Kasamatsu Yukio liked to think that he was a straightforward kind of guy. He could blindside opponents as well as any other point guard, and better than most in fact, but that was different. That was just good strategy. Friends and classmates and, for that matter, lovers, weren’t a matter for strategy. So it took him a few minutes, especially in the afterglow of pretty damn good sex, to realize what Ryouta’s little sidelong glances meant. When he did, he couldn’t help laughing, pulling Ryouta tighter against him and ruffling his already rumpled gold hair. “You’re just insatiable, aren’t you?”

Ryouta’s cheek heated against Yukio’s shoulder as he ducked his head, but he was smiling, shy and hopeful. And since Yukio didn’t have to be Ryouta’s captain any more, and it wasn’t one of Ryouta’s infuriating pretend ploys, Yukio let fond indulgence curl warmly through him and cuddled Ryouta comfortably against him. He didn’t mind playing their other game, today, if Ryouta wanted it. “So,” he murmured, carding his fingers through that bright hair, “were you good for your senpai at practice today?”

Ryouta made a tiny, gleeful sound at the question, and the offer in it, before composing himself appropriately. “I’m afraid not, senpai.” The way he bent his head would have looked genuinely contrite except for the sparkle of his eyes as he looked up under his lashes.

“No?” Yukio gave him a stern look, setting his fingers under Ryouta’s chin to tip his head up and meet Yukio’s eyes. “What did you do, Ryouta?”

“Well, Hayakawa-senpai was trying to beat his own record for successful passes after a rebound.” Ryouta already sounded a little breathless, eyes wide under Yukio’s steady gaze. “And I just mentioned that maybe it would help if he kept his energy up longer, and that I had a spare bottle of Yunker Fanti. Nakamura-senpai said that really wasn’t the problem, but Hayakawa-senpai had already drunk the whole bottle.”

Yukio had to bite his tongue hard to keep from bursting out laughing; he suspected Ryouta deliberately thought up answers to that question that would make him laugh, and Yukio just hoped he wasn’t actually putting them into practice. Honestly, if Ryouta was really doing half the things he said he did when they played like this it was a wonder Nakamura hadn’t strangled him yet. The thought of Hayakawa after even one slug of an energy drink didn’t bear thinking on, and a whole bottle was downright terrifying to contemplate. When he thought he could control his voice again, he frowned at Ryouta. “That definitely wasn’t being good for your senpai. You know what it means when you misbehave, don’t you?”

Ryouta lowered his eyes and wet his lips as a flush slid up his fair skin. “Yes, senpai,” he said, soft and husky.

Yukio sat up, sliding back until he could ball up a pillow against the headboard at his back, and tapped his outstretched thigh meaningfully. “Get in position, then, and take what’s coming to you.”

Ryouta was a little breathless with anticipation by the time he’d laid himself down over Yukio-san’s lap. Sometimes they did it differently; sometimes Yukio-san made him bend over with his hands on the wall, or kneel on the seat of the desk chair and hold on to its back. This was how he liked it best, though, so that he could relax with Yukio-san’s hand on his back steadying him while the other hand rubbed his obediently presented ass slow and sure. Yukio-san was always careful about preparing him for a spanking, and that always made Ryouta hard, feeling the slow slide of Yukio-san’s palm and not knowing when his punishment would start.

In fact, sometimes Yukio-san took long enough for Ryouta to get a little impatient.

“Senpai,” he lilted, and then yelped when Yukio-san smacked his ass once, sharply.

“Be quiet, Ryouta,” Yukio-san told him sternly, squeezing the faintly stinging spot.

Ryouta shivered and subsided as he was told, waiting while anticipation wound tighter. And tighter. When Yukio-san finally lifted his hand and brought it down firmly, he yelped and jumped even though it didn’t hurt very much at all. This time, though, Yukio-san wasn’t stopping, and each smack of his palm against Ryouta’s bare ass was a little harder than the last. Ryouta’s breath came shorter as the slowly growing sting of the blows built to a hot burn across his bottom. He was gasping with each firm stroke, and still Yukio-san held Ryouta down over his lap and spanked him steadily, until he lost count of the strokes, until he felt like his whole body was suspended from that slow burn, all his attention focused on how briskly Yukio-san’s hand met his upturned ass. He was moaning a little by the time Yukio-san paused, running his warm hand up and down Ryouta’s thigh.

“Are you sorry for what you did, yet?” Yukio-san asked sternly, and Ryouta blushed against the cool sheets under his cheek. Most of him was swept up in the heat of being punished by Senpai, but part of him was also warmed that Yukio-san was so good to him, so careful with him.

He didn’t want it to end yet, though, so he answered with perfect truthfulness, “No, Senpai.”

“Tch. Of course not.”

Ryouta bucked, eyes widening as Yukio-san spanked him ten times, fast and hard. By the end of it he was draped over Yukio-san’s lap, legs spread, panting for breath against the sharp burn throbbing in his ass. And also in his cock.

“You are naughty today,” Yukio-san murmured, and that hint of a purr in his voice as his hand rubbed circles over Ryouta’s bottom made Ryouta moan.

“Yes, Senpai,” he agreed, breathless, forehead pressed to the sheets, eager for his punishment to continue.

He didn’t have to wait long. Yukio-san’s hand on his back spread, holding him down, and the hand on his ass lifted. When it fell again, it came down with a crack of skin against skin and a fierce, hard sting across his burning cheeks. And again. And again. Ryouta whimpered, hungry for the intensity of those blows, for the certainty of being punished by Senpai.

“Look at you,” Yukio-san told him softly. Crack. Ryouta bucked over his lap at the sharp bite of Senpai’s hand on his ass.

“This is how a naughty boy should look.” Crack. Ryouta’s toes were curling up with every stroke.

“Bent over his senpai’s knee with his ass turning red from getting the spanking he deserves.” Crack. Ryouta whined, mouth open as he gasped for breath. His ass was on fire, and he was so hard, hard from the things Yukio-san was saying, hard from how much he was feeling. Two more of those punishing strokes, though, and he could feel his shoulders tightening, feel himself pressing up against the edge of too much. “Please, Senpai!” he gasped out.

Yukio-san brought his hand down one more time, hard and merciless. It was perfect, the perfect reminder that Yukio-san was the one in charge, the one who would choose how Ryouta was punished. All in a breath, Ryouta was over the edge, coming hard as he shuddered over Yukio-san’s lap and Yukio-san squeezed his burning bottom, slow and firm. For long, endless moments, Ryouta’s whole body was wringing out with the heat Yukio-san had spanked into his ass, and Ryouta just clutched at the sheets and moaned with it.

When he finally relaxed, draped across Yukio-san’s lap and dazed, Yukio-san told him softly, “Good, Ryouta. That was good.” His hands were gentle, now, as he rubbed Ryouta’s back slow and sure, grounding him again, and Ryouta sighed a little, eyes closed. Those words reminded him there would be arms to catch him and hold him as he came back down, so he let himself drift.

Yukio watched Ryouta carefully as he rubbed Ryouta’s back slow and easy, and nodded when Ryouta finally stirred and stretched a little. “Come here, Ryouta,” he coaxed quietly, guiding Ryouta up off his lap and back into his arms. “That’s right. Everything’s all right.” He leaned back against his pillows, ignoring the mess across the sheets and his thighs for now, and drawing Ryouta down against his chest so he could lie without any pressure on his rear. He held Ryouta close, running slow fingers through his hair, until Ryouta finally sighed and looked up, smiling. “All right?” Yukio asked, touching his cheek.

Ryouta nodded and snuggled closer. “It’s good. Thank you, Yukio-san.”

Yukio kissed his forehead gently. “My pleasure. You know that.”

“I meant…” Ryouta started, and Yukio laid a finger over his lips.

“All of it is my pleasure,” he said, firmly. “Including watching over you and taking care of you.”

Ryouta turned pink and ducked his head against Yukio’s shoulder. Yukio smiled softly, stroking his hair again. It was true; he liked knowing Ryouta would submit to punishment from him, and he liked just as much knowing that he could take care of Ryouta.

This care, this charge, this responsibility, he had succeeded in. Without question.

He cradled Ryouta closer, satisfied.

End