Chapter Text
02
After sitting on the bench for several matches in a row, Rui finally got back on the pitch—and this time he delivered an assist. Rarely one to celebrate, he did so on the field, and when he came off, Pippo sprinted over from the substitutes’ bench and hugged him.
In the player tunnel after the match, Pippo made what was barely even a subtle invitation.
“Rui, want to come over to my place and see my fox? It can do backflips.”
Rui knows that Pippo is now practically a patient. He nodded without hesitation.
Kaká, still fixated on that strange fox, chimed in. “Wait, what? I want to see the fox do backflips too! Spirit animals performing shouldn’t count as animal performances, right…?”
Ambrosini silently grabbed Kaká by the collar and hauled him aside. “You should go eat first.”
“Pippo—can’t I come?”
Pippo gave Kaká a smile whose meaning was impossible to read. “It’s a bit shy. It only does backflips when the black fox is around. Rui is the black fox’s companion, so…”
“But Samoyeds are canines too—mmph—”
Sandrino shoved a chocolate bar into Kaká’s mouth, and together with Paolo, one on each side, escorted him away.
Once they arrived home, the moment they stepped inside, Pippo couldn’t wait—he leaned in and kissed Rui.
What if it still felt rough, like kissing a stone-brick wall? What if Rui’s tongue still had that faintly sanded texture? Saliva softened the harsh sensations just enough, letting Pippo cling to the moment a little longer.
Rui, as always, followed his lead. He held him without adding unnecessary movement, lips and teeth interlacing in Pippo’s rhythm, his steady breathing trying to guide the other’s too-quick pace back down.
Pippo felt like he’d split his lip—swollen, maybe rubbed raw. He pulled back and touched his mouth. Other than the familiar scar, there was nothing there. Still just sensory overload.
It probably looked neurotic. But Rui had already heard about Pippo’s condition. He understood—or at least, he tried to.
He waited for Pippo to settle, until Pippo shook out his hand and smiled at him.
“Let’s keep going.”
The bed was far too soft. The texture felt like silk blended with velvet. Wrapped around each other, they were like they’d fallen into a cloud. Pippo’s body was slightly warm; his skin, pale without deliberate sun exposure, flushed with a soft pink. His taut muscles felt impossibly smooth under Rui’s hands, yet beneath that smoothness was the faint hardness of bone, giving him an unreal, dreamlike quality.
That was Rui’s experience.Pippo, on the other hand, felt like he was holding a crocodile.That wasn’t polite. He needed to forget that comparison immediately. This was Rui—just looking at his face already made Pippo feel better.
No matter who he slept with, the physical pain and rejection were objective realities. Only when his mind received enough comfort could Pippo lie to himself well enough to ignore part of the pain.
“Just like before,” Pippo said, frowning, desire clear in his eyes. “Don’t skip anything.”
Rui felt Pippo trembling, even as he only stroked his back lightly, placing feather-soft kisses—without any intent to suck—across his collarbone, chest, waist.
Just as Rui’s hand moved to cover him, it was stopped. Pippo gasped softly.
“No… here. I’ll do this myself.”
The fox he kept now truly looked like a cowering little animal. Eyes that never knew retreat shimmered with moisture as fingers slick with lubricant pressed inside. Half-refusing, half-yielding. Rui coaxed him patiently.
“Does it feel okay? If it’s too much, you need to tell me to stop. Say it out loud. Right now, only you can judge your limits, Filippo.”
Rui’s voice echoed in his head in the quiet room. Pippo closed his eyes.
“Don’t stop halfway. We’ve already started. If you stop now, I’ll go crazy. Rui… if it’s you—only if it’s you—it’ll be okay.”
Even though Pippo said just like before, Rui still reduced his kissing and touching as much as possible. He didn’t think it would help much anyway. He kept simply embracing posture.
After using more than twice the usual amount of lubricant, Rui could feel it: the inner walls that had been tight with discomfort slowly softened, loosening beyond Pippo’s control as the liquid took effect. The entrance had been stretched for a long while now, growing accustomed to opening.
Pippo’s smooth yet bony hand stayed on Rui all the while, teasing like a feather brushing past. Compared to the skilled, tight stroking he usually did, this was even more maddening. Only once Rui sensed Pippo relaxing did he press forward.
What was kind, gentle, slow—felt to Pippo like an executioner carving flesh.
But what could he say? If Rui pushed all the way in at once, Pippo might pass out. Maybe passing out would be easier. If he blacked out, this whole thing would practically not exist, and his mental state wouldn’t improve at all.
The drawn-out torment forced Pippo to distract himself with pointless thoughts, anything to dull the pain below. His feet searched for something to brace against, but the overly slick sheets denied him purchase. He could only drift helplessly, floating like duckweed with Rui’s careful thrusts and his own arched body.
“It hurts…” He tried biting his lip to cope—and only hurt himself more. Unused to this kind of suffering, his words fell apart.
“Mm… Rui… it hurts so much…”
“Do you want me to stop?” Rui brushed aside the sweat-damp hair at his temple and kissed him lightly in consolation.
“No… hah—you’re so slow…” Pippo wasn’t delirious, just overloaded. He could feel Rui’s obvious restraint. Buried inside him, Rui barely moved at all, only shifting slightly, as if adjusting position.
Because of that, Pippo could feel the heat building—burning through him. The thick veins pulsed visibly, resonating with his heartbeat, making his body clench in response.
“Are you even human?” Pippo was on the verge of tears. That damned self-control. If he were the one inside, there’d be no way he’d just stay still. This had nothing to do with ABO or sentinel–guide nonsense—it was against human nature.
With anyone else, he never even had to wait until the end. The other person always surrendered first, drowning in desire, unable to pull free—while Pippo simply basked in their devotion.
Only Rui never drowned.
Rui, who never lost himself… yet clearly loved him.
Pippo had received so much love in his life. More than anyone, he could recognize it, feel it. And that only made this harder to understand.
“Be good,” Rui said gently. “You need time to adapt.”
“Maybe I know you better than you think. Even if I don’t understand sentinels, I understand you.”
Where did he get that confidence? Pippo felt choked up, unable to refute him.
They were only a year apart in age. They’d known each other less than three years. They’d never shared everything the way he had with Bobo.
So why? If in the original world it was because of their high guide–sentinel compatibility, then here—why?
The thought was quickly drowned out by another wave of pain.
Rui’s movements inside him weren’t deep, but the wet, obscene sounds—slick, squelching—were impossible to ignore in the silence. Pippo felt like his brain had flooded. Maybe his mental landscape was just as murky now.
“Hah…” He should’ve been crying out with each painful thrust, but the pain crushed his throat, leaving only ragged breaths.
“Mm… Rui… Rui…”
Compared to the presence inside him, he could now tolerate holding Rui, arms wrapped around his back.
Like gripping the spine of a mountain, it gave him something to believe in. Pippo felt like his fingers were bloody, clawing into rock, clinging to his last support—when in reality, he was only carving shallow scratches into Rui’s back.
Rui’s expression remained gentle as he wiped away Pippo’s sweat and tears.
The young, lithe body trembling beneath him had never stopped shaking since they joined. Pain was enough of a distraction. Finally, Rui pressed Pippo fully into his arms without hesitation.
His body still moved like a weapon, pushing slowly into softer, deeper places. But his lips were tender as they sought Pippo’s again.
Pippo was far gone—easily pried open, tongue caught and entwined. Along with saliva, there was the salty taste of tears. Absurdly enough, it was the richest flavor Pippo had tasted all month.
“You’re doing so well, Filippo.” When Rui wasn’t kissing him, he spoke softly to keep his attention. He laid Pippo back fully into the soft bedding, lifting his legs onto his shoulders to make it easier.
“You can hold on, right? This is what you wanted, isn’t it? You have to see your decision through.”
All five senses were completely overwhelmed. Pippo couldn’t really process Rui’s words—no, he could hear them, but his mind couldn’t sort meaning anymore.
Still, they sounded like kindness.
Vaguely, it felt like he was back in his own world. Rui liked to talk like this there too—always offering mental soothing, occasionally indulging Pippo’s physical needs when things weren’t too bad.
Rui never spoke of bonding.
Neither did he.
The channel clung tightly to the burning heat inside him, stretched open with every thrust, snapping back the moment Rui withdrew. Lubricant became more like glue, and wrapped so tightly by such a sensitive body, even Rui felt a rare sense of surrender—ruled by his lower half.
A shudder ran through Pippo.
Rui realized it instantly. With a soft pop, he pulled out, slick with fluid. The white release didn’t stay inside, splashing instead over Pippo’s perineum and lower abdomen, slowly tracing the lines of muscle.
Pippo hadn’t prepared protection—he couldn’t stand the rubbery sensation. Rui had been watching the timing carefully.
The pain hadn’t faded. But the heat was gone.
Pippo understood—it was over.
At last, he slipped into the quiet darkness he’d been longing for.
Rui had considered cleaning him up, but seeing Pippo asleep—tear-streaked, flushed, yet unusually peaceful—he sighed. He only turned the air conditioning up a few degrees and lay down beside him, letting his thoughts rest.
Tbc.