It\'s Nothing

-=It's Nothing=-

''I find you very attractive, Hitoshi'' Brooklyn said, a clear voice, crisply uttered from an audacious mouth and smiling lips - innocent as if nothing was wrong but far from being naïve.

''Well, I'm flattered, Brooklyn, but I don't date men, let alone my pupils'' Hitoshi did not hesitate to answer, nor did he blush, or even flinch; he was neutral, calm and in control.

''I did not offer anything, nor did I imply a sexual preference, Hitoshi; I simply find that you are attractive - I would like to be like that.''

Only then was there silence, as thick as the sweat they wiped away from their bodies after training all morning.

Alone, their conversation was more private than the showers.

''Brooklyn,'' Hitoshi began; he mulled over a retort and spoke with the same ease and confidence that always backed his words. ''I am your captain...I know everything about my students. I'm well aware of the facts surrounding your persona, being, and behavior.''

Brooklyn was unimpressed - Hitoshi was always so factual; there was never any real passion, only a collected, well thought demeanor. No matter how hard he tried, Brooklyn could not replicate such stern conduct. His hands reached for his face and even though nothing was there, he removed his mask.

''Hitoshi, why can you never take a compliment?''

''You might get the wrong idea.''

''I have enough of those as it is.''

Hitoshi sighed - Brooklyn and his games, his lackadaisical attitude, the playful spontaneity and the rejection of adult maturity.

''Don't ignore me, Hitoshi, you're my only source of entertainment. I have to stare at you, to speak to you, to think of you.''

''What you are experiencing, Brooklyn, is nothing but a crush developed from your admiration of an older, wiser person that you respect.''

''Then why do I think of you when I masturbate?''

''Enough Brooklyn.''

''What's the matter, captain? Don't like it when I go this far?''

''No, I do not. We have had this conversation before - Stop trying to lead it somewhere it will never go.''

Hitoshi answered firmly, just like every time before - this reiterated verbatim was becoming annoying, a dull prattle that constantly echoed; he hated listening, repeating, and defending himself - he was going to leave.

He had his bag in hand, as he headed towards the door. Brooklyn too, however, grabbed something; his hand circled Hitoshi's waist and dipped past his navel, south, those curling fingers, light, and soft, grabbing, groping, toying...

''Do you like it when I go this far?''

Hitoshi's words, as though they were balancing against the tip of his tongue, teetering, threatening, fell back inside his mouth and waited. He lost control and only one word managed to escape, then a second, when the friction began between the ivory hand and his navy pants.

''Brooklyn'' his voice was hard, his dick, almost equal. ''Stop.'' He turned, a stern glare in his eyes.

Brooklyn did not see, blinded by the demanding strength of fantasy; his eyes were closed as he kissed Hitoshi.

The moment of realization hit as hard as Hitoshi's back did, up against the wall, and was smothered by a warm tongue parting his lips, biting them, desperate for only one moment.

''Stop.'' Hitoshi's teeth grit a barrier separating their intentions.

He refused to physically act but Brooklyn kept shoving, he too, refusing to resort to begging. There was a mutual glare; Brooklyn's hands fell onto his captain's shoulders, only to be grabbed. His wrists burned from Hitoshi's newfound grip.

''Brooklyn you need to stop right now.''

But the progression, unwanted and craved, was too far-gone. Brooklyn dropped to his knees. A hitched breath and flushed cheeks, Hitoshi tried to fumble back, but he was unable - the cold wall hurt against the heat in his body, flickering now, unruly, and burning. He sidestepped instead but was caught and tackled to the ground, a loud thud resonating as loudly as the endorphins and adrenaline.

His body jerked to the left but Brooklyn did not let go. He pulled, a predator's glint mirrored in his eyes and smile. They were almost equal, parallel, intertwined on the floor in a mess of limbs.

''Hitoshi...'' Brooklyn began, an even stare into his captain's eyes, unashamed, waiting, determined. ''If you say no, again, I will get up and leave; I will never bother you again and this will be over.''

The words had been exchanged, the physicality behind them; there was a raw silence, poignant and utterly, disgustingly, weak.

''Why?'' That was all Hitoshi would muster and mutter.

''Kiss me and I'll tell you.''

''No games.''

''Just once.''

''Damn it...Brooklyn, why?! All the other times, you've never been so desperate...or even begged...''

''I'm not desperate.'' Brooklyn's voice rose - he sneered, haughty, better than the rock bottom ground on which they dragged each other down. ''I'm not begging, or pleading; I'm being honest, straightforward, and I'm trying to make you realize that you want me.''

Hitoshi laughed, his throat drained of any anger or ire, ''How cocky and self-absorbed are you, Brooklyn? Not everyone wants you - you're not that fucking special.''

''Yes I am.''

Hitoshi stared at Brooklyn for a moment, flustered, blushing, and grabbed his hair, dragging him up closer, until their noses, and then lips, touched. He did not kiss him though - he said, ''You're nothing.''

''Then show me I'm nothing.''

They finally did kiss; their roles unclear, subvert, awkward, pushing and pulling. There was no tangible passion, or delicious romance. They fucked - a mental rape, more physical than the way they writhed on the floor.

Hitoshi tugged down Brooklyn's pants and rolled him over.

''You never wanted to be on top - you wanted me to do this.'' He grunted, dominant, slicking his fingers before inserting them into Brooklyn.

''No, I'm better than you - I don't need you, Hitoshi, you're a waste of time.'' Brooklyn was tight, almost too much to bear.

He concentrated, Hitoshi was his, only his, now, yes, now.

''There's nothing about you that's special. I'm doing you a favor. You want this; I'll take you. I'll fuck you, Brooklyn, just like that, hard and... fast...faster...''

''Fuck you, Hitoshi. You're a worthless coach - a fucking prick. Fucking...fuck...''

There words were pointless now, dull and meaningless, incoherent echoes, drowned by a frenzy of overwhelming thoughts, buried deeper than the motion of their act. There was no point in speaking, not when the thrusts were faster, short rasps, groans, and moaning were more than sufficient now.

They gave up, indulging, rocking back and forth, a seductive rhythm, debauch and addictive. But it was over too soon - Hitoshi pulled himself out of Brooklyn, wet, dripping, spent, and done. Brooklyn was sore, his knees and palms, his back tense, but his desires fulfilled.

''What the hell was that, Brooklyn?''

''That was you giving you.''

''And that was you begging.''

But they were both wrong. It did not matter what it was for - it was nothing.

-=EndE=-