Obsession for Men by Halrloprillalar / prillalar
Prince of Tennis, Oishi/Eiji, 1300 words, PG.
By the time Eiji got there, Oishi was almost weak with anticipation. "You're late," he said and his voice nearly cracked.
"I was shopping." Eiji pushed past Oishi into the house. His hair brushed against Oishi's face and tickled his nose.
"I don't have much free time today." Oishi reached to hug Eiji. Eiji handed him a heavy plastic bag.
"I wasn't sure what to get, so I picked up a bunch of different things."
"It's too bad, but I have a lot of extra work to do. A lot of homework and next week's practice schedules." Bowling league at seven. When he'd rather be watching TV with Eiji sprawled on top of him. Or, better, doing other things.
"Since Tezuka went and got himself sick." Eiji frowned, his lower lip pushing almost into a pout. Oishi wanted to bite it, to suck it into his mouth.
"Yes, exactly. But we do have the house to ourselves for the afternoon." Heat rushed into his face, it still made him embarrassed. "So we can--"
"We're making soup!"
For three seconds, Oishi wondered if "making soup" was maybe a colourful euphemism for what he'd been thinking about all weekend. Then Eiji took an apron out of his backpack.
"So he'll get well." Eiji pulled the apron over Oishi's head. "When Tezuka is sick," he said, "you have to do twice as much work. And then you're too busy to hang out with me." He slid his arms around Oishi's waist and tied the apron behind him. Oishi leaned closer, reaching with his free hand, but Eiji sprang back before he could hold on.
"It's nice of you to think of Tezuka," Oishi said. "Did I mention my parents are out all afternoon?"
"It's vegetable soup," Eiji said and went into the kitchen.
Oishi looked down at the apron. There was a duck on it.
When Oishi got into the kitchen, Eiji was on his toes, stretching up to pull a pot off the top of the shelves. Oishi knew where there was a step-stool, but instead of being a nice boy and getting it, he just stared at Eiji's shoulders, at the flash of skin where his shirt pulled away from his jeans, at his ass. Because Oishi was unhealthily obsessed.
He'd tried not to be, but it turned out that you actually can't stop being unhealthily obsessed just by trying. Or by meditation and healthy occupations. Or cold water and self-manipulation.
Then just when he was on the verge of apologizing to Tezuka and transferring to another school, Eiji tackled him in his own bedroom and ever since, Oishi had been wandering around in a pink-coloured haze of obsessed happiness that he only felt slightly guilty about.
"You chop the carrots." Eiji took the bag from Oishi and tossed vegetables at him. "And the radish. Broccoli. Squash." Oishi missed the squash and it thumped to the floor. The feathery tops of the carrots tickled Oishi's nose. It wasn't as nice as Eiji's hair.
Oishi piled the vegetables on the counter. "How much should I chop?"
"Whatever looks good." Eiji opened one drawer, then another. "Do you have a grater?"
"What does the recipe say?"
"Real cooks don't use recipes."
"But what if it doesn't turn out?" They couldn't show up at Tezuka's with sub-standard soup. What would he think? "It might make him sicker."
"My cooking always turns out." Eiji frowned and Oishi felt a ripple of unease in the pit of his stomach. Then Eiji laughed. "Don't worry!" He poked Oishi in the duck.
So Oishi chopped while Eiji darted around behind him, humming and grating and pouring. He did seem to know what he was doing. Eiji always seemed to know what he was doing. Even when they were doing...that...Eiji had an uncanny ability to do the exact things to Oishi that turned him into a shivering melting unhealthily obsessed pink-cloud wreck of god more yes now please. Oishi always worried that he didn't measure up, that Eiji was just being kind.
"The carrots look yummy." Eiji grabbed a piece and crunched it enthusiastically. "Here." He picked up another and held it up to Oishi's mouth. Oishi opened and Eiji pushed it past Oishi's lips. His fingers brushed Oishi's tongue and Oishi had to lean against the counter to keep his knees from buckling.
Eiji went back to his soup pot and Oishi sneaked glances at him: his hair falling over his cheek, a scrape on his arm from Friday's practice, his waist twisting as he reached for-- "What's that?"
"Inui juice." Eiji unscrewed the top of the bottle. "What does it look like?"
"Eiji, that's sake."
"Don't worry, the alcohol cooks off. Tezuka won't get tipsy." He took a quick swig. "Want a taste?"
"But we're underage!" They could get drunk and caught and expelled and the whole team disqualified from tennis.
"Come on." Eiji held the bottle out, doing that thing with his eyes where they were huge and almost sad, which is what probably caused the whole unhealthy obsession in the first place. Oishi took the bottle and tipped it up.
It nearly choked him. He coughed and sputtered as the sake burned its way down his throat and half into his trachea. Eiji rescued the bottle and banged him on the back. "Isn't it gross?" He poured the rest into the pot. Oishi heaved in breath and blinked back the water in his eyes. How lame. How uncool.
That was probably it. Eiji thought Oishi was stupid. He was tired of him, tired of Oishi's lameness and lousy kissing. The soup was just an excuse to get out of being with him. Oishi blinked again. It was still hard to breathe. The whole room smelled like booze. Oishi opened a window.
"Okay," Eiji said. "The soup has to come to a boil, then simmer until it's done."
Oishi rinsed off the cutting board. He let the water run over his hands, closing his eyes. There was a lump of ice behind his chest, making him slow and sad and stupid. Everything sucked. The afternoon sucked. The piles of work to do sucked. Bowling was going to suck. And lame obsessed Oishi sucked most of all.
He should just tell Eiji something, that it was okay, he didn't have to be here, wasting his time. He clenched his hands and took a deep breath. "Eiji," he said.
Eiji slid up behind him and wrapped his arms around Oishi's chest, rubbing his nose behind Oishi's ear. "It's fun to make you wait," he said.
The ice melted in a flash of heat and Oishi almost laughed. "Eiji," he said again, too relieved to even be annoyed. Eiji squirmed closer and kissed Oishi's throat and then Oishi was too turned on to be much of anything but unhealthily obsessed.
"Did you say your parents were out?" Eiji said and grabbed Oishi's ass.
Everything went pink.
"I forgot to turn down the heat." Eiji poked at the scorched mess. "It's all your fault."
"My fault?" Oishi wondered how long it would take to scour the pot. But at least the air didn't smell like sake anymore.
"You distracted me." Eiji grinned. "You looked so cute in that apron."
"Eiji!" Oishi could feel the colour rising in his face. He smiled back. "Poor Tezuka, though."
Eiji shrugged. "He'll be fine." He grabbed Oishi's hand. "Let's watch TV."
"But what about the kitchen?" Besides the pot, there were knives and measuring cups left out, bits of vegetables and spills of spices on the countertop.
"We'll do it later." Eiji pulled Oishi into the other room and they tumbled down in front of the television, Eiji lying across Oishi's lap. Oishi couldn't make himself feel even a little bit guilty.
Oishi didn't get his homework done. He had to copy last week's practice schedules. He got in trouble with his parents for the mess.
But he bowled a perfect game.