the toilet, he found Handa waiting for him and they walked back into he living room together. Since Handa acted just as he usually did (stupid and really cute), Hiroshi didn’t notice anything was out of place.

But as he replayed the last couple of minutes in his head (for various reasons), he realized that he didn’t hear footsteps leaving the toilet after Handa had asked if he was okay, and that Handa had been waiting in front of the toilet door when he got out.

Meaning that he had heard everything.


Oddly enough, though, Handa didn’t act any different from the time Hiroshi left the bathroom ‘till after the party and so on. That was how a couple of days had passed and Hiroshi had almost completely forgotten the whole incident (or rather, hid it in the deep recesses of his mind until it was late at night and he had a handful of tissues on standby).

Everything had been going so well that Hiroshi didn’t pay enough attention when Naru brought over some bottle of sake that she stole from her grandpa’s secret stash or whatever to Handa’s house. Since Hiroshi was studying there and the rest had things to do (no one really knows what they do when they aren’t at the calligrapher’s house anyway), there were only three people in the house. Of course, Handa, ever the responsible adult, chided Naru for stealing alcohol and stashed it safely somewhere.

Eventually, Naru had to leave, so it was just Hiroshi and Handa in the house. Hiroshi could barely sit still or calm his racing heartbeat, being alone with Handa. There were so many things that could happen, given the calligrapher’s oblivious nature which made him blissfully unaware of how the teenager pined for him, and Hiroshi sincerely hoped he could hold onto his reason.

Hah, the gods must hate him today.

“Yeah…! That damn director…" Handa slurred, "Can’t appreciate art! He said I lacked originality, so I punched him in the face. Hah! How’s that for individuality, eh?” He was already close to passing out from the heaps of Naru’s grandpa’s alcohol that he had drunk.

Handa suddenly flung his new phone across the room, as if in a tantrum, and muttered, “Stupid phone… Stupid Kawafuji…”

Brushing what the calligrapher said off as mere drunken banter, Hiroshi sighed and picked up the phone, placing it on a nearby table.

“Sensei… You’re really drunk. You should go to bed,” Hiroshi frowned, adding to himself, “Before I take advantage of your drunken state.”

At that moment, Hiroshi thought his heart stopped beating in his chest as Handa leaped forward unsteadily into his arms, nuzzling his nose against Hiroshi’s neck. “Ah but… I don’t really regret it… Since I could meet you and everyone else,” the man mumbled into Hiroshi’s neck and laughing lightly, he whispered, “I don’t even know if I wanna leave anymore… I really like being here with you...”

Handa’s breath ghosting on his neck sent shivers down his spine, and Hiroshi really wanted to stay like that forever. Not to mention, what the other male said was already building false hope within Hiroshi. Resisting the desire to just press their lips together, and in order to snap himself out of his daydream, Hiroshi forced out, “‘With you guys’, right? ‘With you guys’ is what you were gonna say, right, Sensei?”

“Hm…? Well, yeah I guess that’s true…”

Was it just Hiroshi, or were Handa’s lips seemingly getting closer to his skin? He could feel the skin which met Handa’s breath burn with heat, and it was getting harder and harder to control his lust for the dark-haired male.

“But I like being with you more…” Handa finished. And with that, Hiroshi felt Handa’s lips lightly brush against his neck.

That was the last straw.

Saying a silent apology to his parents and friends, Hiroshi felt his self-control fly out the window as he pushed the drunk calligrapher onto the floor, straddled him, and forced their lips together.


Handa didn’t know when this… obsession started. The one he had over a (bratty) teenager with dyed blond hair who brought him champon nearly every day ever since he moved onto the island.

It probably started when he first collapsed into Hiroshi’s arms, the day he first came over to bring the champon. Naru’s energy had completely sapped his and at that point in time, Hiroshi looked like a savior. That close, he was able to smell Hiroshi’s hair, and Handa was pleasantly surprised to find that it did not actually smell like fish. Handa could only describe the smell as something "forest-y", but he liked it. Hiroshi’s hair wasn’t that soft though, since he probably took much less care of it than Handa did his (because Handa was seriously vain at heart). Instead, Handa found it rather ticklish, brushing across his face when he fell. He would’ve sneezed, if he had the energy to.

Not to mention, the champon was great.

Or maybe it was that time that Hiroshi somehow got into his house and began cooking that dish with the cucumbers. Whatever it was. Handa’s mom used to say something like “The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.” Maybe she was right, in Handa’s case at least.

It had seemed like a tiny crush back then, but ever since the day Hiroshi brought the ink over when all seemed hopeless and Handa claimed to feel light-headed so as to justify why he instinctively leaped into the teenager's arms, he realized just how bad things were getting.

And that was pretty much how Handa realized that he was probably in love with Hiroshi.

From that day onwards, things just took a downturn for Handa. He had already noticed the younger male quite a fair bit even before all this mess (just because he was the most sane out of everyone else- no, really), but now he just couldn’t stop staring at the blond. And it was getting a bit frustrating. Once, he was almost caught by Hiroshi, who had asked if there was something on his face.

Handa had panicked and said, “You’ve, uh, got split ends. You should take care of your hair more.”

Hiroshi had chuckled (and Handa blushed because he really loved Hiroshi’s laugh), “Don’t be such a city slicker, Sensei. I really couldn't care less about my hair.”

Given how much Handa loved it when Hiroshi called him “Sensei”, he began worrying that the teenager must’ve awoken some hidden fetish of his.

The problem with it all, Handa realized, was that he was twenty-three and Hiroshi was eighteen. There was no way anything between them could work out without them becoming the weirdest thing on the island. Besides, Tama would probably throw a fit, given how she likes Hiroshi and all (not that Handa could blame her).

However, there was something even more troubling than all of that. And it was the fact that Handa knew that Hiroshi returned his feelings.

Handa could sometimes be pretty stupid, but the blond idiot was just too obvious at times. He’d suspected something when Hiroshi refused to meet his eyes or let their hands touch for longer than 0.001 seconds, or when he’d sometimes feel a really intense gaze on him. The one time Handa managed to turn around fast enough to meet Hiroshi’s eyes, he nearly missed the look of sheer longing reflected in them before they were quickly averted.

So Handa was being really cruel with the icing thing during Naru’s surprise birthday party, but he had to know for sure. He wanted to know if those sleepless nights resulting from the guilt of harboring the feelings he shouldn’t have for Hiroshi had a chance of disappearing. He had heard of how much of a turn on the icing thing could be, given the right circumstances… and the opportunity just presented itself anyway, so Handa saw no harm in trying it out.

His suspicions were confirmed when he heard Hiroshi’s (hot) moaning from inside his bathroom.

Handa had to force himself to calm down and regain his composure before he forced his way into the toilet and just had his way with the other male.


Handa slumped onto his futon, completely exhausted from the day. He remembered how he nearly lost all control of his body and just admitted to Hiroshi how much he loved him.

Well Handa had his pride as an adult. Hiroshi should be the one who confesses first.

Hah, as if. Handa didn’t really care about formalities like that. He’d be more than willing (okay, not so willing- but he’d do it) to abandon his pride as an adult and just tell the teenager how much he loved him if that was enough for them to be together, but things are never that easy. Sighing to himself, he let his mind wander as he recalled the actual reason why his feelings must never come to light.

Handa was alone (amazingly) and working on his calligraphy when he was interrupted by a phone call from Kawafuji (not that it was much of a surprise, considering Handa’s lack of friends meant that no one else called him). Kawafuji had just given in and gotten Handa a new phone after getting too irritated at not being able to contact the calligrapher promptly.

Handa didn’t really want to pick up Kawafuji’s call, since now that he had a working phone, Kawafuji usually called to complain or ramble on something utterly pointless. It was probably the same thing that day, and Handa would’ve preferred to work on his writing than entertain the money-minded art dealer, but that guy was even more irritating when ignored. Grumbling about how Kawafuji really should find someone else to bother (like that Kanzaki kid), he picked up the phone, hoping that the other didn’t have much to say this time round.

He did.

“Hey, Handa! How are you doing with calligraphy?”

“Fine, and probably better if you didn’t take up my time with this call.”

The other male chuckled across the line, "Wow, I’m glad you’re such a workaholic that you wouldn’t have time for things like love, eh?”

Handa blushed, wondering if Kawafuji could tell that he was struggling with some newfound feelings for a certain blond teenager who enjoys fishing and had extremely average grades. Instead, he coughed and asked, “Love? What brought that on?”

The calligrapher had a sudden thought, “You’re not in love, are you, Kawafuji? I’d really pity the unlucky woman.”

“Hey, you don’t need to be so rude! And no, it’s not me, thank you for asking. It’s this other calligrapher- what’s her name again?- uh, Mishima Rei, I think. My friend’s her art dealer and-”

“I’m amazed you still have friends.”

“Shut up, Handa. Anyway, she fell in love or something and stopped writing. And it’s the peak of her career, of all times! She just said she doesn’t feel like writing anymore and just spends all her time with I-don’t-know-who.”

“And why are you telling me this?”

“Because,” Kawafuji emphasized his words, “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t going to abandon your whole future over something as stupid as love.”


Handa didn’t know how to respond. He genuinely wasn’t fond of lying, but given the circumstances, he assumed it was okay-

A sigh interrupted his panic session. “I knew it.”

“Huh? Know what? I’m not in love, Kawafuji. You know than kind of stuff doesn’t work for me,” Handa tried to convince the tattooed male, but his flustered tone probably gave it away.

“It’s that blond teenager right? Hiro-something. I see the way you look at him,” Kawafuji’s tone remained unchanged, as if he knew even before he made the call and was just trying to confirm it.

That was probably it.

Handa saw no point in lying if Kawafuji could see right through it, and admitted, “I… Yeah. Hiroshi, his name’s Hiroshi.”

“Do you know if he likes you back?”

“Yeah, probably.”

“You can’t tell anyone, especially not him,” Kawafuji’s words were flat and held no room for dispute.

Of course, Handa never intended to let his secret out in the first place, but the way Kawafuji instructed him not to stirred something in him. Handa wondered what gave him the right to order him around and govern his life like that. Although Handa often seemed like a kid, the fact still stood that he was an adult and able to make his own decisions, damn it. Hell, Kawafuji probably only said that so he wouldn’t lose his source of income.

Suddenly feeling a lot angrier, Handa shouted into the phone receiver, “I’ll do whatever the hell I want to!” and hung up.

The incident occurred yesterday morning and since then, Kawafuji had sent about fifteen messages and called four times. Handa ignored all of them. At around the 2 o’ clock mark, the messages and calls stopped coming in, so Handa figured that he must’ve given up.

Later that day, Naru brought some sake over from her grandpa’s secret stash (Handa made sure to scold her for it and confiscate it). Amazingly, god allowed him peace and quiet that day (as compared to other days when the rest of the brats showed up uninvited at his house). Naru had to leave soon anyway, and Handa was glad that he’d be with Hiroshi. Alone.

After a few hours of calligraphy (and Japanese History in Hiroshi’s case), Handa decided to take a break. At that point in time, he’d promised himself just one cup of sake. He had no recollection of what happened after what, the fourth cup? He vaguely remembered saying something to Hiroshi. Oh god, I didn’t say I love him, did I?

You may as well have, Handa thought, rubbing his eyes as he woke up and realized where he was. Someone had carried him to his futon- Hiroshi, obviously, since no one else was strong enough or in the house for the matter. Ignoring his pounding headache, Handa looked around for the teenager, but he wasn’t in Handa’s bedroom (Yeah, well, why would he be in here, right?).

As Handa hurried out of his bedroom to look for Hiroshi, he passed a standing mirror in the corner of the room.

It had nearly escaped his gaze, but he was sure the mark on his neck was a hickey.


Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

Hiroshi frantically paced Handa’s living room, blushing furiously at what he did the previous night. It was just… Handa looked so damn sexy when he was drunk like that, and so Hiroshi couldn’t stop at just kissing. He couldn’t even taste Handa because of all the sake he drank, so he wound up tasting the calligrapher’s neck instead.

…He just didn’t intend to leave a hickey there.

(On a side note, Handa’s moans were even hotter than Hiroshi could ever imagine. There was no greater joy to him than having a prideful man come undone at his touch.)

Hiroshi hated to admit that the only reason he did stop was because Handa passed out from the alcohol just after the hickey. Hiroshi didn’t know how far he would’ve gone if Handa had remained conscious. That was why he stayed overnight without permission (on the living room floor, obviously- he deserved it), so he could apologise the next day.

But what the hell was Hiroshi supposed to tell Handa anyway?

He concluded that, given the circumstances, it was probably best to tell Handa how he felt rather than his second option, which screamed “bullshit” all over (something about mistaking Handa’s sake cup for his water and getting drunk as well). Gathering up as much courage as he could muster, standing in front of Handa’s bedroom door, Hiroshi attempted to plan out what he would say exactly-

Never mind.

The door slid open, revealing a half-awake and disheveled Handa (whom Hiroshi desperately wanted to pounce on) who jumped in shock at seeing Hiroshi standing at his door. “O-Oh! Hiro, I was just about to look for you-”

“Sensei, about the hickey,” Hiroshi quickly interrupted, not really registering anything else due to his nerves, “I-I’m really sorry about that and I swear it won’t happen again and I’ll be more careful, okay? So please don’t treat me differently because I promise I won’t pounce on you any chance I get and-”

“Hiro, Hiro, calm down. It’s fine,” Handa’s soothing voice sent a wave of calmness through Hiroshi, “Either way, I was really drunk. I can’t believe I drank so much and forgot about my calligraphy! We should just forget about this, pretend it never happened.”

Even though he was glad Handa was willing to forgive him, Hiroshi didn’t want to just “forget it”. If he didn’t tell Handa now, he didn’t know what other chance he had, and he loved the other too much to be able to hide it for that much longer anyway.

Pulling himself together, Hiroshi forced out, “Sensei, I love-!”

“Well,” Handa interrupted, “I’m glad that’s sorted out. I’ll go wash up.”

And then he just walked off before Hiroshi could respond, leaving the other behind in shock.

Hiroshi was frozen in place, unable to react. He didn’t even know what to think of the whole situation. But one thing was clear: Handa had definitely been acting weird. Had the hickey freaked him out that much, or was it something else?

At that moment, Hiroshi remembered something that had previously seemed so minute and unimportant when he had heard it, something that Handa had mumbled while drunk.

“Stupid phone… Stupid Kawafuji…”

Hiroshi remembered it clearly.

Wondering if the calligrapher’s uncharacteristic behaviour was because of something on his phone, Hiroshi steadily headed towards the previously forgotten gadget resting on a table.

To: Handa Seishuu
From: Kawafuji Takao

Handa, I know you probably ignored my previous messages, but I hope you at least read this one.

I know you love that Hiro-guy, but you can’t simply throw away your future like that. I know you probably don’t care much about that, given the situation, so there’s more. You’d ruin that guy’s future as well. He’s at the age where he needs to focus on his studies, and being with you would just kill his chances of getting a good education. You love him, right?

Then don’t kill his future, or yours.

I don’t want to sound like such a horrible person, but it’s for the best. Instead, you should be very successful and do him proud. That’d be the best choice of action.



Handa sat on the toilet floor, bringing his legs to his chest and trying to calm the rapid thumping in his chest. It had taken all he had to not just say “I love you too” and press his lips against Hiroshi's. The only thing that kept his control was the fact that he couldn’t ruin Hiroshi’s future. Handa wouldn’t be able to live with the guilt of doing something so selfish.

The calligrapher sighed, hoping the teenager was too shocked to notice the pain he felt as he took each step towards the toilet.

He rested his hand on the hickey on his neck, hoping that just that once, it would last forever.

He was interrupted by furious pounding on his toilet door. Hiroshi.

Handa wasn’t prepared for this, but before he could collect himself and come up with some stupid excuse, Hiroshi shouted across the door, “Sensei, I know what happened with Kawafuji!”


“I saw his message. I’m sorry for being a busy-body, but I couldn’t help it. Sensei, I… I love you!”

Handa couldn’t say anything, and just stared at the locked toilet door, as if Hiroshi was in there with him.

The angry pounding ceased, and Handa nearly missed Hiroshi's soft pleading, “I love you, Sensei… So please, please stop lying about your feelings for me. I don’t care about all that ‘ruining my future’ nonsense. I already think about you so much that I can’t concentrate. So Sensei… please open the door. I want to see you.”

Handa didn’t know what to do, but all he knew was that he wanted to see the other as well. There was a moment of silence before Hiroshi heard the door being unlocked and the sound of the other shuffling away.

Entering the toilet, Hiroshi found the man he loved deeply curled up on the floor, facing the door. Lifting the dark-haired male’s head, the teenager noticed that the other looked to be on the verge of tears. Pulling him into his arms, Hiroshi whispered into the calligrapher’s ear, “I said I love you, Sensei. What’s your answer?”

Something about being in Hiroshi’s arms just felt so right to the calligrapher. As a result, he gripped and mumbled something unintelligible into the teenager’s shirt.

“Hm? I didn’t hear that,” Hiroshi laughed, although enjoying the feel of Handa pressed against his chest.

“…Handa… Call me Handa when we’re alone, okay?”

Blood rose to Hiroshi’s cheeks as he saw that Handa’s ears were tinged with red and he felt his chest swell with happiness. Unable to resist, Hiroshi leaned down to gently lick the shell of the other’s ear, revelling in the shiver that action earned him before teasingly murmuring, “I still didn’t get your response, Handa.”

Woah, that was a lot more embarrassing than I thought it would be, Hiroshi realized.

He felt the older male stiffen up at the use of his name, and Handa hoped that Hiroshi would quit calling him Handa for a bit because it was seriously turning him on.

“…love you…. I love you, Hiro…” Handa finally admitted, gripping the other’s shirt even tighter and trying to hide his face behind the fabric.

Finding the calligrapher so unbelievably cute, the teenager lifted raised Handa’s chin in order to press their lips together. Handa seemed to expect the kiss, and easily followed the rhythm Hiroshi set. Neither could believe how amazingly well their lips fit together. (Although it sounded cheesy, Hiroshi couldn’t help but think that they were definitely made for each other.)

Hiroshi took the initiative to trail his tongue along the other male’s upper lip, silently asking him for entrance. When his tongue entered Handa’s mouth, Hiroshi noticed that it didn’t taste as sweet as he thought it would. It tasted so much better, and he soon found himself addicted to the calligrapher’s taste. That was why the teenager was filled with dread at the thought of having to eventually break apart for air. But seeing Handa’s flushed expression, eyes half-lidded, any hint of disappointment was soon lost. Deciding that he needed the older male now, Hiroshi practically hauled the other up in order to carry him to the bedroom.

After much stumbling (and making out on every possible surface), they finally made it to the bedroom and collapsed on Handa’s futon in a tangle of limbs. Hiroshi wasted no time in pinning the other down and swiftly removing Handa’s shirt. With the obstructing material gone, the teenager now had full access to the dark-haired male’s smooth and fair chest. He took one hardened nipple into his lips, sucking on it like in his imagination, and tweaked the other. Handa moaned Hiroshi’s name, making his pants feel even tighter. If he was this aroused even without being touched, he was sure Handa was even more so.

Wanting more access to Handa’s skin, Hiroshi undid the calligrapher’s pants and slid them down, flinging them to some unknown corner of the room. Before he continued, Hiroshi pulled back to survey his masterpiece: one red-faced, panting calligrapher with porcelain skin and erection furiously straining his boxers. Hiroshi could’ve come right there and then from just that erotic sight alone.

With that, he swiftly continued to trail his lips down Handa’s torso, making sure to suck and leave marks wherever possible. The dark hickeys stood out beautifully on the calligrapher’s pale skin, marking the male as his and only his. The older male’s breath grew more ragged the closer the teenager got to his boxers’ elastic. After yet another hickey (this time on his hip bone), Handa pulled the other upwards, giving him a devilish smirk that Hiroshi had never seen before on the other’s face. “Why are you the only one who gets to have fun, Hiro?”

Quickly swapping places with Hiroshi such that he was straddling the teenager, the older male leaned towards the teenager’s ear, making sure to brush his lips seductively against it before using that damn sexy voice to murmur, “Let the adult show you how it’s done, Hiro.”

The way his name was said sent a shiver down Hiroshi’s spine. Who knew Handa would become like this in bed?

The teenager soon found himself completely naked, already fully hard just from the calligrapher’s moans alone. While Hiroshi was wondering what the other was intending to do, Handa travelled lower until he was facing the teenager’s erection before planting a light kiss on the tip. He didn’t miss the twitch of the boy’s member at that action. “S-Sen- Handa… You mean you’re going to… A-ah!”

The sudden tongue circling the base of the teenager’s cock made him throw his head backward with a cry of Handa’s name. Said male, drinking in the other’s moans, began teasing the slit of Hiroshi’s member, lapping up the beads of precum which had formed at the head.

“Nngh…! Ha-ah-nda… Since when did you become such a -nngh!- tease…” Hiroshi groaned, grasping at the crumpled blanket.

Handa chuckled from below, sending vibrations through the other that felt so damn good and prodded the slit of Hiroshi’s cock with his tongue. “A-ah! H-Handa…”

Handa enjoyed messing with Hiroshi, sure, but he wasn’t cruel. He could already tell from the precum cascading down his member that the teenager wouldn’t last much longer, and Handa didn’t really want to turn their first time into some teasing battle -that was for later. What he wanted was just to please his lover, and so, he began properly sucking the other off. As Handa took Hiroshi's length into his mouth and began bobbing his head up and down, Hiroshi allowed himself to drown in the warmth around his member. “Nngh…! A-ah, Handa…” Hiroshi couldn’t help his moans of pleasure, “I-I’m gonna-”

It hadn’t taken long for Hiroshi to come, since the sight of Handa’s head between his legs was already more than enough. Tugging on his black locks, Hiroshi pulled Handa away just in time for his come to splatter on the other’s face. But before the teenager could stutter out an apology, Handa had already swiped some off his cheek and licked it off.

Damn, Handa. How are you so sexy? Hiroshi asked himself. At that point, he realised that he’d already crossed so many lines that he just decided ah heck, what’s one more?

With that, he got up and pushed the other male down.


The next day, Handa woke up to a throbbing behind and a naked Hiroshi possessively hugging his waist. He rather liked this morning routine, he decided, before laying back onto the futon and falling asleep in his love’s arms.