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Fanfiction > Fluff > Sand Castles > Author: Vindaloo Hits: 1181
Disclaimer: Gravitation and its characters are the property of Maki Murakami. I make no profit from this other than pleasure.

Summary: The summer counterpart to “Cotton Candy Snow.” Series of oneshots involving, well, sand. (And probably sun and water, tho those aren’t requirements.) Number one: Spike. Yuki and Shu play...volleyball. This occurred to me last night while sitting in a sports bar watching a volleyball tourney.

Warnings: This is Gravitation fanfic. If you really must be warned about male/male sex, you really need to read the original.


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Sand Castles
Spike
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“Yuki, Yuki, Yuuuuukiiiiii!”

The sand beneath his head vibrated with the patter of running feet. Eiri winced and shifted onto his stomach, settling his chin onto his crossed arms, book lying forgotten in his right hand.

“Go ’way, brat. I’m busy.” Eiri snarled, but half-heartedly as a damp little nose planted itself in the middle of his back and inhaled noisily.

“Oo-ooo, sun-baked Yuki smells so goo-ood!”

A damp tongue joined the damp nose, sending little thrills down his spine and straight through to a groin that was rarely, if ever, proof against the pint-sized wretch.

He swiped blindly, but Shuuichi dodged the flying hand easily and skittered around to perch on his knees in front of Eiri’s head. Eiri buried his head, but he wasn’t to escape so easily.

“Hiro ’n’ K wanna play volleyball. C’m’n play, Yuki, pleeeeeee-ease?”

He snorted, and immediately regretted it as sand blew up at his nose.

“With you?”

“O’course! Who else?”

Fingers caught and tugged at his hair, trying to make him lift his head. To save his scalp, he reluctantly complied.

“Listen, midget, do you even know how to play?”

“Well, yeah. I’ve been watching.”

“Can you even touch the top of the net?”

“Uh...”

“Hmph. I rest my case.” He buried his head again.

“Yuki, pleeeeeeee-ease?”

“I’ve got a better idea.” He reared up, grabbed the conveniently placed knees and pulled the brat flat, working his way up the neat, trim little body, the only body in the world with the power to drive him bug-fuck crazy. He nosed and kissed his way along his squirming lover, across the point of a bony hip and sensitive ribs, reveling in the giggles that vibrated through the hard abs, stopping to pay special homage to the nipples that had contracted into hard little rocks on the flat chest.

Damn, the brat kept himself in shape. Must be all that hyper-active jumping around, on stage and off.

Not to mention their (very) active sex life.

He made his way up to the pulse-beat just above the snowflake necklace the brat always wore and began some serious ravaging. Small hands tried to push him away as the giggles became a gasping attempt to convince him to play the damned game.

Pleas he simply ignored. It was a death wish. K and Hiro would slaughter them.

And Yuki Eiri didn’t like to lose. At anything.

He nibbled and tickled his way along the trim jawline, winning yet another battle with the brat as gasping pleas became gasping whimpers. Taking possession of that gasping mouth at last, he lightly rubbed their excited erections together, his Speedos and Shu’s ridiculous, oversized trunks providing little protection against his deliberate assault.

“Yuuuuu-kiiii!” Shu broke away and whispered the protest. “They’ll see!”

“They, who? It’s a private beach. And who the fuck gives a shit, anyway?” he muttered back, oblivious to everything but the ache Shu had roused in his groin. It was a vacation on the beach for the entire Bad Luck crew and their various SOs, arranged and paid for...and protected by...NG. Damned if he wouldn’t take advantage of it.

“Hiro. K. Suguru. Ayaka! I mean, Yuuuu—” Gasp. “Y-y-y-yuki!”

“Too late,” he whispered as he felt Shu’s groin pulse rhythmically against him.

“Eeeeewwww!!!” Shuuichi whined, squirming under him. Shu hated coming in his clothes, for all you’d think he’d be used to it, considering the control the brat had never, in all their years together, developed.

Eiri chuckled and jumped to his feet, hauling his little lover up with him and running for the surf, Shuuichi doing a ridiculously cute, bow-legged jig to keep up with him. Once under the cover of pounding waves, he caught and held his now-squishy-slippery lover to him with one arm, reaching up under the suit to ‘wash’ the body part in question, which rapidly began to expand again, despite the cold surf.

“Gawd, you’re a horny little devil,” he whispered as Shu, wrapping his strong slim arms around Eiri’s neck, thrust up against his own hard-on.

“Who’re you calling a devil?” Shu whispered back, and ground hard, raising the ambient temperature in the zone by several thousand degrees. Eiri, not particularly interested in prolonging the freezingly-delicious moment, thrust back and grunted his satisfaction as they came together.

With a sigh, Shuuichi slid down, avoiding drowning only because Eiri grabbed him and tossed him over his shoulder to haul him out of the surf and back to the blanket, certain, now, the dangerous suggestion of volleyball tournaments had been successfully avoided.

Self-congratulations which, as it turned out, he applied far too soon. He’d settled Shu beside him, replaced his prescription sun-glasses, propped his head on a blow-up orca Shuuichi had found in a shop in the nearby tourist trap village and gotten only a handful of pages further in his novel when a heavy sigh just off his shoulder threatened his hold on the paperback.

Shit. Why was it he couldn’t, positively could not resist the brat? Possibly it was because experience had taught him no amount of ignoring would silence it.

Yeah. That was it. Self-protection. The better part of valor and all that.

He rolled to his side to face Shu, found the undersized moron lying on his stomach, chin propped on his crossed arms, as he stared mournfully up the beach at the rather lopsided net K’s crew had set up. A net that was, if anything, higher than a regulation volleyball net.


Ah, well, he thought, pushing himself to his feet and pulling a positively bubbling Shu up with him, at least it would be a short (pun absolutely intended) game.

Unfortunately, he reckoned without his own competitive nature. He’d played the game years ago, back in New York. At one point, he and Kitizawa had made a pretty potent team...against other teen-aged teams. Against two tall, at least physically mature opponents, one of whom had no compunction against using every dirty trick imaginable and many no sane person had ever considered...he had his work cut out.

Still, he had the advantage of surprise: they all, the entire lot, considered him the worst kind of couch potato. Only Shu, gazing at him with proud, loving eyes, was unphased as Eiri returned serve after serve, return after return, regardless where in the makeshift “court” it was hit.

He had to admit, it felt good. He had maintained his gym workouts religiously over the years, refusing to become exactly what they all thought him, but it had been a long time since he’d just let go like this. Like the skating last winter, it was yet another good thing Shu had given back to him.

And he had to admit to preening a bit in the glow of that amethyst-eyed appreciation.

It was exhausting, but he held his own, mainly because K was more interested in watching Hiro move than he was in winning the game, and when the service reverted to his side, he did his best to mix it up, hard, soft, placing it perfectly.

When Shu’s serve came up, the balls, predictably, went everywhere but over the net—when he actually hit them. Still, thanks to K’s distraction, he and Shu managed to win one of the first two games.

He was, however, winded to say the least as they took a break before their rubber match, and as he headed for the water cooler, he called out to his partner: “Hey, Shu. Water?”

No answer. He glanced over his shoulder and saw, somewhat to his surprise, that the pride had turned to hurt and that Shuuichi, sitting disconsolately on the side, wasn’t even looking at him.

He frowned and turned to Hiro, who had taken advantage of the lull to grab his own water bottle from the cooler. “What’s wrong with him?” he asked, with a jerk of his head toward his pint-sized lover.

Hiro looked at him oddly. “You really need to ask?”

He frowned harder. “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t.”

“You’ve covered the whole damned court, returned every serve and never once sent it to him. This was supposed to be a game, Yuki-san. Fun. For all of us. You’re acting like it’s the gold medal match for the Olympics and you haven’t got a partner.”

A twinge of guilt twisted his gut, and in self-defense, he snapped back: “Well, look at him.”

“Yeah? So?”

“He’s...short.”

“Yeah? So?”

“He can’t even reach the top of the net.”

“Yeah? So?”

“He can’t spike or block . . . and his serves are, well, hopeless.”

“Yeah? So?”

Irritation mixed unpleasantly with the guilt. He knew what Nakano was implying, and it hurt to know he’d once again hurt his idiot little partner-in-far-more-than-volleyball. And because it hurt, he pressed his lips together and snapped, in self-defense:

“Would you trade partners?”

“In a heartbeat, Yuki-san. In a heartbeat.”

Anger won. “You’re on.”

Nakano, damn him, didn’t hesitate, didn’t give Eiri a moment’s chance to consider did he really want to trade. “Hey, Shu!” Nakano called, jogging up the beach and ducking under the net. “How ’bout us against the world, buddy? Like old times?”

Shu grinned and nodded eagerly. A bit too eagerly for Eiri’s peace of mind, and without so much as a glance at him. Eiri felt another twinge and set it firmly aside.

“Guess that leaves the real men against the songbirds,” K said as Eiri joined him on his side of the net.

Eiri grunted...and grabbed the ball from K, retreating to the back line to serve, smashing the ball, releasing the pent-up frustration in a serve straight at Nakano’s head.

Nakano, his mahogany hair flying in the wind, just stood there; Shuuichi, his face horrified, intercepted the ball...with his foot.

It flew toward the water; Shu glared through the net at Eiri.

Nakano, laughing, hugged Shu and whispered something in his ear that wiped the glare off and made Shu laugh. The next time...it wasn’t Shu’s foot. And the next and the next, he only got better. The brat was all over the place. His technique was crap, his aim was worse, but he was fast as lightning, diving and tumbling without a moment’s fear. He never let the ball touch the ground, and mostly, it even stayed close enough to the “court” for a return...of some sort.

When his turn to serve came up, there was another whispered conference, that ended in Shu laughing his fool head off...as he set up to underhand the serve...like a novice girl.

K shouted some rude remark to that effect and Shu just turned and shook that sweet ass at them...before plunking the ball right in between them.

“Unfair distraction!” K shouted, and Shu just wiggled his ass again. His subsequent serves were not as effective, but they put the ball into play and gave both sides a chance to score.

Eiri had to admit—no, no, he didn’t have to admit a damned thing. The kid was too short to play the game and every time he was the front man, he lost the serve, because he couldn’t block and he couldn’t damnwell spike. He doomed his team to ultimate failure.

Except...dammit, they should put a muzzle on him. As Eiri darted after the ball, laughter erupted out of his lover. He glanced over his shoulder and intercepted a...Look. A look that damned well shouldn’t be aimed at—

He tripped.

Laughter erupted again.

He ground his teeth and bore down, and within a handful of serves, he and K were up by five points.

Still, Nakano insisted on letting Shu try to spike the ball...and every time K reached under the net and tickled the skinny ribs, sending Shu into paroxysms of laughter and the ball into the net.

Any normal opponent would object.

“We’re killing you, Nakano.” Eiri gasped soto voce, through the net after the third uncalled “foul,” as Nakano brought him the ball.

Nakano glanced back at Shu, who was rolling in the sand, giggling, and smiled. “Maybe. But I’m winning.”

Trying to make him feel more guilty than he already did, that was what. Eiri scowled and grabbed the ball, retreating back to his corner.

And Shu and Nakano evened the score, taking five points straight. Nothing clean, no clear, decisive points, just...scrambling, laughter-filled successes.

Finally, they were matched, either team needing two points to win, Nakano’s serve. Nakano and K to the back, Shu and Eiri at the net.

“C’mon, front man, show me what you’ve got.” Eiri taunted, and Shu’s precious, blazing eyed pout met him square on.

“You’re on, writer-man.”

Hiro served, K sent it up to Yuki, who spiked it toward Shu’s left. With a liquid-fast dive, Shu saved it and Hiro returned. Fast as lightning, K set up again.

“Spike, Yuki!” K yelled. “Spike!”

He grinned, jumped and brought his hand down hard on the perfectly placed ball, aiming this time for Shu’s right.

Or what should have been. Somehow, the ball struck two small hands and slid down between his body and the net.

“Fuck!”

Shu grinned, a delightfully evil grin. “Gotcha. Game point, romance man.”

Eiri scowled, and shot the ball over the net to Nakano, who plucked it out of the air smoothly and set up for the service.

Nakano tossed the ball, leapt, and smashed it toward them, so hard and fast K barely got to it and Eiri barely got it across the net. Shu kept it from touching the ground, Nakano set-up and screamed, “Spike, Shu, Spike.”

Eiri chortled and just stood there, waiting for the ball to hit the net and for the service to return to them. He’d be serving and damned if he wouldn’t...

Suddenly time slowed and on the far side of the net, Shu was...flying. All he saw were the brat’s dirty little feet. He looked up—

Just in time to see the ball plunging straight at his face.


“Yuki, Yuki, Yuki!” The shrill scream echoed through the pounding in his head. “Yuki, my darling, my love, speak to me.”

“Shud duh fug up...” he muttered, trying unsuccessfully to open his eyes against the freezing cold brick pressing against them.

“He’s alive! Yuki’s alive!”

His hard, lumpy pillow vibrated, by which evidence he concluded his head was in his evil little shill of a lover’s lap. The brick left his face and soft kisses rained down in its place.

“Ouch!” Eiri hissed objection to the pain even that gentle touch roused. “Wadda fug—”

Small hands intercepted the one he raised to explore his throbbing nose, and wet kisses occupied the fingers instead.

“Don’t touch. Don’t touch. I...I broke it. I broke my precious Yuki!”

Salty tears, like raindrops, joined the kisses, and the tickling brush of soft hair.

“Brogh? Brogh wad?” He sounded strange, even to himself.

“Your nose, Yuki-san.” K’s humor-filled voice interjected. “Don’t worry. I set it. Just reached in there and pulled.”

“Oh...djoy.” Visions of the dozen plastic surgeries awaiting him drifted through his head, and K laughed again.

“Not to worry. I’ve lost count of the times I’ve reset my own. Can’t say I didn’t do a good job there, eh?”

“Shid.” He reached blindly. “Gibbee duh izebagh baag.”

Cold brushed his fingers, and he grabbed the pack and settled it back on his nose and the eyes that were, he feared, swollen shut.

Familiar little hands finger-combed his hair and Shuuichi’s worried tones kept muttering apologies.

“Oh...for fug’s saig, shuddub, brad! ’Slong way frumb by hardt.”

Shu broke off, mid-sorry, with a sniffle, and Eiri pulled the icepack away, forcing his swollen eyes open to meet the tear-filled ones hanging over him.

“I have only one thing to say, you evil little shill.”

“What’s that, my darling, my beautiful, my oh-so-loving husband?”

God, the adorable idiot made it hard. In more ways than one.

“Fromb here on oud—”

“Yes? No more volleyball? I promise. No more—”

He reached a hand to catch the snowflake necklace dangling from Shu’s neck and pull that adorable face closer, careful of his nose.

“Fromb here on oud you ondly, and I meand ondly blay ond bmy teamb. God id, frond man?”

Sunlight burst like a nova above him, and the sun itself leaned over to whisper against his lips: “Got it.”

END

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A/N: It occurs to me I should, perhaps, provide a translation for the final scene:


“Yuki, Yuki, Yuki!” The shrill scream echoed through the pounding in his head. “Yuki, my darling, my love, speak to me.”

“Shut the fuck up...” he muttered, trying unsuccessfully to open his eyes against the freezing cold brick pressing against them.

“He’s alive! Yuki’s alive!”

His hard, lumpy pillow vibrated, by which evidence he concluded his head was in his evil little shill of a lover’s lap. The brick left his face and soft kisses rained down in its place.

“Ouch!” Eiri hissed objection to the pain even that gentle touch roused. “What the fuck—”

Small hands intercepted the one he raised to explore his throbbing nose, and wet kisses occupied the fingers instead.

“Don’t touch. Don’t touch. I...I broke it. I broke my precious Yuki!”

Salty tears, like raindrops, joined the kisses, and the tickling brush of soft hair.

“Broke? Broke what?” He sounded strange, even to himself.

“Your nose, Yuki-san.” K’s humor-filled voice interjected. “Don’t worry. I set it. Just reached in there and pulled.”

“Oh...joy.” Visions of the dozen plastic surgeries awaiting him drifted through his head, and K laughed again.

“Not to worry. I’ve lost count of the times I’ve reset my own. Can’t say I didn’t do a good job there, eh?”

“Shit.” He reached blindly. “Gimme the icebag back.”

Cold brushed his fingers, and he grabbed the pack and settled it back on his nose and the eyes that were, he feared, swollen shut.

Familiar little hands finger-combed his hair and Shuuichi’s worried tones kept muttering apologies.

“Oh...for fuck’s sake, shuttup, brat! It’s a long way from my heart.”

Shu broke off, mid-sorry, with a sniffle, and Eiri pulled the icepack away, forcing his swollen eyes open to meet the tear-filled ones hanging over him.

“I have only one thing to say, you evil little shill.”

“What’s that, my darling, my beautiful, my oh-so-loving husband?”

God, the adorable idiot made it hard. In more ways than one.

“From here on out—”

“Yes? No more volleyball? I promise. No more—”

He reached a hand to catch the snowflake necklace dangling from Shu’s neck and pull that adorable face closer, careful of his nose.

“From here on out you only, and I mean only play on my team. Got it, front man?”

Sunlight burst like a nova above him, and the sun itself leaned over to whisper against his lips: “Got it.”

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Well, just a piece of silliness that occurred to me sitting in a bar watching some volleyball tournament. Hope you enjoyed! —Vin
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