TakuyaSaki. It was all the car's fault.
It had been given to Hiiragi Takuya from his father on his acceptance into the National team's starting five. It had always been his father's dream car, but he had never bought it except to give it to his son. Takuya couldn't have been more surprised, nor more ungrateful. What was he going to do with a car? The price of gas, insurance and maitenance itself was double what a bus pass and a subway card would cost to get him back and forth from practices and school. But he had taken it with good grace anyways, because who wouldn't want such a beautiful car?
He ended up driving his father around more often than not, once he went through the trouble of getting his liscence. It got plenty of admiring looks from the boys, but it was his basketball that kept their attention. It was the basketball that he really cared about, after all.
And then he drove his little brother to a concert in Nagasaki, parking and locking his car with some apprehension after seeing the kind of place it was. But it was after the show that he met Asakura Saki.
Smooth hands drifted over the curved back end of his sports car and black nails were highlighted against it's ivory surface.
"Nice ass," the guitarist said admiringly, the smile on his face anything but innocent as he patted the body affectionnately and turned back to face Takuya.
The first time they did it, it was in the car; a messy, twisted-limb affair that nevertheless blew Takuya's mind. Asakura had asked how such a reserved guy could own such a powerfully agressive car, and had wondered into the night air whether this was what the basketball player was really like underneath the cool exterior.
Hiiragi was sufficiently aware of his passenger's odd habits to pull into an empty parking lot when asked to, and when the key was turned in the ignition the lack of the rumble of the engine was disturbing. It was more surprising when Saki unbuckled, reached over, and started undoing Takuya's pants.
And maybe he had been wondering if what Saki had said was true, after all, about the sports car inside him, but he didn't tell him to stop, didn't catch his hands when they pulled him out of the confines of his pants and into the cool air, disarmingly vulnerable.
Women had done this before, but had tacky lips and only moved when he told them to. For all their positions might state to the opposite, Asakura was in control.
Takuya even made the mistake of saying Asakura's first name in surprise when a tounge found the sensitive spot behind his balls. Saki seemed to be affected by this and swollowed him whole, aborting the teasing little licks he had been going about before. It was an awkward position: Saki twisted in the tiny interior to lean over the stick, bracing himself against the edge of Takuya's seat with one hand while the other contributed to what his mouth was doing.
Saki's cool efficiency, rather than turning Takuya off, rather made him harder - like a piece of white-hot steel being dipped into water. He couldn't see Saki's face, but he had his eyes closed most of the time anyways, head pressed back against the headrest as he breathed through an open mouth. He tried to keep his hips from jerking for a while, but it didn't really work very well. Coming in Saki's mouth was a heaven that he wouldn't regret, even if it got the car a little dirty. He could whipe it off when he got home, because at the moment he was busy sliding his tounge into Saki's mouth, fingers hard and grasping in his hair.
When they finally parted, each sitting in their own seat, heartbeat slowed and hormones abating, buckles back on and the car running again, Takuya shot Saki a sideways look. That dexterious tounge was licking over Saki's red lips, and a smile hovered over his face, flickering on and off in the night light.
"I was right."