Suddenly, blowjob.

This was the best morning Wataru could recall; Takahashi Ryousuke gripping his thighs to slide him closer, push his legs a little further apart, take him down further. It was the best, he thought, apart from the morning the last parts for his turbo-upgrade had been delivered; with Wataru it was a toss-up which was more exciting, cars or sex.

How he'd ended up in bed with Takahashi Ryousuke was an exciting tale in and of itself.

For now, though, beyond all reminiscence was the rough salt of Takahashi on his tongue, edging into the best position for the mutual blowjob, and the sweaty mess of sheets around their curled bodies. The bed was a somewhat cramped but adequate worktable; at any rate, it had been good enough last night and not any less so now.

Wataru spared a moment to wonder what the hell Ryousuke had told his family about an unexpected visitor last night before words dissolved into useless abstractions under the wet silken grip of Takahashi's mouth on him.

Afterward it was a reflex for both of them to reach for the cigarettes.

"How exactly did I get so lucky?" Wataru wondered aloud. He'd only been looking to race, and been rejected for that much.

"I like to size up all the local talent," Ryousuke told him, leaning against the headboard and lighting up. He blew his first curl of smoke to the side. "Or not so local, as the case may be."

"Oh yeah?" Wataru smirked a bit at that. He leaned over Ryousuke to grab the pack of smokes he'd left on the bedside stand the night before. "Does everyone get such personal inspections, or am I a special case?"

He liked it when a guy let him know he wanted him. Sometimes it was too tiring to go through all that chase and pursuit to gain a willing Ò or at least persuadable Ò bedmate. Ryousuke was the most aggressive he'd had.

"An exception," Ryousuke replied shortly. "One can't be too careful, you know. Both in racing opponents, and the other."

Wataru's mouth quirked at one corner and he tapped ash into the tray Ryousuke had lain between them. "Ah, I know a bit about that." All these macho types...you said the wrong thing to a guy in someone else's turf and you could get your face pounded in. "How'd you know, with me?"

Ryousuke moved to the edge of the bed. "Intuition," he said with a shrug, muscles rippling along the line of his back. He crushed his spent cigarette into the glass tray, and swiveled his legs over the edge. Glancing over his shoulder, Ryousuke gave him a half-smile. "The shower is cramped, so I'll go first. We can have breakfast after that."

Wataru lifted a hand. "Ah -- what about... I mean, I can't just walk around your house with no explanation." That would be worse than awkward, he'd been raised better than that.

"Oh, it's okay." Ryousuke stood, nude, and faced him. "My parents are in Tokyo for the week with my sister. You've got nothing to worry about."

Wataru's smile had crept back. "Well, you'd better go now, if you don't want me to grab you for a repeat performance."

Ryousuke nodded, businesslike even in bare skin, and left the room.

Expelling a gusty sigh, Wataru fell back against the headboard. Mention of Takahashi's parents reminded him of his own. They were probably worried, right now, and he had forgotten to call them last night. It was true they had expected him to stay overnight with his aunt, but if by chance they'd called Akina, no one knew where he was right now.

He pulled the sheet around his waist and left the bed, settling in Ryousuke's chair.

"Mother? Yes, it's me."

Not only did Ryousuke have a laptop, he noted, skimming his fingers over the closed Sony machine -- he had a desktop computer at the other end of his L-shaped workstation. Nice.

"Yes, I'll be home some time today," he promised. Good, they thought he had spent the night at Akina. "Well -- maybe later tonight. It depends."

He'd never be able to afford a computer like this, he knew, and even if he got the kind of money to buy one he'd spend it on parts to upgrade or maintain the Levin.

"Yeah, I think Kazumi is settling in just fine," Wataru told his mother. "She had some doubts at first, but seemed okay by the time I left." He'd had some doubts, too. It was Kazumi's first time away from home for such a long time, and he'd always been there to look after his sister, before. He had a feeling he'd be making several trips to Akina, whether she liked it or not. She had been upset at first.

Gunma's the worst!

"I'll see you when I get home. Bye." Wataru set down the phone and looked around Ryousuke's room. There was money everywhere, from the desk he was sitting at to the simple, spare furnishings. Takahashi was on a completely different level. The only place they met was in racing, or in bed.

"Shower's free now." Ryousuke had returned, wet and dripping, clad only in the towel he'd draped around his lean hips.

"Ah. Thanks," Wataru returned. Really, he was lucky he was allowed to spend the night, he thought with a touch of bitterness -- or perhaps Takahashi hadn't realized how poor he was. Would he feel he'd lowered his standards?

He took a quick, functional shower. Wataru thought about the sex while the spray wet his hair and body. It had been good sex, he reflected, the kind he rarely found if he managed to pick someone up in the galleries or divine someone like-minded hanging around the parks, the beach, the usual. And, too, Ryousuke had been willing to take him home. That counted for a lot to him. Groping and going to 'C' in the car was all well and good, but the cramped backseat of the Levin was really not the best place for it.

He toweled his hair dry and borrowed Ryousuke's moist toothbrush. Sharing that much was no more than what had already been swapped between two mouths last night. Wataru wrapped the towel around his waist and stepped into the hallway.

He jolted up against someone reaching for the doorknob.

"Ah, sorry," Wataru began, clutching at the towel around his hips, and froze. Not Ryousuke.

"You!" said the narrow-faced blond man. He glared. "What are you doing in my bathroom?"

"Takahashi Keisuke," Wataru said slowly. What was it Ryousuke had said? His parents and sister were gone...'you've got nothing to worry about.' Of course Keisuke would still be here; it was his house and he was the one who'd refused to race him, last night.

"You gonna answer me?" Keisuke didn't back up an inch, his fists clenched, dark eyes glaring on his.

"Heh." Wataru ran a hand through his wet hair. "Well, it's a long story, and I'm not sure you want to hear it." Not, he added mentally, when it involved how he'd ended up in Keisuke's brother's bed.

Gunma's the worst!

Wataru gripped the steering wheel in both hands, staring out moodily into the darkness beyond his windshield. Sorry, we don't race on our home turf. Akagi's best had turned him down. It's not enough of a challenge. Maybe Kazumi was right; Gunma's racers weren't the friendliest. And then that near miss...

He passed a hand over his face, combing back long fine strands of hair, thinking of the flash of lights on a startled man; the orange triangle in his hands, the panic on his face. He and Takahashi had rocketed past the disabled car perfectly at full-speed drift, but sure, it could've been more than a near miss. Now Akagi's racers would never want to battle him, once they heard from Takahashi.

There would be no getting into the Gunma racing set, if Akagi's number two was any indication. But for a few minutes there, the real thrill had pounded through his body. He had tasted a genuine challenge as he hadn't in awhile, and that* was what he'd been hoping to find in this area.

He started up the car. Everyone in Gunma wanted to jerk him around.

Wataru milled around on Akagi's curves, not ready to go home yet. He was still taut and high-strung over that almost-race with Takahashi; he'd expected to have a real battle tonight, and then the final burst of adrenaline at the end of their impromptu race...no, he wasn't ready to go home yet, even if Gunma's drivers were gutless wonders. He headed for a diner he'd passed at the base of Akagi on his way from Akina.

He picked up speed on the downslope, but coasted. This was no race against Takahashi. Besides, if Akagi's drivers were as careless as the stranded car that had stopped their battle earlier, he was better off taking it easy.

He saw lights taking the corner behind him, twin beams cutting across his rearview mirror. Wataru glanced at it as it pulled near, closing the gap and tailing him.

"You can't be serious," Wataru muttered, piqued. They were nearly at the bottom of the mountain. The diner was nearby. Still, unable to resist, Wataru sped up.

The car stayed on his ass for the five miles from there to the diner, shadowing him perfectly, the distance between them surely no more than a meter, sometimes less. Wataru's forehead began to bead with sweat. Whoever this was, he was good -- way better than Takahashi.

The diner was coming up and Wataru flipped his signal on. Behind him, the white car's turn signal began to blink yellow. The headlights flashed him.

"Heh..." Wataru exhaled, unsurprised. A brief thrill of hope, of excitement, took him. Was he going to be taken seriously on Akagi? The car pulled into a parking slot next to him and Wataru could see now that it was a white FC. He could see the 'Redsuns' emblem, and the racing logos on the side. Hope died.

Takahashi Ryousuke. Akagi's number one, and older brother of the Keisuke he'd challenged earlier tonight. He must have heard already.

As he got out of the car, Takahashi was already coming around the rear of the white FC, hands in his pockets. Wataru shut the door and leaned against it. His time in Akagi had been brief, and he was about to get the polite speech from Takahashi to stay off this turf for good.

"Good evening," Takahashi said, voice unexpectedly deep for such a mild-looking man. "I'm Takahashi Ryousuke."

"'Evenin'," Wataru replied, wary. "I know." Takahashi was looking over his car and he felt a prickle of resentment. So what if he wasn't rich enough to afford one of the newer models? His Levin had been upgraded with pride and care. "I'm--"

"I know who you are," Takahashi returned, still looking at his car. "You're Akiyama Wataru. You've come a long way."

"Yeah," Wataru said, surprised.

"That car you drive," Takahashi murmured, "it's not an Eight-Six Trueno, after all." Then turned his attention to Wataru. His eyes were assessing, but not unfriendly. Wataru could see within moments why Takahashi stirred up such a storm of women followers; it wasn't just the charismatic driving, reputation of the unbeatable, but his looks too. He was, simply put, gorgeous.

"It's an Eight-Six Levin," Wataru said, stepping away from the car. "Got a problem with that? I guess you've already heard from your brother about me."

Takahashi Ryousuke's mouth curved. "I believe he referred to you as 'the dumbass in the Levin who nearly got us killed.' But I won't hold it against you." He cocked his head at the diner. "Coffee?"

Wataru winced. "Yeah, well..." He slouched towards the diner, tacit acceptance of the invitation, and Takahashi followed. After they were seated, cigarettes out and lit, he asked, "How did you know my name?"

"I've seen you race, too." Takahashi's dark eyes were inscrutable. He turned his head as the pink-aproned waitress came to their booth. "Black coffee for me."

"Me, too," Wataru told her, keeping his eyes on Takahashi. "I've never seen your white FC in our area, and I would've recognized it."

"Simple," Takahashi replied, taking a drag. "I wasn't in my FC. If you're scouting out possible opponents, it's better not to let them see you coming. I went all across Gunma prefecture in my father's car before I started the Akagi Redsuns project."

Even as one face amongst the gallery, this guy would stand out. "Whatever," Wataru shrugged. He felt the burn of resentment. First Keisuke turned him down for a race, then this guy let him know he'd been passed over? "I guess an Eight-Six Levin's not good enough to race against your FCs, whether it's your turf or mine."

"Let me tell you something," Takahashi said coldly, eyes steady on his, "one thing the Redsuns have learned is not to underestimate Eight-Six cars, or their drivers."

"Oh?" Wataru leaned back. The younger Takahashi had said pretty much the same thing.

"That's right," Ryousuke returned. He paused, eyes moving to the waitress as she approached and set their coffee on the table. He thanked her. "In Akina there's an Eight-Six driver who holds a streak of unbeatable records on that mountain. So you see, there's no way we'd underestimate you based on your car."

Wataru picked up his coffee, mollified somewhat. That was a change from usual; he was accustomed to fighting against not only drivers, but their low perception of his car. "Hmm...when you got out of your car, you thought I was this Eight-Six from Akina?"

"Yes." Takahashi gave him a brief nod. He turned his head, looking out the dark rectangle of window. "But I've never seen him on Akagi, not without good reason."

Unaccountably, he felt deflated. So Takahashi had been looking to have coffee with the driver of the Akina Eight-Six, not with him.

Wataru leaned forward, flicking ash into the tray provided at each table. "So then," he said, trying to understand yet not backing down an inch before Takahashi's classy demeanor, "if you were interested in Akina's Eight-Six driver, then why did you follow me into the diner?" He got the slightly uncomfortable sensation they might be talking about two different things at once, and fixed his eyes on Takahashi.

The man looked at him again, and was that a fraction of humor in his dark eyes? "Well," Takahashi said, "I'm always interested in good drivers." There was slight emphasis on the descriptive.

"You don't know if I'm a good driver or not," Wataru felt the need to taunt. "Because the Redsuns don't race on their own turf. Not challenging enough, your brother said."

Takahashi shrugged. "We don't race on our turf, and that's the reason," he said. "Akina's number one says the same thing too, now -- he won't race at Akina any longer because he always wins there. It isn't something personal."

Wataru shrugged, mirroring the other man's careless gesture. "I see." His home turf was too far to challenge any of these Gunma racers. But why had he come here, if not to race? It wasn't fair. Gunma's the worst! Irritably, he dismissed Kazumi's childish complaint from his head. "So is that why we're here? For you to explain things to me, or to smooth over your brother's actions?"

"Why should I do that?" Takahashi replied, giving him a look that was closer to a glare. "My brother can do as he likes; I'm not his keeper. Don't mistake my intentions."

"Then..." Wataru narrowed his eyes, waiting for Takahashi to complete the thought.

"Because I was interested," was all Takahashi said, and turned his attention to the coffee.

How frustrating. Wataru slumped, looking out at the darkness. It was getting late. There were cars pulling out of the diner. It seemed like he'd end up going home early, after all. From the corner of his eye, he glanced at Takahashi.

Takahashi was looking straight at him, and his glance was speculative. For Wataru, it was as if things suddenly fell into place. Takahashi was interested in Akina's Eight-Six driver. Akina's number one wasn't here. But Takahashi was letting him know that he found him interesting, as well.

What a refreshing change.

Wataru ground the last of his cigarette into the tray, hesitating. He didn't know Takahashi all that well, only by reputation. Well, there was a surefire way to get to know him intimately, and fast. He grinned.

"You wanna get out of here?" he suggested, motioning with the stick of a fresh cigarette.

Takahashi tilted his head, giving him a considering look, and for a moment he thought he'd made a mistake.

"Yes, let's go," Takahashi said. There was a small, decided smile on his lips. "We can go to my place."

He'd heard that the Takahashi family was rich, but their house was something else. He looked up at it and knew the beautiful two-level home represented more income, in all likelihood, than his family made had made during the course of his life. As he got out of the car, following Takahashi Ryousuke, he wondered if he wasn't making a mistake. With this kind of gap between them...

"Come on," Takahashi invited, one hand on the door.

"You're sure this is okay?" Wataru asked, hanging back. He looked up at the house again. All the lights were dark, but that didn't mean anything. It was late at night.

"Come on, Akiyama," Takahashi told him, flipping his hand, smiling encouragement. "I won't bite." He, Ryousuke, really did have a sexy smile. At that point Wataru began to think of him as Ryousuke indeed, a forerunner of the intimacy he had accepted.

One last unworthy thought crossed his mind: that this might be some kind of trick to humiliate him. "Call me Wataru," he invited, accepting Takahashi's word at face value and following him into the house.

Inside, it was dark as well as they passed through unlit, spacious rooms and hallways. Only at one point did Ryousuke turn on the light, and that was when they arrived at the upstairs corner bedroom. They paused to exchange a perfunctory kiss, then Ryousuke began to strip without bothering to see if he was following his lead.

Wataru watched him with appreciation. There was a grudging sense of admiration growing within him at Ryousuke's casual, unselfconscious attitude, not to mention the body that he revealed as he put aside his clothes.

Ryousuke's dark eyes met his, and that was the catalyst.

Setting aside his own inhibitions, Wataru shed his shirt. He had joined Ryousuke on his own ground and he'd go all the way. The remnants of the night, the checked adrenaline, the frustrations, were still lingering in his blood. His pulse quickened as he rid himself of both shirt and pants and joined Ryousuke near the bed. His lips curved. They'd both kept their briefs on, a last holdover, or perhaps they sought to maintain the anticipation until the last moment.

They kissed again, briefly, hands wandering. Wataru grappled with Ryousuke for a tense moment, one hand gripping his buttock, before he realized that Ryousuke was yielding to his touch, giving in even though he was the elder. That satisfied Wataru on an unspoken level and he moved on sure territory now, pushing Ryousuke to the bed. This much he could do, no matter how much Takahashi might intimidate him in other respects.

Foreplay consisted of dipping into those y-front briefs, taking Ryousuke's hardness into his hand, and jacking it. Wataru was already excited; he didn't need much more.

"What can I have?" he murmured, brushing Ryousuke's ear with his mouth, pumping his erection with fervor. It was a sweet piece, fitting into his hand just right, and Ryousuke bucked up into the touch when he threatened to take his hand away.

"You'll find what you need in the bedstand drawer," Ryousuke told him, turning his head and panting.

Wataru made a long arm. He was pleased at what he found. He ripped a condom open with his teeth and tossed aside the wrapping, maneuvering their lanky bodies into the position he thought made the best fit. He had to spare an extra moment to skin down Ryousuke's briefs with an eager hand, and pulled his own cock free. "Okay?" he managed, reaching forward to graze Ryousuke's nape with his teeth.

"Do it," Ryousuke commanded, his voice congested with desire.

Wataru nodded. He rolled the condom on with hasty fingers, then attempted that most awkward of human configurations.

They fit.

He paused for a long moment, breathing hard, enraptured by the tight feel of Ryousuke's ass bearing down on him. Between one heartbeat and the next he began to pump his hips, groping over Ryousuke's thigh to catch and hold his cock in shaking fingers, timing it to the pace of his thrusts. Ryousuke grunted, pushing back into it, and Wataru nuzzled his neck again.

Going like that, Wataru felt he could continue forever. For the longest time it almost felt as if they would, suspended in that timeless moment of give and take, thrust and return. He humped against Ryousuke to that steady rhythm until he couldn't stand it anymore, quickening, sweat rolling off of him as he sought to finish it and find an end to the golden thread that stretched between them, taut and perfect. Ryousuke's cock was slick in his hand and he pumped it faster, encouraging him to finish first.

"Come on," Wataru urged, panting. "Come on..."

It kicked them up into an entirely new drive, grappling, thrusting madly. Their bodies bumped together awkwardly and Ryousuke cried out, pushing into his hand. Wataru slackened his own thrusts in favor of concentrating on Ryousuke's pleasure, pulling it from him, sloppily mouthing the back of his neck.

Ryousuke stiffened and came.

"Ahh...good..." Wataru groaned, hips grinding hard into Ryousuke, then he resumed his frenetic pace as he sought his own climax. All of the myriad excitements and frustrations of the evening dissolved and swirled through his blood, desire thudding on his tongue as he took himself over the top in the tight clasp of Takahashi Ryousuke's ass. His orgasm was short but intense and he shook with it, slowing in the last moments.

They separated and simply lay for a moment, panting in the pleasant afterglow. When Wataru found he could move again, he peeled off the condom and sought out the trash, then returned to bed and the warm length of Ryousuke, sprawled with dark eyes unfocused and mouth parted. It was the look of a man pleasantly fucked.

"Rough and ready," Ryousuke commented, reaching across him for the night stand and the cigarettes that lay there. He leaned against Wataru's shoulder and placed a pristine glass ashtray on the white sheets between them.

Wataru edged away, then closer, then shifted himself and tucked a fold of sheet beneath his thigh. Disgusting but inevitable, that was the wet spot. "I guessed you might like that sort of thing."

Ryousuke half-smirked, half-grunted. "I was in the mood for it, tonight."

"I don't believe it," Takahashi Keisuke said, eyes narrowed. "You...and my aniki?"

Wataru shrugged. "Can you let me pass?" he requested, mostly polite. He was damp, wearing nothing but a towel, and he wanted to get dressed and eat something. Keisuke was blocking the hall to Ryousuke's room.

"You've got a lot of nerve--" Keisuke started in a growl.

"Hey, who d'you think you are--" Wataru shot back, hitching the towel up around his hips.

"Stop!" a deep voice commanded, and the random English halted them in their tracks.

"Aniki!" Keisuke looked over with relief. "Aniki, what's this guy doing here? It's got to be some kind of mistake." The blond shot him a look that wasn't precisely unfriendly, but was far from welcoming.

"Don't be naive, Keisuke," Ryousuke told him, nodding to Wataru. "Now let him pass. I'm sure Akiyama wants to get dressed."

The incredulous look was turned on his brother now, then Takahashi Keisuke threw up his hands. "Whatever. Do as you like, aniki. I'm going to eat and run; I've got plans with Kenta today."

"Good for you," Ryousuke said in a neutral tone.

"Not like that," Keisuke said with disgust, throwing Wataru an oblique look. He shook his head. "I can't believe you brought someone home, aniki."

Wataru hoped that was the only objection, but somehow suspected that wasn't so.

"Go eat your breakfast, Keisuke," Ryousuke commanded peremptorily.

The blond Takahashi cast a last look at his brother. It was full of complex emotions, what Wataru knew as a sibling glance' something that couldn't be read by an outsider. Instead of even bothering to try, he sidled past the two of them and returned to Ryousuke's corner bedroom.

His clothes from the night before were still clean, for which he was grateful. He didn't want to be indebted to the point of having his clothes run through the wash at the Takahashi residence. Besides, from Keisuke's resentful reception, he didn't think he should stay long.

After dressing, he toweled his hair dry. Ryousuke joined him in the room again, composed, dressed in the pressed shirt and slacks that marked him, again, as part of a separate world from Wataru. With these barriers in place, once again Wataru didn't think he would feel comfortable kissing him. It had been...good...but if he were to associate with Ryousuke on a regular basis the difference in their levels might tear him apart.

"Come and have breakfast," Ryousuke told him without preamble.

"Sure," Wataru said, hooking his thumbs into his belt loops, hiding his misgivings. If the younger Takahashi was still there...

Ryousuke intuited the reason for his hesitation at a glance. "Don't worry, Keisuke bolts his breakfast and hits the road. I've never seen him do differently."

Wataru gave him a sidelong smile, then followed. If Keisuke wanted to give him a hard time, he suspected, he might make an exception from his daily routine. He wondered if the younger Takahashi's resentment stemmed from their aborted 'race' of the night before, or the fact that he'd slept with Ryousuke. Probably both, he decided.

The kitchen was empty, as Ryousuke had promised. They ate at the counter instead of the table by the bay window, and Wataru preferred the casual atmosphere. They talked about cars, a subject with which they were both comfortable. When they weren't speaking, the silence that filled the remainder wasn't awkward, it was simply...there.

"Listen," Wataru said, pushing aside the last of his breakfast. "About racing on Akagi..."

"I already said," Ryousuke returned, with the air of a man shutting a door. "We don't race on our home turf."

"Right," Wataru said, and he was unable to help feeling let down, at least a little. Why should he think last night had tipped anything in his favor? "But perhaps some day the Redsuns could come to my turf. That would be a worthy challenge, maybe."

"Perhaps." Now Ryousuke's smile warmed his eyes. "The idea has potential. My plans, they're always changing. But we'll see."

Potential. Wataru leaned back, wrapping his mind around the thought. He could live with that.

When they were done, Takahashi Ryousuke escorted him from the palatial residence that made him uncomfortable the more he saw it in the light of day. His Levin, though clean, looked especially out of place next to the gleaming white FC.

"Thanks," Wataru told him, turning, hands firmly in his pockets. He was turning Ryousuke's words over in his head, devising a lure to get the Redsuns onto his downhill course.

"Here." Ryousuke fished in his trouser pocket and handed him a piece of paper.

It had a number and the neatly-lettered initials 'T.R.' in English script. "What's this?" Wataru wondered, half-expecting him to suggest they get together again, like this. In the world they both preferred to move in, the scene of street-racing, finding a like-minded partner was next to impossible.

"My number," Ryousuke said. "Keep in touch. If there are any developments, I'd certainly like to let you know."

"Developments...?" Wataru prompted, now thoroughly intrigued.

"There may be a time when I want to get in touch with the best racers, not simply in Gunma but all of those I can find," Ryousuke said, dark eyes thoughtful and far away.

"I see," Wataru said, scrambling for a piece of paper of his own. He had a used ticket stub, but no pen. Fortunately Ryousuke supplied one. "Here...this is my number."

As their hands touched Wataru was struck by an isolated image, the thought of Takahashi Ryousuke milling through a gallery crowd, a baseball cap brim pulled low over his eyes, nondescript jacket helping him blend into anonymity. Ryousuke had been to his mountain, had watched him drive. This was a meticulous person.

He thought again of the legendary Eight-Six of Akina, and he knew with a contracted flare of intuition that Ryousuke had not yet beaten that driver. If he had, Wataru thought, then the Takahashi brothers would have driven beyond Gunma to conquer.

"When you beat him," Wataru said, offering his palm for a hand-clasp, "I'll be waiting."

Ryousuke gave him a brief smile, and took the offered hand. "I look forward to it."

It was only a suggestion of what the future might bring, but it was enough.

+end+

Author's note: 'Aniki' was the only word I didn't translate, because it's too complex and I'm too lazy to grope for an appropriate English equivalent. 'Aniki' means 'elder brother,' and it's a more casual, roughly familiar version of address.

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