Disclaimer: The author of this fanfiction does not, in any way, profit from the story. All creative rights to the characters belong to their original creator(s).
Dry Spell
by Pout
Six years after the last time they had met, Oishi ran into Tezuka at a small, hole-in-the-wall café that most people didn’t know existed. They chatted easily. Tezuka was a legal analyst stressed over deadlines; Oishi was an ophthalmologist bored with his work. Tezuka had a committed partner; Oishi was single and searching. They exchanged phone numbers, promised to keep in touch, and then went their separate ways.
Two days later, Tezuka called Oishi at the office and they arranged to have dinner that night.
As the plates were cleared away, Tezuka guiltily confessed.
“I lied. I don’t have a partner.”
Oishi blinked. “You lied?” Tezuka looked just the slightest bit nervous. “Why?”
“I… I haven’t… Recently, I…”
“You’re embarrassed about something,” Oishi said in perfect disbelief.
At this, Tezuka frowned outright, then sighed extensively. “I haven’t been with anyone in three and a half years.”
The crickets were chirping somewhere, but they failed to cover up the sound of Oishi’s jaw dropping unceremoniously to the floor.
“Three?”
“And a half.”
“You’ve been celibate for three years?”
“Four.”
“What? You just said three.”
“And a half.”
“But-”
“I said I haven’t been with anyone in three and a half years. I haven’t had sex in four.”
“Oh, so is that why you broke up with him?”
“Actually, he broke up with me.”
Oishi blinked and blinked again. “Well, you didn’t have to lie. I wouldn’t have asked.”
“I haven’t had sex in four years.”
“Well…”
“I haven’t had sex in four years.”
“Er…”
“It’s…embarrassing.”
Oishi thought about it. Tezuka was by no means an unattractive man. It wouldn’t have taken much for him to convert at the end of a date. One plus one was not properly equating to two. So he said, “That doesn’t make sense. When’s the last time you had a date?” At the subtle pained expression on the other man’s face, Oishi’s eyes widened. “Oh.”
Tezuka nodded rigidly.
Oishi leaned back in his chair. “I go on dates all the time.” It wasn’t a malicious statement. Nor a blatantly egotistical one. It was just that Oishi found that red tinge oddly fascinating on his former buchou.
Tezuka was about to beat a quick retreat when Oishi suddenly said, “Would you go on a date with me, Tezuka?” and the flustered man suppressed a shiver of anticipation at the particular way his name was said. This was a promise of sex.
So they went back to Tezuka’s apartment.
It felt wrong, until it felt right. And then it felt right again, and again. And it felt right again in the morning. Twice.
Two weeks later, it was still feeling right, and quite regularly, and Tezuka’s permanent frown marks were starting to iron out. They lay in bed together with Oishi drawing inkless phallic-shaped pictures on Tezuka’s chest with cum-stained fingers. “This isn’t just sex, right, Tezuka?”
It seemed their positions had reverted to their natural order now that Tezuka’s embarrassment had been thoroughly and enthusiastically eradicated.
That initial confession two weeks previous had apparently fulfilled Tezuka’s conversation quota for the month. So he rolled over and nuzzled his partner’s neck.
Oishi sighed happily at the understood response before smiling, “I still can’t figure out how you always end up on top.”
If you would like to provide feedback on this story, please feel free to e-mail me at: poutonly@gmail.com.