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"Ah," Nagi says, tone as flat as the way shes laid out on the ground. "Reo, I'm hard."
Reo doesn't know what she said. Reo doesn't know if he wants to know what she said. Reo does, however, know that he wants to finish up his free kick practice first, so he says the first thing that pops into his mind.
"Give me ten minutes, Nagi," he says, lining his foot up to take the shot. "I'll help you out as soon as I'm done."
He doesn't turn to see Nagi's face as she responds, choosing to take the shot instead. It makes a brilliant arc in the sky before slamming into the goal with more force than he means.
"Kaaaaaaaay," Nagi drawls. Satisfied, Reo lines up to take another shot.
It's probably that gross negligence that leads to them ending up here. Reo's hardly finished gathering up his and Nagi's equipment, dumping them haphazardedly in their bags, before Nagi yanks the leg of his pants, sending him topping down into the green.
"Ne, Reo," she whispers, rolling over onto her side to face him. "You said you'd help me as soon as you're done, right? You're done now, so help me."
"What—" Reo manages, but then Nagi grabs his hand and pushes it against the front of her sweats and oh, god, she's hard.
Reo nearly chokes on his own breath. His brain stutter and splutters and buffers, eyes wide and throat drying up as Nagi drapes her hand over his, pressing insistently, lazily, like she’s too tired to do anything except remind him her cock is alive and throbbing beneath their hands.
“What— Nagi— what the hell,” he stammers, trying to yank his hand back, except Nagi’s grip is deceptively strong. She doesn’t let him go.
“Help me,” she repeats, tone airy, unbothered. So casual, like it's just another one of her many, many requests of him—like she’s just asking him to grab her standard bread-of-the-day! She seems sure that he'll do this as he does everything else; her lashes flutter shut as if she’s already decided she won’t be moving another muscle. Typical.
Reo’s heart kicks up, frantic, and not just because of the heat gathering under his palm. His first instinct is outrage, panic, propriety. His second instinct—far worse—is a low hum in his belly that says he wants to.
He swallows hard. “You— you can’t just—”
“Reo,” she interrupts, eyes opening just enough to pin him down. The hazy, bored look she always wears burns a little sharper at the edges now, need curling beneath it. Her voice dips soft, pleading in a way she doesn’t even seem aware of. “Don’t make me do it myself. It’s a total pain….”
“Y-You can’t just grab me and—!” he sputters. Reo’s verbal faculties shut down as he feels the heat beneath his palm, the thick outline straining Nagi’s standard-issue uniform sweats. He yanks in a breath like he’s drowning. Jesus, she's huge.
“I can,” Nagi interrupts, deadpan, her hand still holding his in place. Her hips roll shallowly against them, like she can't even be bothered to move on her own.“Reo's the one who said I could ask for anything.”
Reo’s jaw works soundlessly. He's sure he looks ridiculous right now, gaping and staring dumbly at his best friend—his partner, for god's sake—and numbly contemplating the pros and cons of jerking her off. His pulse is hammering in his ears, and it takes him an embarrassing beat to realize he still hasn’t pulled his hand away. He’s just…holding her. Holding her.
And god, she’s pretty. Reo’s never said it out loud—never even dared to truly whisper it to himself—but it’s always been there, gnawing at the back of his mind. How Nagi looks with the sunlight hitting her pale lashes, how her soft, shaggy hair hair sticks to her temple when she’s sweaty from practice, how she never wears her uniform quite right, always shabbily thrown together, but she makes it look like she invented the word casual…he'd have to be blind or stupid to not know it.
She’s his best friend. His partner whom he's going to win the World Cup with. His dream personified. His everything, really. And she’s also a girl—his girl, if he lets himself be greedy about it—and that knowledge has burned him raw ever since she told him. He’d accepted it without a second thought, obviously—Nagi is Nagi, after all, and Nagi's his genius no matter what—but it made him notice things he had no business noticing. Like how the sleeves of her oversized hoodie drape cutely over her palms. Or the how the soft fullness of her cheeks catches the long dusky shadow of her eyelashes. Or how her voice catches sometimes, husky and low, when she’s tired. Nagi's taller than him and—now that she's started some barebones training—she's larger than him, but there's a softness to her movements. Slow and unhurried and almost dainty and fuck, if it doesn't drive Reo insane. She's kind of always been, like, a mysterious and cool beauty to him, if he's forced to confront it.
Now, of course, that image is sort of dead. Nagi is, as Reo is finding out, also super dangerous. That same voice is saying, flat as ever: “Reo, stop thinking so much. Just rub it or something. It hurts.”
Reo makes a strangled noise. “You— you can’t just say that like we’re talking about, like, passing drills or something!”
“Do you wanna talk about soccer instead? Would that help you get it going?” Nagi asks, tilting her head, utterly unfazed.
“No!” Reo explodes, face hot.
“Then touch me,” Nagi says simply.
The cry of a bird in the distance makes Reo’s head snap up, but when he glances across the field, it’s empty. The other teams had cleared out ages ago, retreating back to their showers, their buses, their evenings. It’s just them now, the two of them tangled in the grass, sweat drying sticky on their skin.
Which somehow makes it worse. “We shouldn’t…we shouldn’t do this here,” Reo hisses, like whispering might change the fact that his palm is still glued against the aching heat of her sweats. Why the hell hasn't he moved that hand.
Nagi blinks slowly at him. “Why not?”
“Because— because we’re outside?!” His voice cracks on the whisper-yell. “On the soccer field?!”
She yawns, completely unbothered. “No one’s here. You’re making it sound like we’re about to get arrested or something.”
“We could get arrested,” Reo sputters.
“Ehh.” She stretches out on the grass, rolling closer so his arm bends awkwardly between them. Her thigh bumps his hip. “You promised, remember? You said you’d handle everything troublesome for me if I agreed to play soccer with you. This is troublesome. So handle it.”
Reo stares at her, aghast. “That is not what I meant—!”
“It’s what I heard,” Nagi says, as if that settles it. Her lashes half-fall, her voice dropping into that lazy, needy slur she gets when she’s two seconds from passing out. “Reo, please? It’s annoying.”
Reo swallows hard, his chest tight. He doesn’t want to do this here—not on the field, not like this—but Nagi’s pressed close, warm and soft and achingly real, looking at him with those sleepy, heavy-lidded eyes like he’s the only person in the world who can fix her. She glances at him, adorably coy, like she knows he'll give to her whims eventually.
And the worst part is—she’s right. Reo caves. Of course he does. He shuffles closer, knees rustling against the grass, until they’re pressed side to side, shoulder to shoulder. Too close, far too close, and yet not nearly enough. Nagi makes a low hum, pleased, and doesn’t bother moving her hand off his. She just drags his palm tighter against herself, the outline of her cock hot and insistent through the fabric.
Reo’s head spins. There’s no way it’s actually that big. It can’t be. It must just be the fabric, or the angle, or—god, the way she’s throbbing against his hand, like she’s alive and pulsing and demanding attention—just his overactive mind making things up. His chest tightens, breath catching in a dizzy mix of nerves and awe.
Nagi tilts her head toward him, hair sticking damp to her cheek. “Feels good,” she says softly, exhaling shallowly.
Reo’s mouth goes dry. “Y-you’re— Nagi, you’re—” He doesn’t even know what he’s trying to say. Huge? Beautiful? Killing him? All of the above?
Before he can get any of that out, she sighs, that tiny movement making his hand shift against her. She shudders faintly, lashes lowering. “See? Reo's good at this. Better than me doing it. It's way less of a hassle this way.”
Reo chokes on a laugh, hysterical and weak. His fingers twitch before he can stop himself, brushing the ridge straining beneath her sweats. She gasps, soft and surprised, and Reo nearly chokes on his own breath.
Nagi's shameless. And he's shameless, too, for indulging her like this—but she's so needy and cute and pretty and shameless and burning under his hand like she was made for him to touch…what's he expected to do, really? Not touch her?
Reo’s hand twitches uselessly, nerves crackling up his arm. He can’t believe he’s even thinking this, let alone saying it, but the words tumble out anyway, awkward and strangled.
“Do you want me to, um— get it out? Like. Out of your pants?”
Nagi blinks at him, flat and unimpressed. “Duh. How else are you gonna touch it?”
Reo gapes at her. She says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, like Reo's the idiot for even asking. His face is burning, his chest tight with panic, and yet his fingers are already fumbling at the waistband of her sweats, tugging it down with her briefs with jerky, unsure motions.
And then—oh. Oh god. She’s huge.
Reo’s breath catches, stunned into silence. He hadn’t been imagining it; if anything, the fabric had lied, had undersold the sheer scope of the monster that's now heavy and flushed in his hand. His stomach swoops. He should be terrified, but all he can think is pretty. Nagi's dick is huge—long and girthy and flushed red at the tip—and the way it twitches in Reo's hand makes him want to stare at it forever.
Nagi doesn’t even look down. She just shifts lazily against the grass, eyes half-shut. “Ah, mmm, nice. That was taking forever.”
Reo nearly whimpers. “You couldn't have— like, I dunno, warned me or something—”
“Why?” she asks, voice drifting. "'s just a dick. Reo has one too, right?"
"I feel like…this should be classified as something else entirely," Reo says, swiping the tip with his thumb.
It's kind of dry, so Reo pulls his hand back to spit in his palm, hoping that'll ease the slide a little better, before he wraps his hand around the base. Nagi sighs, sweet and shivery and the sound shoots straight through him, short-circuiting his brain. His grip is clumsy, fumbling momentarily, but she doesn’t complain—doesn’t even seem to notice—just melts back into the grass, letting him do all the work, as if this was always his job. And, well, maybe it is. Reo's clearly willing to take it on.
Reo can’t stop staring. His hand is moving—clumsy, uneven strokes up and down the heavy length of her—but his eyes are glued to her. Nagi’s tall, athletic, her whole frame lean and powerful from the hours he drags her through drills. He knows every angle of her body in motion, every flex of muscle when she jumps or twists or shoots. But like this, sprawled out on the grass with her sweats gracelessly shoved down, she looks completely different—unguarded, undone.
Her features are delicate, almost too pretty for someone who towers over most of the field. Soft mouth parted, cheeks flushed pink, her chest rising and falling faster than usual. White curls stick damply to her forehead, catching the light like a halo, though there’s nothing angelic about the obscene way her hips jerk faintly in time with his palm.
Honestly, Nagi doesn’t even seem aware of how obscene she looks like this, how devastatingly gorgeous she is. She just lies there, lazy as ever, letting Reo handle her, like she’s already filed this away under things Reo takes care of so I don’t have to, and Reo—poor Reo—is hopelessly, stupidly glad to oblige.
Reo swallows hard, trying to steady his hand. He feels kinda dumb doing this. Yes, Nagi doesn't talk much in general, but how's he supposed to know if she's feeling good or not? He knows how he touches himself—quick, efficient, nothing to linger on because it's largely perfunctory maintenance—but this is Nagi. His hand feels clumsy, but he tries to think through it, tries to mimic what makes him shiver when he’s alone.
He strokes her length from base to tip, slow at first, then quicker, testing. She hums softly, lashes fluttering, so he does it again. His thumb drags over the swollen head, skimming the slit, and Nagi lets out a breathless gasp. Reo nearly dies on the spot.
Okay. She likes that.
He circles his thumb over the slit again, smearing the wetness there, before sliding back down. She’s so hot, so heavy, so much in his grip that his other hand hesitates, trembling, before cupping her balls, palming them carefully, slowly at the same time.
Nagi sighs, long and pleased, like he just solved some puzzle for her. Reo’s face burns hotter. He squeezes gently, stroking her length with one hand while massaging below with the other. His heart is racing out of his chest, dizzy with the realization that he’s the one doing this for her, that she’s panting for him and him alone, and it makes something in him sing. Yes, that's his treasure, the one he chose, and Reo's the only one for Nagi—just like Nagi is the only one for Reo.
“Reo…” Nagi breathes, her voice all soft edges, no sharpness left in it. “Ah— mmm— That feels— ah, that's really good—”
Reo bites back a noise that’s half hysterical laugh, half moan. He can’t believe this is happening. And maybe because he's always loved trying new things, or maybe because he's always loved Nagi, but he wants to keep learning what makes her shiver.
Her breath comes softer, quicker now, chest lifting beneath her shirt. The fabric rides up, bunching around her hips until, without really thinking, Reo pushes it higher.
Her stomach comes into view—pale skin glistening faintly with sweat, muscles flat but soft in the way only Nagi can be. A faint line of white curls runs down from her navel, delicate and fine, until it thickens into the wild, messy tuft at the base of her cock. Reo nearly chokes.
Nagi blinks down at him through the haze, face flushed pink, curls plastered to her temple. “You’re staring,” she points out, panting lightly.
Reo jerks his gaze back up. “I’m not— I mean, I just—”
“It’s fine.” Her lips part on a sigh when he strokes her faster, her hips giving a small, lazy thrust up into his hand. “Mmgh— Feels good when you look at me like that. Tingly.”
Reo’s throat closes. “Oh,” he says, swallowing weakly. "Is— is that so?"
“Mmn,” she says, tone all innocence, even as her cock throbs in his grip. “Ah— yeah, knew Reo would do good— hah—”
Reo wants to scream. Instead, his hand tightens, sliding slickly down her shaft and squeezing just a little tighter, desperate to pull more sound out of her.
It works—she gasps, soft and surprised, then lets out a low whimper she seems embarrassingly unaware of making. Her flushed face slackens, lashes fluttering. “Ahh— Reo—!”
Reo’s chest aches at the sound, his vision going hot and fuzzy. Every pant, every twitch of her hips, every sigh that slips from her pink mouth makes him want to ruin himself on the spot. Reo swallows hard, shifting his hips against the grass. The heat in his pants is humiliating, his dick hardening embarassingly the longer he stares at her, and the last thing he needs is Nagi noticing.
So he shifts again, angling himself so her gaze—if she even bothers to fully open her eyes—won’t catch the outline of his own arousal. To distract her—to distract himself—his hand keeps moving steadily along her cock, stroking and palming, while the other pushes her shirt higher and higher.
The fabric rides up past her stomach, past the soft trail of white curls, until it bunches beneath her collarbones. Reo’s breath stutters. Her torso is defined in the way he expected—toned from soccer, lean muscles obvious under her pale skin—but it’s not the newly-minted abs that hold him captive. It’s her chest, the subtle swell of soft flesh that rises with each shallow breath. And waiting at the peaks, flushed and delicate, are her nipples. Small, soft, impossibly pretty. Shamelessly, Reo stares.
Nagi tilts her head toward him, hazy-eyed, lips parted as she pants softly. “You’re staring again,” she murmurs, voice wrecked but teasing in that flat way of hers.
Reo jerks his gaze up, flushing scarlet. “I— no, I was just—”
“Wanna touch?” she asks, casual.
Reo makes a sound like he’s dying, his cock straining in his pants. He's sure there's an embarassing wet spot there now. He doesn’t trust himself to speak, so instead he ducks his head and lets his free hand skim upward, hesitating before brushing over the curve of her chest. He grazes the soft swell of her chest featherlight first, then dares to press his palm over the curve. Her nipple stiffens against his skin, and when he brushes his thumb across it, Nagi actually gasps.
Reo’s chest seizes up at the sound, so he does it again, tentative, rolling the pink nub between his thumb and finger while stroking her length with the other hand. She shivers, her hips twitching up into his grip.
“You like that?” he whispers.
"Yeah—" Nagi cracks one eye open, her flushed face lazy and blissful. “Woah— ahh— Reo's super red…pervert Reo…”
Reo nearly combusts. “Hey! Don't just say it like that! Of course I’m gonna get embarrassed if you ask me to touch your tits like that—”
His own words catch up to him mid-sentence, and he clamps his mouth shut too late.
Nagi blinks at him, stunned. Her cheeks, already pink from exertion, bloom redder. “…Tits?”
Reo wants to bury himself six feet under. “I— I didn’t mean— no, I mean, I did mean— but—” He fumbles uselessly, still jerking her off, still rolling her nipple between his fingers like it’s second nature.
But Nagi isn’t needling him anymore. She’s staring, wide-eyed, as if she’s not sure what she just heard. Her lips part, a flush crawling down her neck. She turns her face to the side, curls sticking to her cheek, and mutters, low and shaky, “…Reo's weird.”
Still, her hips buck into his hand again, harder this time, betraying how much she likes it. Reo’s ears are ringing, his whole face on fire, but he can’t stop. His hand keeps working her cock in steady strokes, the other pinching and teasing at her nipples like he’s determined to prove his point. Because he does have a point to prove now.
“They are, though,” he blurts, too flustered to filter himself. “They’re tits. Yours. Soft and—god, so cute—”
“Reo—!” Nagi cuts in, voice cracking, her whole body jerking under his touch. Her hips rock up shallowly into his grip, chasing the friction it provides. Nagi’s cock twitches in his grip, heavy and leaking over his knuckles. “Reo… it’s—ahh, it’s too much—”
Reo strokes harder, thumb pressing into the slit, wrist twisting. His other hand tugs insistently at her other nipple, and Nagi whimpers, hips bucking shallowly against his hand like her body can’t help it.
“You’re close, huh?” he says, voice wrecked, too caught up to even care how desperate he sounds.
Nagi shivers, her whole frame trembling as she clutches weakly at the grass. “Feels— mmph— Reo, it feels—”
Her words dissolve into panting, her hips rocking faster into his grip. Reo leans over her, breathless, stroking her through every twitch and shiver. He’s never seen her like this, never imagined she could come undone this way, and god, it makes his chest ache. He wants to see everything. He doesn't want to miss a second of it.
“Come on, Nagi,” he urges, half pleading, half worshipping. “Let go for me. Please? You've been so good, Nagi. My good girl, right?”
Reo doesn’t stop, not until Nagi weakly lifts her head, her whole body shuddering with the aftershocks. Her hips twitch up against his hand even as she breathes out a broken whine. “Enough— ah," she gasps. "Reo, mmm— that’s…! Enough—” shaking her head, sweat sticking strands of hair to her temple.
Then, there's a mess in his palm, warm and slick, dripping between his fingers. Nagi blinks at it, face flushed, chest rising and falling hard.
“Ah. Oh. Oops,” she mumbles. Her voice is small, uncertain, half-apology, half-bewilderment at how much she’s left him with.
But Reo isn’t even listening. He’s staring at his own hand. It’s been marked; his pupils blown wide staring at the evidence. It’s hers. Nagi’s. I did that. The thought catches and burns all through him, low and hot. His throat bobs as he swallows around his parched throat. Before Nagi can duck her head or pull away in embarrassment, Reo dazedly raises his hand, slow, almost reverent, and drags his tongue across his palm.
Her cum coats his tongue, salty, unfamiliar, but delicious all the same. His chest floods with heat at the intimacy, at the fact that it’s hers. He sucks his fingers clean one by one, shameless, transfixed, until they’re glistening only with spit.
Nagi freezes, staring, the tips of her ears scarlet. Her breath catches like she doesn’t know whether to shove him away or pull him closer. Her lips part on a hoarse, “Reo…”
He licks the last of her off his thumb and looks up at her with a grin so soft, so unguarded, it knocks the air out of her. “Sorry, I wanted to know what you taste like,” he says sheepishly, like that explains everything.
Reo leans down, his free hand rising almost instinctively to brush damp strands of hair away from Nagi’s flushed face. Her lashes flutter with each heavy breath, chest still rising and falling, and for a moment he just wants her to see herself like he sees her—wants her to know how beautiful she looks like this, undone because of him.
But in seeking closeness, he miscalculates. His hips dip forward as he steadies himself, and his crotch drags against the firm line of Nagi’s thigh. A sound catches in his throat—half-swallowed, unintentional.
Nagi stiffens, her breath hitching. The realization sparks slow but undeniable: the hardness pressed against her leg isn’t a mistake, isn’t her imagination. Her bleary eyes widen just a fraction, dragging down and then back up to Reo’s face.
“You—” her voice breaks, still hoarse from panting. She swallows. “…Reo. You’re—”
Reo freezes, face surely blazing red, hand still tangled awkwardly in her hair. “I— uh—” His throat works, but the words don’t come. He wants to disappear, his heart thudding violently in his chest.
But Nagi keeps staring at him, stunned and dazed, her lips parted.
“Reo's…hard,” she finishes weakly, the word sounding far dirtier on her tongue than she means it to.
Reo jerks back like he’s been burned, face flushing so red it nearly glows in the fading sunset. “I’m not— I wasn’t—” His denial is breathless, stupid, completely undercut by the fact that in trying to shift away, he only grinds himself harder against the muscle of Nagi’s thigh.
The friction makes him gasp, sharp and strangled, a sound far too honest to pass off as anything else. His eyes squeeze shut, mortified. “Shit—”
Nagi blinks up at him, her expression sluggish but intent, her lips parting around a breathless half-laugh. “…You’re seriously trying to say you’re not?”
Reo is flailing, protesting under his breath like it’ll undo the noise he just made. “I mean, I’m not— it’s just, that was— don’t look at me like that, Nagi—” He’s tripping over his own words, every excuse falling apart because his body refuses to cooperate, his cock pressing needy and obvious against his sweats as if mocking him.
The last smear of sun dips past the field’s horizon, the sky bleeding purple and orange around them, long shadows cutting across the grass. They’re completely exposed out here, just two idiots tangled in each other, and Reo knows it, and maybe that's why he’s protesting, half-hearted and panicked.
“We can’t— it's— not here,” he stammers, the words rushed, even as his hips roll against Nagi's leg traitorously, begging for more of Nagi’s warmth.
Nagi tips her head against the grass, still catching her breath, her pale lashes heavy against flushed cheeks. “…kay,” she says simply.
Nagi shifts suddenly, rolling toward him with a lazy grace that somehow makes it look effortless. Before Reo can protest, she plants one knee firmly between his legs, the pressure sharp and teasing. His eyes snap wide open, chest clenching, and he swallows hard, trying to think of anything to say that isn't just an indecent moan.
“…Nagi— what are you—”
“Here's no good, right, Reo?” she says, voice breezy. “…so, when we get home, can I fuck you, Reo?”
Reo freezes. His whole body stutters. Heat blooms across his chest, his face, and somewhere lower, a traitorous twitch presses painfully against his pants, smearing precome inside his briefs. “…what?”
“I said,” she repeats, blinking slowly, catlike and smug in her bluntness, “…when we get home. Can I fuck you?”
His mouth opens, closes, opens again. “…You’re insane.”
“And Rro's hard,” Nagi points out, tilting her head. “…I can feel it, you know.”
Reo groans low, dropping his head into his hands, red-faced and completely undone. “…I’m going to die,” he mutters, voice muffled, but inside he’s screaming, because god, of course she’s like this. She’s always like this. And yes, he wants it—desperately.
Nagi just hums softly, letting the knee linger. “…Good,” she murmurs, voice lazy and teasing. “Then we’re all set.”
Even caught in a compromising positon, doing outrageous things—Reo can't help but feel more wonder than shame. Nagi's so, so lovely, and he wants to run ahead into a beautiful world with her by his side. Anywhere is fine, maybe, as long as it's them—Reo thinks he can bear the weight of anything at all. In the half-red embers of the remnants of the day, Nagi's soft smile makes all the embarassment worth it.