aroceu's fichere the whole time
by aroceu
Summary:
Pat had joined the soccer team only because Pran joined first. So naturally, when Pat signs up for rugby tryouts, it’s no surprise he sees Pran there too, even though Pran has never once expressed interest in rugby before.
Notes:
Cleaned up Retrospring request from a few months ago: HS Pat who is not in touch with his emotions plays rugby with Pran and realises being tackled by or tackle Pran maybe (definitely) awakens something in him đź‘€
Thank you to L as always for cleaning this up for me <3
Pat had joined the soccer team only because Pran joined first. So naturally, when Pat signs up for rugby tryouts, it’s no surprise he sees Pran there too, even though Pran has never once expressed interest in rugby before.
Pat hasn’t either. It’s the sport that his dad wants him to play, and Pat happens to be pretty good at it, as he finds out during the tryouts. He’d been pretty good at soccer, too. Rugby’s not quite the same, but Pat finds it more fun. He doesn’t have to rely on his foot-eye coordination, just has to get his hands on the ball, follow the rules of the game, and outrun everyone else. Easy enough.
The tackling’s easy, too. When someone tackles him for the first time during tryouts, Pat does feel a little winded at first. But it’s only a matter of getting used to it, not being afraid to throw all his body weight on another boy, both annoyed and challenged when someone else’s body weight is all on his. It’s especially funny to watch Pran get tackled, because Pran is several centimeters shorter than him and slender and nimble—–Pat knows that he got his own growth spurt before the summer of Mattayom 4, while Pran still dwarfs him at eye level.
But Pran is fierce and doesn’t back down no matter how many times he gets tackled. In fact, he seems to get faster to avoid them, slipping away from the other boys’ grasps, dodging in the blink of an eye whenever someone tries to throw their body at him. Pat tries to pretend he’s not watching as much as he is, but it’s hypnotizing, seeing how Pran finds his way around things, especially for sports that Pat didn’t think he would be particularly good at. They’d taken judo together back when they were ten, and Pran’s eye for knowing exactly where to touch and grab his opponent until they were stunned was remarkably sharp. Even though he’ll never admit it out loud, Pat knows that Pran won at judo against him.
Pran doesn’t score quite as much as Pat, doesn’t avoid the other mock team as much as Pat does, but there’s still some satisfaction on his face when they break, sweat dripping down his forehead. He meets Pat’s gaze and his eyes narrow; Pat smirks at him in response. Pran rolls his eyes and looks away, but when Pat turns to take a drink of his own water, he pretends that he doesn’t notice Pran glancing at him again.
A week later, they find out that they’ve both made the team.
Pat’s dad is thrilled—though, less so when Pat admits that Pran did too. But Pat’s not disappointed. Any excuse to compete with Pran is good. Pat knows that his dad wants him to do better than Pran, which includes trying out and getting things that Pran doesn’t. But Pat knows that that’s never going to happen in this lifetime—anything Pat has tried to do, Pran has met him on equal footing. It’s just a matter of who can be a little better, outdo the other by a few points. Even the things that Pran has tried, Pat has discovered that he’s not half bad at—guitar for a bit last year, a creative writing essay contest when they were twelve that he somehow won (Pran’s glare from across the auditorium had made Pat grin at the memory for weeks), and, well, when he got the hang of his foot-eye coordination for soccer, he knows that he has a mean straight shot now.
For them, it’s always been a matter of playing the competition, not trying to outrun it.
And so when Pat goes to practice for the first time, making his way to the locker room, he sees Pran with his nose buried in a book in the middle of walking down the hallway, and thumps him on the back. “What’s up, teammate?”
Pran’s eyes are wide like he’s some kind of scared animal. “What are you doing?” he mumbles, gaze darting around like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to look at Pat or not. “We’re not supposed to talk to each other at school.”
“No one’s around,” Pat points out, even though that’s not true—plenty of other boys are making their way to the locker room as well, the other guys who made it onto the rugby team. “At least no one who’s gonna tell our parents.”
“You never know,” he hears Pran mutter to himself, although Pran doesn’t really do much to shrug off Pat’s arm from around his shoulder other than a single obligatory attempt.
Pat lets go when they enter the boys’ locker room anyway, because three of his other friends made it too and they’re not supposed to know that Pat doesn’t really mind Pran’s company. A couple of Pran’s more athletic friends are on the team too, although when they come up to Pran they whine about how rough the sport is, and what tips Pran has to avoid being tackled. Pat smirks; Pran surely made his friends join the rugby team just because Pran did, just because Pat did. Kind of like how Pat made one of his friends take drawing classes with him that one time in Mattayom 2.
It’s easy enough to pretend to dislike each other when they go out in the field, especially when they get split into two groups to practice. First they run drills opposite each other; Pat’s friends are obviously having more fun than Pran’s among all the other boys. The coach tells Pran’s team to pick it up while praising Pat’s, and while Pat knows that it’s more a group effort than anything, that doesn’t stop him from throwing a teasing smirk Pran’s way. Pran ignores him and plays harder against his friend (Pat doesn’t know his name), who gets knocked down with a swift oof when Pran chucks the ball at him.
“Not that hard, Parakul, he’s still your teammate,” their coach calls to him, and Pran mumbles, “sorry” before helping his friend back up.
Eventually, their coach has them play against each other to see where they’re at as a team, what they need to improve on both individually and together. Pat knew this was coming—he boasts his blue team jersey with pride as he and Pran come opposite to each other on the field, Pran in red over his gym t-shirt.
“We’ll need tentative team captains,” their coach says.
“I will,” both Pat and Pran say immediately.
No one else on their respective teams volunteer. In fact, Pran’s friends very obviously roll their eyes, while Pat’s friends whoop for him behind his back. Pat winks at Pran, who just turns back and says, “Let’s do this,” before the coach agrees. Pat watches as Pran makes one of his friends high-five him, and chuckles to himself.
He hadn’t really been thinking what it would be like to play against Pran, since they’re technically on the same team—but now the adrenaline, the excitement overtakes him as he watches each one of Pran’s moves. His eyes follow the ball, of course, as it gets passed from hand to hand—it’s only their first practice, so several boys fumble and forget what direction they’re supposed to go, and after fifteen minutes a few have had to sit out due to mild injury from tackling or exhaustion.
But not Pat. And not Pran, either, who hasn’t even been tackled yet, as small as he is in comparison to Pat or to anyone else. He darts and ducks around everyone when he has the ball, trying to find openings before their coach even shouts to suggest it to him.
He’s good, but Pat knows he’s better. He has to be.
The thing about Pat getting bigger and taller (and, admittedly, bulkier) over the summer is that now certain parts of his body have particular reactions that he doesn’t have full… control over, so to speak. So when he finds a way to tackle Pran for the first time, coming at him from the side and not the front so he catches him off guard, as soon as he feels Pran’s warm, soft body beneath his, heat through the jersey and t-shirt and cotton shorts, Pran’s bare leg pressed against his own, something fizzles in Pat’s brain. What , he thinks, or maybe he doesn’t think, as his chest meets Pran’s as they both get pressed to the ground, faces so close to each other, Pran falling to his side with a small grunt.
For a second, it’s all Pat’s aware of—Pran’s body, smaller than his, beneath him like Pat is caging him, protecting him, more than he’s tackling him. The hair on Pran’s calves tickles Pat’s knees and both their shorts have ridden up slightly, enough that Pat can feel the softness under Pran’s thigh on top of his own.
And Pat’s dick, well. As soon as he feels it stiffen in his shorts, perhaps already stimulated by so much body contact from tackling, and now with Pran, maybe it was inevitable that he would have a… reaction.
He shoves himself off before he can fully think it, before his brain can fully process, I just got a random boner from tackling Pran . Adjusting his shorts, Pat looks down at Pran with bravado and gloats, “Hah, finally caught you.”
“Not my fault you replaced all your brain with muscle,” Pran says, under his breath.
Pat leans forward, putting his hand to his ear mockingly. “What was that? I couldn’t hear you.”
“You got dumber over the summer,” Pran says, which seems like a non sequitur. Pat blinks at him. “Now you’re just big and stupid.” He stalks off.
Pat watches him leave. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he calls after Pran, but Pran flips him off without looking back at him.
Frowning, Pat looks back down at the outline of his dick in his shorts. It’s still half-hard; he adjusts the cotton again, so the folds make it less prominent. Probably just part of his body changing, he’s gotten a few random boners recently. Still, the memory of Pran’s warm skin against his own makes him shiver—and does not help with his problem. Pat will have to tackle Pran to get used to it more, probably. Get less boners that way.
(When Pran goes through his own growth spurt so that he’s nearly eye-level with Pat again, it gets a lot harder to tackle him. It also doesn’t get any easier controlling his body’s reactions.)