Love Bruises
A NitoRin Drabble

Written by l0velyfe

A swimmer's body is very exposed during his practice. The more fabric wrapped around limbs, the less stream-lined he is. At the very most, a pair of lengthened jammers clothes them, extending from hip to ankle. At the least, spandex briefs cover what is necessary. Each swimmer has his own preferences of not only color and design, but style as well.

Nitori is no exception.

His attire of choice, after many years of swimming competitively, was a purple and yellow square-leg suit. It was exposing, yes, but Nitori had never experienced problems with his self-image. He was smaller than most males his age – not only in height, but in weight – and lacked the muscle tone, which limited his ability to endurance-related events. But he didn't view it negatively. The lack of fabric gave him the extra boost of speed that he needed.

But there was one downside to such a small amount of fabric.

It wasn't that Nitori was embarrassed; on the contrary, he would have been proud to carry such a blatant sign of his Senpai's affection. No, the problem was professionalism. Participating in competitions with tattoos was considered taboo, so this? Out of the question. Not to mention Mikoshiba's looming consequences of such a thing.

That's why, when Rin would pin pale wrists to the bed below, teeth would merely graze the flushed skin beneath him. Vermilion eyes would glint in the darkness of their shared dorm room as he snaked down the lithe, writhing body, careful not to leave any marks in his mouth's wake that would be visible at tomorrow's swim practice. Nitori's back would arch off the bed into the teasing kisses flitting across his stomach. Finally, the redhead would settle between the teen's legs, gingerly nudging apart the thighs that quivered in anticipation. The hot breath skirting across milky skin was his only warning before lips closed around his inner thigh, suckling a dark love bruise into otherwise flawless skin untouched by anyone but Rin and Nitori himself. Nitori would revel in the possessiveness that Rin demonstrated behind closed doors; the strength with which large hands would grip the handles of his hipbones, the small growls that would slip from his throat as their scents mingled and limbs intertwined. And he craved the moment when Rin would whisper his name, the four syllables rolling off his tongue: "Aiichiro..." They would fall asleep together in the midst of early morning hours, exhausted.

And the next day at swim practice, the only evidence of the former's night's tryst was in the form of purple love bruises on the insides of his thighs, hidden by the thin fabric of his swim trunks.