PoT fic: Lazy Days [NC-17; Tezuka/Ryoma/Fuji]
Title: Lazy Days
Author: Ria
Disclaimer: Not mine, all Konomi's.
Rating: NC-17
Words: ~5,300
Pairing: Tezuka/Ryoma/Fuji [Power Triangle]
Warning: sex
Summary: Ryoma wonders what exactly he's searching for, and if what he really wants is the best option.
Author's Notes: Written in 100 minutes for the UST challenge on temps_mort. Yeah. This was supposed to be Fuji/Ryoma, but it seems I really can't write these three without all of them strolling into the story.
Lazy Days
The summer is long and dry, and Ryoma lies out in the porch with Karupin sprawled beside him. The two of them doze, lazy and warm, Ryoma's cap tilted over his eyes to shield them from the sun. The cicadas chirp and buzz, droning in heavy heat that makes it too difficult to contemplate moving.
He stays there for hours, the sun slowly baking his pale limbs, refusing to move. His mother and Nanako appear at the door every so often with a new can of Ponta; condensation clings to it, dampening Ryoma's palms as he holds it against his sweating skin for temporary relief. It's icy-cold as it slides down his throat, but Ryoma continues to drink until he's gasping for breath and most of the can is empty.
The silence is broken at late afternoon, when his father's cheerful caterwauling can be heard from the street outside. Karupin jerks awake, yowling as his ears flatten; Ryoma sits up, his mouth twisting in a grimace.
His old man had disappeared soon after midday when he realised that Ryoma had claimed the porch with no intention of sharing it. Nanjiroh had probably gone to a bar, since that's what he normally did on hot days when the beer supply ran out at home, and enough time has passed that he's well on his way to becoming merrily tipsy. The result of this means many things, the most likely being that Ryoma will be subject to much teasing and double innuendo, followed by a dose of half-hearted father and son bonding over Nanjiroh's latest magazines.
Ryoma scowls, rising and bending to scoop up Karupin for a hasty retreat, but Nanjiroh is already through the gate and strolling towards the house, his rolling gait and leering grin proof of his alcohol consumption. "Che," Ryoma says, and turns.
"Oi, brat," his father calls, but Ryoma keeps on walking, forcing Nanjiroh to hurry after him. Ryoma stiffens as a large hand comes down on his shoulder, but finally stops, waiting. He can smell beer and cigarettes on his father's breath, acid-strong, and it makes his stomach churn.
"Go bother someone else, old man," Ryoma snaps, shrugging away from him. He doesn't look back when he stomps away, Karupin propped up against his shoulder and purring in his ear. When he comes down for dinner later that night his father is asleep by the television, and they don't exchange another word until the following morning.
:::
Momo arrives when Ryoma is finishing breakfast, chewing the last toast crust and draining the last of his milk. He follows Inui's training menus because they work and have become a habit, not from any nostalgic loyalty. They're all in high school and Ryoma is the junior high captain now, and even he knows he has to show good example to the team. Even if it's slightly ridiculous to still be drinking milk at nearly fifteen, but his growth spurt will have to come sometime.
"Echizen!" Momo hollers, and Ryoma grumbles under his breath as he slings his tennis bag over his shoulder and bolts for the door. Shoving his feet into his sneakers, he yells, "Ittekimasu!" and gently nudges Karupin away from the door before slamming it after him.
Momo is too cheerful, too loud, slinging an arm over Ryoma's shoulder and telling him how much fun this is going to be. Ryoma doesn't reply, adjusting the brim of his cap. The day will go as he expects: he will beat players who are no longer a challenge and beat the new players who will underestimate him, and he and Momo will play a doubles match before he disappears to make out with Tachibana An.
Ryoma beats four players before he begins to sweat. The four of them all laugh and shake their heads when they walk away, and Ryoma glares after them. When Momo walks up for their doubles match, Tachibana An standing nearby, Ryoma shakes his head and zips his racquet back into his bag. He ignores Momo's yelling as he saunters off the courts without a second glance: he has better things to be doing than this.
:::
This is how it starts:
Ryoma meets Tezuka every Sunday. They play a match, and sometimes Ryoma wins and other times he loses disgracefully. He still has a lot of catching up to do, but running after buchou is fun. At the beginning of the school year Ryoma often came to him for advice, but now summer is almost over and he's become more comfortable in the role of buchou, even if it still doesn't feel right. Ryoma managed to lead the team to the final stages of Kantou, but the team played their best and it was farther than Momo managed last year anyway.
When Ryoma had told him of their loss, Tezuka had only asked, "Did you play with no regrets?" They were sitting on a bench, guzzling liquids and cooling off after a match, and Ryoma had paused, his knuckles white as he gripped a can of Ponta. After a few moments of consideration, he took another swallow and nodded decisively.
"Then you did not fail," Tezuka had said, and that was that.
This Sunday, however, Tezuka is not alone when Ryoma arrives. He stares at Fuji for a long moment, blinking slowly, then snorts when Fuji smiles at him. "Fuji-senpai," Ryoma drawls in the tone that Horio says makes people want to immediately punch him, and is answered by a wider smile.
The routine is broken, now, and it rankles. Fuji plays Ryoma first, the match being drawn out into a long tiebreak. Ryoma wins at last, but he's not sure if Fuji deliberately let him win or not. Fuji smiles, and then waits for Tezuka to take Ryoma's place. This match is different, and Ryoma frowns as time passes, his Ponta forgotten in his hand. He can't shake off the feeling that he is missing something, that there are things being said between his two senpai as they rally the ball back and forth, but he's never tried to understand their friendship and doesn't relish the potential headache if he tried.
Tezuka finally wins, 7-6, and Fuji's smile is as wide as his eyes are open. "That was a good match," he says as they shake hands, and Tezuka snorts.
Ryoma stands up to take Fuji's place, but Tezuka shakes his head. "We are both too tired to make it a worthwhile match," he says, his voice quiet but firm. "We'll play next week." His eyes are on Fuji as he says this last, and Ryoma knows he's not imagining the brief angry look Tezuka gives Fuji. It's this look that makes him stay quiet and not demand a reason for Fuji being able to play two matches while he cannot.
Tezuka takes the train home when Fuji announces that he will be a good senpai and walk Ryoma home. Ryoma almost snaps that he doesn't need to be coddled at his age, but it's the realisation that he wouldn't decline the offer if buchou made it that makes him keep his mouth shut. He grumbles anyway, but this only seems to please Fuji further.
Fuji keeps up a lively conversation as they walk, telling Ryoma about the other regulars - now high school freshman - and how they're getting on, all the things that Tezuka never bothered to tell him because there was no need. Ryoma has stalked the high school courts many times before to demand matches; he already knows how everyone is doing.
They reach the outer gates and Ryoma says goodbye and, after a slight pause, reluctantly thanks Fuji for walking him home. Fuji laughs and tells him it was his pleasure.
Fuji can be unpredictable when he wants to be, though Ryoma tries to ignore that aspect of his personality as best he can because it's confusing. Maybe this means that he's constantly unprepared when it comes to Fuji, then, because he has no warning before Fuji presses him up against the wall. Fuji's hands dig into Ryoma's shoulders and his mouth is smooth and warm when he kisses him, his tongue sliding in for a moment before Ryoma realises what is going on.
It's a good kiss, and perfectly wrong for Ryoma's first, and his knees are weak and shaking when Fuji pulls back. His eyes open, a clear and intense blue, and he says softly, "You'll never catch up to him, you know. Neither of us will. No matter how much you try... you're not to blame, or me, and certainly not him." He trails his fingertips across Ryoma's cheek lightly, his nails scraping lightly, and starts walking away. He turns once to wave, and then Ryoma bolts inside.
He runs right past Karupin and his father, ignoring whatever idiocy his old man shouts after him. He thunders up the stairs straight to his room, where he falls on his bed, pulls a pillow over his head, and doesn't move until his mother calls him down for dinner. She ends up bringing a tray up to his room.
:::
It doesn't happen until several days later, when vacation is over and school resumes. Ryoma locks up after the last freshmen have finally staggered away and discovers Fuji waiting for him at the gate. He remembers too late that the high school team doesn't have practise today.
"Fuji-senpai," he says, stopping and looking at him.
Fuji smiles at him. "Echizen." He is pale and relaxed as he leans against the wall; Ryoma has never seen Fuji burn or tan from the sun.
Ryoma scowls; his mind has unhelpfully supplied him with the memory of their kiss, and his lips tingle like they did when Fuji pressed him against the wall. His scowl deepens.
Their conversation is entirely one-sided this time, Ryoma not saying anything after the greeting. But Fuji doesn't seem to mind, and they both stop when they reach the house gates.
Ryoma balances on the balls of his feet for a moment, and then he's shoved Fuji against the wall. He's not very elegant about it, but Fuji doesn't complain, opening his mouth eagerly and wrapping his arms around Ryoma's neck and pulling him closer. Ryoma pants heavily, digging his hands into Fuji's hair and tugging. Fuji pulls away, hissing, but moves his mouth down Ryoma's neck, nipping and sucking the skin. Ryoma moans, his eyes fluttering closed, and then bites his lip to stop himself from crying out as Fuji's hands slide up his shirt.
"Fuji-Fuji-senpai," he stutters, and Fuji immediately stills, drawing back from him. His eyes are closed, but his mouth is pressed into a thin line.
"Echizen," he murmurs, and their goodbye is awkward and stilted. Ryoma's cheeks are burning when he arrives inside, and for a moment he fears that his father saw them when Nanjiroh stares at him, but goes to his room before any questions can be asked.
He lies down on his bed, staring up at the ceiling as he ignores Karupin mewling and scratching at the door. He's still breathing hard, and rubs his hands over his eyes as he tries to figure out what just happened and why he kissed Fuji this time. It doesn't make any sense, but there's also no point in denying that Fuji kisses extremely well, not that Ryoma cares very much about that. He hasn't kissed anyone else to have a proper perspective.
But if he doesn't care very much, then his body obviously doesn't agree. Ryoma grits his teeth as he shifts on the bed, trying to ignore the growing burn between his legs and failing. Biting his lip, he slides a trembling hand down under his shorts, and his breath comes fast and shallow as he tugs them down to make things easier.
He deliberately doesn't think of anyone, closing his eyes and concentrating solely on the friction between his hand and erection. His heels dig into his duvet and then his back arches as he comes. He bites the inside of his arm so he won't cry out, and so he won't also cry out a name.
It's better for everyone, especially himself, if he stays silent.
:::
But it keeps on happening, moving from stolen kisses at Ryoma's house to lingering make out sessions at Fuji's. They play matches at tennis courts and walk home through the park, where Fuji pulls him into unused corners and kisses him until Ryoma can hardly stand up. He moans and rocks against Fuji, desperately trying to maintain the contact and the friction until he can come. But he never does.
Winter comes and goes, and Ryoma turns fifteen. The old Seigaku regulars come to his house - they eat his mother's food, and give him small presents, and tell him how wonderful it will be when he's in high school with them. Fuji acts like his usual self, talking quietly with Taka-san, suffering Eiji's exuberance and tight hugs, and gently teasing Tezuka, so vaguely that Ryoma thinks he and buchou are the only ones who actually pick up on the subtle barbs.
He goes into the kitchen to feed Karupin, who has been making a nuisance of himself (though Kaidoh seems disappointed when Ryoma takes him away). It's only when Karupin has his face buried in his bowl, purring loudly, does Ryoma realise that Fuji has followed him in.
They hardly make a sound when Ryoma leans against the counter, kissing slowly and leisurely as Fuji rocks against him. The ache is slow and good, and Ryoma hums as Fuji toys with the waistband of his trousers. Then a soft, polite cough makes Fuji pull away, and Ryoma growls a complaint before he opens his eyes and finds buchou watching them.
Ryoma freezes, his eyes going wide, and he moves until there's more than enough space between him and Fuji. His mouth moves, but no sound can work around the lump rising in his throat, and there's nothing he can really say that won't be stupid or wrong. Silence descends: thick, heavy and cloying; it feels like it could choke him.
"Tezuka," Fuji says at last, his expression shuttered and his tone quiet. The word lingers in the air, and Tezuka slowly looks at Fuji, his face almost blank. But Ryoma can see the tightening around his eyes and the way he swallows repeatedly. His fists clench once, before slowly opening as he tries to relax his hands by his sides.
"Fuji," Tezuka replies, but his eyes are on Ryoma now, and Ryoma can't hold his gaze for long, ducking his head and staring down at the floor. Karupin trots up to him, mewling, and Ryoma reaches down for him and buries his face in the thick, warm fur so he doesn't have to look at either of them.
No one says anything after that - can any of them actually find the right words to say? Ryoma wonders - and Tezuka is the first to leave. Fuji takes a step towards Ryoma, pauses, and then turns and exits the kitchen, leaving him alone.
Ryoma takes one breath, then another, and slowly slides down onto the ground. Karupin settles into his lap, looking at up at him with wide, clear eyes, and Ryoma finds that he can't even hold his cat's gaze for very long either.
:::
Ryoma enters high school. He joins the tennis club and becomes the freshman regular again. This year's regulars are the same ones from junior high, and everything is as it should be - except it's not.
Ryoma will often look up to find Fuji watching him, eyes open and sharp and seeming to peer right through his skin and into his soul. Ryoma knows he never, ever wants to know what Fuji sees there, or if he is found wanting. Fuji tilts his head, his gaze turning thoughtful, and sometimes he will gift Ryoma with an unsettling smile.
They haven't spent any time alone together or kissed since Christmas. Ryoma can't even bear to touch himself because every time he closes his eyes all he can see is Tezuka's eyes, lost and confused as he gazes at him, and guilt wells up in his throat until Ryoma feels like he can't breathe.
Tezuka is captain again, and he treats Ryoma just like any of the other regulars, and therein lies the problem. There is no sense of Ryoma taking up his duties as Tezuka's protégé or being the other pillar, and Ryoma realises that he soon feels lost, set adrift in a sea of practise, matches and tournaments. He hadn't realised that he'd associated his place in Seigaku with Tezuka, and he also hadn't realised how much it would hurt to have that trust taken away.
One day, at the end of practise when Ryoma is gathering his tennis bag and wondering if he can convince Momo to buy him burgers, Fuji comes right up to him and says, his voice calm and pleasant, "I need to talk to you." There is no more light teasing or coy flirting between them, and Ryoma hadn't realised he would miss that either. He hadn't realised a lot of things.
They go outside the clubhouse, and Fuji is almost startlingly blunt when he crosses his arms and says, "Talk to him." He says it like it's an order, and it probably is, and Ryoma decides that he's none the worse for treating it as such.
Fuji leaves with Eiji hanging onto his arm and babbling a mile a minute, and Ryoma shakes his head at Momo's offer of food and a ride home. The others trickle out and Oishi, after studying him for a moment, nods when he realises that Ryoma has no intention of leaving before him. He leaves the key for them and lays a hand on Ryoma's shoulder for a moment. He opens his mouth, appears like he's going to wish Ryoma good luck, and then seems to think better of it and leaves quickly. The door shuts softly after him, leaving Ryoma and Tezuka alone.
Ryoma doesn't say anything for several minutes because he doesn't know if there are any right words for this, and he doesn't really think there are because he still doesn't even understand what is going on or what he feels. And maybe this is the root of the entire problem.
"Buchou," he finally says, wishing Tezuka would turn and look at him, even if his gaze would be disappointed, or sad, or angry. Just having some emotion would make it all right.
However, saying that one title seems to burst open the floodgates, and suddenly Ryoma is babbling, telling him everything: how playing matches with Tezuka on Sundays made him feel; Fuji's arrival; how Fuji made him feel; how he felt when Tezuka walked in on them in the kitchen; and how he wishes that everything could go back to normal, and they could play together on Sundays again, and how he wishes he knew what was going on anyway.
He finally stops for breath and has to sit down on the bench, ducking his head so he won't have to look at Tezuka. Maybe saying everything at once wasn't such a good idea.
And then footsteps come towards him, and Tezuka crouches down until he is eye-level with Ryoma, and the next thing Ryoma knows he is being hugged fiercely. His face is pressed into Tezuka's shoulder, and he can smell detergent, and fabric conditioner, and the sharp scents of Tezuka's soap and shampoo. He presses his face against Tezuka's neck and breathes deeply, and Tezuka shudders.
"I'm sorry," Ryoma says, but Tezuka says nothing, only tightening his arms around him. Ryoma wonders for a wild moment if Tezuka is going to kiss him, but they simply stay like that for several minutes, and Ryoma thinks this is just as good as any kiss Fuji can give him.
:::
He and Tezuka resume their Sunday matches a few weeks later, but Ryoma doesn't know what to think when Fuji arrives with Tezuka one day. There is a long awkward moment, before Tezuka walks onto the court and Ryoma hurries after him. They play, and with every serve and every return volley the heavy knot that's been tightening in Ryoma's chest for the past few weeks slowly eases, until Ryoma is grinning, and sweat is dripping into his eyes, and this is the best thing ever.
Tezuka wins, 6-4, and Ryoma can't help but grin as he and buchou shake hands. And then they're off the court, and Fuji is looking at them, a contemplative, easy smile on his face, and walking towards them.
Ryoma watches him with narrowed eyes, decides he doesn't like or trust Fuji's expression, and turns towards Tezuka, who is also watching Fuji.
Fuji isn't the only one who can catch people off guard.
It's surprisingly easy to kiss buchou, but then, Fuji has given him a lot of practise. The way Tezuka's eyes widen is priceless, however, but it's even better when they close and Tezuka returns the kiss after a brief hesitation. Ryoma sighs when they break apart, but his eyes narrow again when he realises that Fuji is grinning at them.
"Oh, good," he says, and steps forward to trail his hand across Ryoma's cheek. The touch is gentle and electrifying, and Ryoma automatically shudders before he can help it. His eyes widen, and both he and Tezuka silently watch Fuji walk away.
When Ryoma grips Tezuka's hand in his, it's reassuring that Tezuka squeezes back.
:::
This is the dream that confuses it all:
Ryoma doesn't know that he's dreaming until he realises that both Fuji and Tezuka are in his room and that there is no one else at home.
Maybe it's because this is a dream, but he's almost prepared for when Fuji falls back onto his bed and pulls Ryoma down on top of him. They're naked, in that blink-and-it's-suddenly-reality way that dreams have, but Ryoma can only sigh as Fuji's hands trail down his chest, his ribs, his sides and lower, his sigh deepening when Fuji dips his hand between his legs. It doesn't feel new, even if it's further than he and Fuji have ever gone in reality.
But nothing could ever prepare him for Tezuka's hands gripping his hips, or for Tezuka to kiss his neck again and again, until Ryoma is squirming, breathless, and ridiculously hard. Fuji takes full advantage of this, stroking him until Ryoma is panting between gritted teeth, eyes closed and head thrown back as Tezuka settles behind him in a comfortable warmth.
The dream blurs, as dreams have a tendency to do, and Ryoma has the peculiar sensation of losing time, and suddenly Fuji's legs are wrapped around him, and Fuji is gasping and Ryoma is moving, and it's the strangest and most amazing feeling in the world. But that's nothing compared to the feeling of Tezuka inside him, his arms carefully braced on either side of Ryoma, and, crap, Ryoma realises, spasms making him thrust deeply into Fuji and causing them both to cry out, they're both going to destroy him.
There's the scent of sweat and sex in the air, and Fuji's skin is shining as he gripes Ryoma's hair in his hands and pulls him down for a kiss that's more like a mashing of lips, and he can't stop moving, none of them can, and the ache between his legs is getting worse, and he can't stop this and
then he's screaming, eyes squeezed shut as he comes, thrusting until Fuji claws his back and cries out, and Tezuka bites his neck and it's all confusing, too confusing, and then they’re all collapsed in a heap on Ryoma's bed. They're a tangle of sweaty, heavy limbs, and Ryoma, when he can actually think coherently again, thinks it's quite comfortable since he's in the middle and it's warm and safe, even though it shouldn't be because this can never work.
And just as Fuji purrs his name against his ear, and Tezuka presses a kiss to his mouth, Ryoma realises this is a dream, and he wakes up. He sits upright so fast that he's momentarily dizzy, and he blinks as he realises that he's come in his sleep, and this is going to be very embarrassing if his mother finds out.
:::
Ryoma has certain expectations about personal space, and one of the unspoken rules in the Echizen household is that his room is off-limits unless permission has been given. So when his mother calls for him, telling him one of his friends from the tennis team is here, Ryoma scowls, assuming that it's Momo come to drag him to the street courts again. He dislodges Karupin from his nap on Ryoma's stomach, padding across the floor to open his door - only to find Fuji immediately outside.
Ryoma blinks, staring at him as he takes a step back, but scowls when Fuji comes inside without any permission.
"Hey," he says, bristling, but then hardly has time to draw a breath before Fuji has grabbed him and started kissing him like he wants to suck Ryoma's soul out through his mouth. There's a lot of tongue and some teeth involved, much rougher than Fuji likes the first few kisses to go, and Ryoma has a single distressing moment to realise that his knees have already started to tremble.
It shouldn't still be happening like this.
It takes more effort than Ryoma would like to bring his hands up to shove Fuji away, and he almost regrets it when he sees the scathing look Fuji gives him. "I have homework, Fuji-senpai," he says, inwardly smiling as Fuji stiffens at the formal suffix. "You can't just come into my room and start kissing me."
Fuji eyes him like he's just said something very interesting, the way a scientist eyes an experiment that's had a very strange and unexpected reaction. It makes Ryoma want to run far away, or hide under his bed, or do something else extraordinarily childish. "Oh, really?" Fuji asks.
"No," Ryoma says firmly, and pushes him back out the door. "Leave." If his mother hears him saying this to a guest, she'll kill him, if Nanako doesn't overhear and gut him first.
Fuji gets as far as the front door, before he smiles again and kisses Ryoma one last time, running his tongue leisurely along Ryoma's bottom lip and making him shiver. His expression is satisfied, almost smug, for a moment, and then he bows and tells Ryoma that he'll see him tomorrow at morning practise.
Ryoma stares at the closed door for a moment, before huffing and stomping back to his room, muttering under his breath all the while about stupid tensai who thought things could just magically go the way they wanted them to.
:::
Ryoma's almost asleep when his father comes into his room and he sits up with a growl. He's too tired to wonder exactly what his father is doing, since his father never comes into his room, having learned from the many tennis balls Ryoma has thrown at him that it's not a very good idea.
But it doesn't take him long to wake up when he spots the cover of the magazine his father tosses on his bed. His eyes widen, and he almost snaps on his bedside light, except then that would mean better light to see things more clearly by, and he's not sure that's a very good idea right now.
He finally manages to say, "What the hell."
"Since it seems girls really aren't your thing," Nanjiroh says, in a rather tight and subdued sort of voice, and Ryoma realises that he must have seen Fuji kiss him at the door. Crap.
"Dad," he says, and then stops as Nanjiroh's mouth falls open, as this is the first time in years that Ryoma's called him that in any sort of polite way. Silence falls, thick and oppressive, and Ryoma finally says, holding the magazine by a corner, "Like hell am I going to read... look... at this."
Nanjiroh's expression is almost comically blank. "But, I thought..." Ryoma's lip curls. No way would he ever associate buchou or Fuji with those kinds of men. "I don't like them... that way."
Nanjiroh raises an eyebrow. "Didn't look that way to me today."
Ryoma sputters because it's late and he doesn't have enough energy to snort or curse at his old man. "I don't... I'm hardly going to pay attention to something like this," he finally snaps, brandishing the magazine at his father. "This is your type of thing!"
Nanjiroh raises his other eyebrow, and Ryoma wonders if flinging the magazine at his father's head would give him the hint to get out and let Ryoma go back to sleep.
"But that's because the models in the other magazines had the wrong bits!" Nanjiroh suddenly exclaims, his eyes lighting up, and then yelps as the magazine hits him right in the face. "Hey! You shouldn't be so disrespectful to your father!"
"Go away," Ryoma mutters, wriggling back under the blankets and pulling his pillow over his head. He sighs as his father shrieks when Karupin, even grumpier than Ryoma over being woken up, bites Nanjiroh's hand and gets him out of the room more effectively than Ryoma ever could have managed.
Ryoma sighs as Karupin leaps back onto the bed and curls up beside him, purring, and vows that he's going to kill Fuji tomorrow.
:::
"Why me?" Ryoma suddenly asks one day, when Fuji is drinking water after a practise match.
Fuji takes one last swallow, pauses, and then lowers his bottle to meet Ryoma's gaze. "Because I wanted to," he says.
Ryoma scowls. "Give me a straight answer," he snaps. "Why us?"
Fuji tilts his head, apparently considering. "Because you're interesting," he says at last, nodding almost to himself, "and because Tezuka needs someone like you."
"You said I'd never catch up," Ryoma accuses, glaring at him. "You said I'd never catch him. Neither of us would."
"I lied," Fuji says simply.
:::
Tezuka kisses him twice, once before Kantou and the other time in the middle of it, and Ryoma almost feels like bashing his head against the wall afterwards, when he is alone. At least the feeling of his head throbbing would be real, even if it wouldn't help Ryoma make any more sense out of this mess than he's already tried.
:::
The anticipation of Nationals is in the air, and it feels like they're practising morning, noon and night of every day, but no one complains because they all know what's at stake. Ryoma comes home and sleeps with pleasantly-aching muscles, and knows that he's getting even stronger, outdistancing his opponents even more.
He still doesn't know what to do about Fuji or buchou, or even if he should do anything. It seems to be sort of working, as much as anything between the three of them could, and Ryoma is content to leave it that way until Nationals is over, and he knows that Tezuka at least feels the same about this.
Summer arrives again, and there's already a hint of the coming humidity and mugginess in the air. Ryoma sighs, thinking of all the Ponta he will drink this summer, and the amount of naps he will take with his cat, but knows that this summer won't be like any other that's come before. The important things have changed.
He jogs towards the public courts, late, and Tezuka and Fuji are already there, waiting for him. Tezuka is reading the newspaper while Fuji leans over his shoulder, smiling and pointing at something on the page. Ryoma watches them for a moment, snorts, and then takes a step forward to disrupt the brief calm.
"Che," he says, "boring," and both Tezuka and Fuji look up at him. They both smile.
END
Feel free to start throwing things at me now. :|
Author: Ria
Disclaimer: Not mine, all Konomi's.
Rating: NC-17
Words: ~5,300
Pairing: Tezuka/Ryoma/Fuji [Power Triangle]
Warning: sex
Summary: Ryoma wonders what exactly he's searching for, and if what he really wants is the best option.
Author's Notes: Written in 100 minutes for the UST challenge on temps_mort. Yeah. This was supposed to be Fuji/Ryoma, but it seems I really can't write these three without all of them strolling into the story.
Lazy Days
The summer is long and dry, and Ryoma lies out in the porch with Karupin sprawled beside him. The two of them doze, lazy and warm, Ryoma's cap tilted over his eyes to shield them from the sun. The cicadas chirp and buzz, droning in heavy heat that makes it too difficult to contemplate moving.
He stays there for hours, the sun slowly baking his pale limbs, refusing to move. His mother and Nanako appear at the door every so often with a new can of Ponta; condensation clings to it, dampening Ryoma's palms as he holds it against his sweating skin for temporary relief. It's icy-cold as it slides down his throat, but Ryoma continues to drink until he's gasping for breath and most of the can is empty.
The silence is broken at late afternoon, when his father's cheerful caterwauling can be heard from the street outside. Karupin jerks awake, yowling as his ears flatten; Ryoma sits up, his mouth twisting in a grimace.
His old man had disappeared soon after midday when he realised that Ryoma had claimed the porch with no intention of sharing it. Nanjiroh had probably gone to a bar, since that's what he normally did on hot days when the beer supply ran out at home, and enough time has passed that he's well on his way to becoming merrily tipsy. The result of this means many things, the most likely being that Ryoma will be subject to much teasing and double innuendo, followed by a dose of half-hearted father and son bonding over Nanjiroh's latest magazines.
Ryoma scowls, rising and bending to scoop up Karupin for a hasty retreat, but Nanjiroh is already through the gate and strolling towards the house, his rolling gait and leering grin proof of his alcohol consumption. "Che," Ryoma says, and turns.
"Oi, brat," his father calls, but Ryoma keeps on walking, forcing Nanjiroh to hurry after him. Ryoma stiffens as a large hand comes down on his shoulder, but finally stops, waiting. He can smell beer and cigarettes on his father's breath, acid-strong, and it makes his stomach churn.
"Go bother someone else, old man," Ryoma snaps, shrugging away from him. He doesn't look back when he stomps away, Karupin propped up against his shoulder and purring in his ear. When he comes down for dinner later that night his father is asleep by the television, and they don't exchange another word until the following morning.
:::
Momo arrives when Ryoma is finishing breakfast, chewing the last toast crust and draining the last of his milk. He follows Inui's training menus because they work and have become a habit, not from any nostalgic loyalty. They're all in high school and Ryoma is the junior high captain now, and even he knows he has to show good example to the team. Even if it's slightly ridiculous to still be drinking milk at nearly fifteen, but his growth spurt will have to come sometime.
"Echizen!" Momo hollers, and Ryoma grumbles under his breath as he slings his tennis bag over his shoulder and bolts for the door. Shoving his feet into his sneakers, he yells, "Ittekimasu!" and gently nudges Karupin away from the door before slamming it after him.
Momo is too cheerful, too loud, slinging an arm over Ryoma's shoulder and telling him how much fun this is going to be. Ryoma doesn't reply, adjusting the brim of his cap. The day will go as he expects: he will beat players who are no longer a challenge and beat the new players who will underestimate him, and he and Momo will play a doubles match before he disappears to make out with Tachibana An.
Ryoma beats four players before he begins to sweat. The four of them all laugh and shake their heads when they walk away, and Ryoma glares after them. When Momo walks up for their doubles match, Tachibana An standing nearby, Ryoma shakes his head and zips his racquet back into his bag. He ignores Momo's yelling as he saunters off the courts without a second glance: he has better things to be doing than this.
:::
This is how it starts:
Ryoma meets Tezuka every Sunday. They play a match, and sometimes Ryoma wins and other times he loses disgracefully. He still has a lot of catching up to do, but running after buchou is fun. At the beginning of the school year Ryoma often came to him for advice, but now summer is almost over and he's become more comfortable in the role of buchou, even if it still doesn't feel right. Ryoma managed to lead the team to the final stages of Kantou, but the team played their best and it was farther than Momo managed last year anyway.
When Ryoma had told him of their loss, Tezuka had only asked, "Did you play with no regrets?" They were sitting on a bench, guzzling liquids and cooling off after a match, and Ryoma had paused, his knuckles white as he gripped a can of Ponta. After a few moments of consideration, he took another swallow and nodded decisively.
"Then you did not fail," Tezuka had said, and that was that.
This Sunday, however, Tezuka is not alone when Ryoma arrives. He stares at Fuji for a long moment, blinking slowly, then snorts when Fuji smiles at him. "Fuji-senpai," Ryoma drawls in the tone that Horio says makes people want to immediately punch him, and is answered by a wider smile.
The routine is broken, now, and it rankles. Fuji plays Ryoma first, the match being drawn out into a long tiebreak. Ryoma wins at last, but he's not sure if Fuji deliberately let him win or not. Fuji smiles, and then waits for Tezuka to take Ryoma's place. This match is different, and Ryoma frowns as time passes, his Ponta forgotten in his hand. He can't shake off the feeling that he is missing something, that there are things being said between his two senpai as they rally the ball back and forth, but he's never tried to understand their friendship and doesn't relish the potential headache if he tried.
Tezuka finally wins, 7-6, and Fuji's smile is as wide as his eyes are open. "That was a good match," he says as they shake hands, and Tezuka snorts.
Ryoma stands up to take Fuji's place, but Tezuka shakes his head. "We are both too tired to make it a worthwhile match," he says, his voice quiet but firm. "We'll play next week." His eyes are on Fuji as he says this last, and Ryoma knows he's not imagining the brief angry look Tezuka gives Fuji. It's this look that makes him stay quiet and not demand a reason for Fuji being able to play two matches while he cannot.
Tezuka takes the train home when Fuji announces that he will be a good senpai and walk Ryoma home. Ryoma almost snaps that he doesn't need to be coddled at his age, but it's the realisation that he wouldn't decline the offer if buchou made it that makes him keep his mouth shut. He grumbles anyway, but this only seems to please Fuji further.
Fuji keeps up a lively conversation as they walk, telling Ryoma about the other regulars - now high school freshman - and how they're getting on, all the things that Tezuka never bothered to tell him because there was no need. Ryoma has stalked the high school courts many times before to demand matches; he already knows how everyone is doing.
They reach the outer gates and Ryoma says goodbye and, after a slight pause, reluctantly thanks Fuji for walking him home. Fuji laughs and tells him it was his pleasure.
Fuji can be unpredictable when he wants to be, though Ryoma tries to ignore that aspect of his personality as best he can because it's confusing. Maybe this means that he's constantly unprepared when it comes to Fuji, then, because he has no warning before Fuji presses him up against the wall. Fuji's hands dig into Ryoma's shoulders and his mouth is smooth and warm when he kisses him, his tongue sliding in for a moment before Ryoma realises what is going on.
It's a good kiss, and perfectly wrong for Ryoma's first, and his knees are weak and shaking when Fuji pulls back. His eyes open, a clear and intense blue, and he says softly, "You'll never catch up to him, you know. Neither of us will. No matter how much you try... you're not to blame, or me, and certainly not him." He trails his fingertips across Ryoma's cheek lightly, his nails scraping lightly, and starts walking away. He turns once to wave, and then Ryoma bolts inside.
He runs right past Karupin and his father, ignoring whatever idiocy his old man shouts after him. He thunders up the stairs straight to his room, where he falls on his bed, pulls a pillow over his head, and doesn't move until his mother calls him down for dinner. She ends up bringing a tray up to his room.
:::
It doesn't happen until several days later, when vacation is over and school resumes. Ryoma locks up after the last freshmen have finally staggered away and discovers Fuji waiting for him at the gate. He remembers too late that the high school team doesn't have practise today.
"Fuji-senpai," he says, stopping and looking at him.
Fuji smiles at him. "Echizen." He is pale and relaxed as he leans against the wall; Ryoma has never seen Fuji burn or tan from the sun.
Ryoma scowls; his mind has unhelpfully supplied him with the memory of their kiss, and his lips tingle like they did when Fuji pressed him against the wall. His scowl deepens.
Their conversation is entirely one-sided this time, Ryoma not saying anything after the greeting. But Fuji doesn't seem to mind, and they both stop when they reach the house gates.
Ryoma balances on the balls of his feet for a moment, and then he's shoved Fuji against the wall. He's not very elegant about it, but Fuji doesn't complain, opening his mouth eagerly and wrapping his arms around Ryoma's neck and pulling him closer. Ryoma pants heavily, digging his hands into Fuji's hair and tugging. Fuji pulls away, hissing, but moves his mouth down Ryoma's neck, nipping and sucking the skin. Ryoma moans, his eyes fluttering closed, and then bites his lip to stop himself from crying out as Fuji's hands slide up his shirt.
"Fuji-Fuji-senpai," he stutters, and Fuji immediately stills, drawing back from him. His eyes are closed, but his mouth is pressed into a thin line.
"Echizen," he murmurs, and their goodbye is awkward and stilted. Ryoma's cheeks are burning when he arrives inside, and for a moment he fears that his father saw them when Nanjiroh stares at him, but goes to his room before any questions can be asked.
He lies down on his bed, staring up at the ceiling as he ignores Karupin mewling and scratching at the door. He's still breathing hard, and rubs his hands over his eyes as he tries to figure out what just happened and why he kissed Fuji this time. It doesn't make any sense, but there's also no point in denying that Fuji kisses extremely well, not that Ryoma cares very much about that. He hasn't kissed anyone else to have a proper perspective.
But if he doesn't care very much, then his body obviously doesn't agree. Ryoma grits his teeth as he shifts on the bed, trying to ignore the growing burn between his legs and failing. Biting his lip, he slides a trembling hand down under his shorts, and his breath comes fast and shallow as he tugs them down to make things easier.
He deliberately doesn't think of anyone, closing his eyes and concentrating solely on the friction between his hand and erection. His heels dig into his duvet and then his back arches as he comes. He bites the inside of his arm so he won't cry out, and so he won't also cry out a name.
It's better for everyone, especially himself, if he stays silent.
:::
But it keeps on happening, moving from stolen kisses at Ryoma's house to lingering make out sessions at Fuji's. They play matches at tennis courts and walk home through the park, where Fuji pulls him into unused corners and kisses him until Ryoma can hardly stand up. He moans and rocks against Fuji, desperately trying to maintain the contact and the friction until he can come. But he never does.
Winter comes and goes, and Ryoma turns fifteen. The old Seigaku regulars come to his house - they eat his mother's food, and give him small presents, and tell him how wonderful it will be when he's in high school with them. Fuji acts like his usual self, talking quietly with Taka-san, suffering Eiji's exuberance and tight hugs, and gently teasing Tezuka, so vaguely that Ryoma thinks he and buchou are the only ones who actually pick up on the subtle barbs.
He goes into the kitchen to feed Karupin, who has been making a nuisance of himself (though Kaidoh seems disappointed when Ryoma takes him away). It's only when Karupin has his face buried in his bowl, purring loudly, does Ryoma realise that Fuji has followed him in.
They hardly make a sound when Ryoma leans against the counter, kissing slowly and leisurely as Fuji rocks against him. The ache is slow and good, and Ryoma hums as Fuji toys with the waistband of his trousers. Then a soft, polite cough makes Fuji pull away, and Ryoma growls a complaint before he opens his eyes and finds buchou watching them.
Ryoma freezes, his eyes going wide, and he moves until there's more than enough space between him and Fuji. His mouth moves, but no sound can work around the lump rising in his throat, and there's nothing he can really say that won't be stupid or wrong. Silence descends: thick, heavy and cloying; it feels like it could choke him.
"Tezuka," Fuji says at last, his expression shuttered and his tone quiet. The word lingers in the air, and Tezuka slowly looks at Fuji, his face almost blank. But Ryoma can see the tightening around his eyes and the way he swallows repeatedly. His fists clench once, before slowly opening as he tries to relax his hands by his sides.
"Fuji," Tezuka replies, but his eyes are on Ryoma now, and Ryoma can't hold his gaze for long, ducking his head and staring down at the floor. Karupin trots up to him, mewling, and Ryoma reaches down for him and buries his face in the thick, warm fur so he doesn't have to look at either of them.
No one says anything after that - can any of them actually find the right words to say? Ryoma wonders - and Tezuka is the first to leave. Fuji takes a step towards Ryoma, pauses, and then turns and exits the kitchen, leaving him alone.
Ryoma takes one breath, then another, and slowly slides down onto the ground. Karupin settles into his lap, looking at up at him with wide, clear eyes, and Ryoma finds that he can't even hold his cat's gaze for very long either.
:::
Ryoma enters high school. He joins the tennis club and becomes the freshman regular again. This year's regulars are the same ones from junior high, and everything is as it should be - except it's not.
Ryoma will often look up to find Fuji watching him, eyes open and sharp and seeming to peer right through his skin and into his soul. Ryoma knows he never, ever wants to know what Fuji sees there, or if he is found wanting. Fuji tilts his head, his gaze turning thoughtful, and sometimes he will gift Ryoma with an unsettling smile.
They haven't spent any time alone together or kissed since Christmas. Ryoma can't even bear to touch himself because every time he closes his eyes all he can see is Tezuka's eyes, lost and confused as he gazes at him, and guilt wells up in his throat until Ryoma feels like he can't breathe.
Tezuka is captain again, and he treats Ryoma just like any of the other regulars, and therein lies the problem. There is no sense of Ryoma taking up his duties as Tezuka's protégé or being the other pillar, and Ryoma realises that he soon feels lost, set adrift in a sea of practise, matches and tournaments. He hadn't realised that he'd associated his place in Seigaku with Tezuka, and he also hadn't realised how much it would hurt to have that trust taken away.
One day, at the end of practise when Ryoma is gathering his tennis bag and wondering if he can convince Momo to buy him burgers, Fuji comes right up to him and says, his voice calm and pleasant, "I need to talk to you." There is no more light teasing or coy flirting between them, and Ryoma hadn't realised he would miss that either. He hadn't realised a lot of things.
They go outside the clubhouse, and Fuji is almost startlingly blunt when he crosses his arms and says, "Talk to him." He says it like it's an order, and it probably is, and Ryoma decides that he's none the worse for treating it as such.
Fuji leaves with Eiji hanging onto his arm and babbling a mile a minute, and Ryoma shakes his head at Momo's offer of food and a ride home. The others trickle out and Oishi, after studying him for a moment, nods when he realises that Ryoma has no intention of leaving before him. He leaves the key for them and lays a hand on Ryoma's shoulder for a moment. He opens his mouth, appears like he's going to wish Ryoma good luck, and then seems to think better of it and leaves quickly. The door shuts softly after him, leaving Ryoma and Tezuka alone.
Ryoma doesn't say anything for several minutes because he doesn't know if there are any right words for this, and he doesn't really think there are because he still doesn't even understand what is going on or what he feels. And maybe this is the root of the entire problem.
"Buchou," he finally says, wishing Tezuka would turn and look at him, even if his gaze would be disappointed, or sad, or angry. Just having some emotion would make it all right.
However, saying that one title seems to burst open the floodgates, and suddenly Ryoma is babbling, telling him everything: how playing matches with Tezuka on Sundays made him feel; Fuji's arrival; how Fuji made him feel; how he felt when Tezuka walked in on them in the kitchen; and how he wishes that everything could go back to normal, and they could play together on Sundays again, and how he wishes he knew what was going on anyway.
He finally stops for breath and has to sit down on the bench, ducking his head so he won't have to look at Tezuka. Maybe saying everything at once wasn't such a good idea.
And then footsteps come towards him, and Tezuka crouches down until he is eye-level with Ryoma, and the next thing Ryoma knows he is being hugged fiercely. His face is pressed into Tezuka's shoulder, and he can smell detergent, and fabric conditioner, and the sharp scents of Tezuka's soap and shampoo. He presses his face against Tezuka's neck and breathes deeply, and Tezuka shudders.
"I'm sorry," Ryoma says, but Tezuka says nothing, only tightening his arms around him. Ryoma wonders for a wild moment if Tezuka is going to kiss him, but they simply stay like that for several minutes, and Ryoma thinks this is just as good as any kiss Fuji can give him.
:::
He and Tezuka resume their Sunday matches a few weeks later, but Ryoma doesn't know what to think when Fuji arrives with Tezuka one day. There is a long awkward moment, before Tezuka walks onto the court and Ryoma hurries after him. They play, and with every serve and every return volley the heavy knot that's been tightening in Ryoma's chest for the past few weeks slowly eases, until Ryoma is grinning, and sweat is dripping into his eyes, and this is the best thing ever.
Tezuka wins, 6-4, and Ryoma can't help but grin as he and buchou shake hands. And then they're off the court, and Fuji is looking at them, a contemplative, easy smile on his face, and walking towards them.
Ryoma watches him with narrowed eyes, decides he doesn't like or trust Fuji's expression, and turns towards Tezuka, who is also watching Fuji.
Fuji isn't the only one who can catch people off guard.
It's surprisingly easy to kiss buchou, but then, Fuji has given him a lot of practise. The way Tezuka's eyes widen is priceless, however, but it's even better when they close and Tezuka returns the kiss after a brief hesitation. Ryoma sighs when they break apart, but his eyes narrow again when he realises that Fuji is grinning at them.
"Oh, good," he says, and steps forward to trail his hand across Ryoma's cheek. The touch is gentle and electrifying, and Ryoma automatically shudders before he can help it. His eyes widen, and both he and Tezuka silently watch Fuji walk away.
When Ryoma grips Tezuka's hand in his, it's reassuring that Tezuka squeezes back.
:::
This is the dream that confuses it all:
Ryoma doesn't know that he's dreaming until he realises that both Fuji and Tezuka are in his room and that there is no one else at home.
Maybe it's because this is a dream, but he's almost prepared for when Fuji falls back onto his bed and pulls Ryoma down on top of him. They're naked, in that blink-and-it's-suddenly-reality way that dreams have, but Ryoma can only sigh as Fuji's hands trail down his chest, his ribs, his sides and lower, his sigh deepening when Fuji dips his hand between his legs. It doesn't feel new, even if it's further than he and Fuji have ever gone in reality.
But nothing could ever prepare him for Tezuka's hands gripping his hips, or for Tezuka to kiss his neck again and again, until Ryoma is squirming, breathless, and ridiculously hard. Fuji takes full advantage of this, stroking him until Ryoma is panting between gritted teeth, eyes closed and head thrown back as Tezuka settles behind him in a comfortable warmth.
The dream blurs, as dreams have a tendency to do, and Ryoma has the peculiar sensation of losing time, and suddenly Fuji's legs are wrapped around him, and Fuji is gasping and Ryoma is moving, and it's the strangest and most amazing feeling in the world. But that's nothing compared to the feeling of Tezuka inside him, his arms carefully braced on either side of Ryoma, and, crap, Ryoma realises, spasms making him thrust deeply into Fuji and causing them both to cry out, they're both going to destroy him.
There's the scent of sweat and sex in the air, and Fuji's skin is shining as he gripes Ryoma's hair in his hands and pulls him down for a kiss that's more like a mashing of lips, and he can't stop moving, none of them can, and the ache between his legs is getting worse, and he can't stop this and
then he's screaming, eyes squeezed shut as he comes, thrusting until Fuji claws his back and cries out, and Tezuka bites his neck and it's all confusing, too confusing, and then they’re all collapsed in a heap on Ryoma's bed. They're a tangle of sweaty, heavy limbs, and Ryoma, when he can actually think coherently again, thinks it's quite comfortable since he's in the middle and it's warm and safe, even though it shouldn't be because this can never work.
And just as Fuji purrs his name against his ear, and Tezuka presses a kiss to his mouth, Ryoma realises this is a dream, and he wakes up. He sits upright so fast that he's momentarily dizzy, and he blinks as he realises that he's come in his sleep, and this is going to be very embarrassing if his mother finds out.
:::
Ryoma has certain expectations about personal space, and one of the unspoken rules in the Echizen household is that his room is off-limits unless permission has been given. So when his mother calls for him, telling him one of his friends from the tennis team is here, Ryoma scowls, assuming that it's Momo come to drag him to the street courts again. He dislodges Karupin from his nap on Ryoma's stomach, padding across the floor to open his door - only to find Fuji immediately outside.
Ryoma blinks, staring at him as he takes a step back, but scowls when Fuji comes inside without any permission.
"Hey," he says, bristling, but then hardly has time to draw a breath before Fuji has grabbed him and started kissing him like he wants to suck Ryoma's soul out through his mouth. There's a lot of tongue and some teeth involved, much rougher than Fuji likes the first few kisses to go, and Ryoma has a single distressing moment to realise that his knees have already started to tremble.
It shouldn't still be happening like this.
It takes more effort than Ryoma would like to bring his hands up to shove Fuji away, and he almost regrets it when he sees the scathing look Fuji gives him. "I have homework, Fuji-senpai," he says, inwardly smiling as Fuji stiffens at the formal suffix. "You can't just come into my room and start kissing me."
Fuji eyes him like he's just said something very interesting, the way a scientist eyes an experiment that's had a very strange and unexpected reaction. It makes Ryoma want to run far away, or hide under his bed, or do something else extraordinarily childish. "Oh, really?" Fuji asks.
"No," Ryoma says firmly, and pushes him back out the door. "Leave." If his mother hears him saying this to a guest, she'll kill him, if Nanako doesn't overhear and gut him first.
Fuji gets as far as the front door, before he smiles again and kisses Ryoma one last time, running his tongue leisurely along Ryoma's bottom lip and making him shiver. His expression is satisfied, almost smug, for a moment, and then he bows and tells Ryoma that he'll see him tomorrow at morning practise.
Ryoma stares at the closed door for a moment, before huffing and stomping back to his room, muttering under his breath all the while about stupid tensai who thought things could just magically go the way they wanted them to.
:::
Ryoma's almost asleep when his father comes into his room and he sits up with a growl. He's too tired to wonder exactly what his father is doing, since his father never comes into his room, having learned from the many tennis balls Ryoma has thrown at him that it's not a very good idea.
But it doesn't take him long to wake up when he spots the cover of the magazine his father tosses on his bed. His eyes widen, and he almost snaps on his bedside light, except then that would mean better light to see things more clearly by, and he's not sure that's a very good idea right now.
He finally manages to say, "What the hell."
"Since it seems girls really aren't your thing," Nanjiroh says, in a rather tight and subdued sort of voice, and Ryoma realises that he must have seen Fuji kiss him at the door. Crap.
"Dad," he says, and then stops as Nanjiroh's mouth falls open, as this is the first time in years that Ryoma's called him that in any sort of polite way. Silence falls, thick and oppressive, and Ryoma finally says, holding the magazine by a corner, "Like hell am I going to read... look... at this."
Nanjiroh's expression is almost comically blank. "But, I thought..." Ryoma's lip curls. No way would he ever associate buchou or Fuji with those kinds of men. "I don't like them... that way."
Nanjiroh raises an eyebrow. "Didn't look that way to me today."
Ryoma sputters because it's late and he doesn't have enough energy to snort or curse at his old man. "I don't... I'm hardly going to pay attention to something like this," he finally snaps, brandishing the magazine at his father. "This is your type of thing!"
Nanjiroh raises his other eyebrow, and Ryoma wonders if flinging the magazine at his father's head would give him the hint to get out and let Ryoma go back to sleep.
"But that's because the models in the other magazines had the wrong bits!" Nanjiroh suddenly exclaims, his eyes lighting up, and then yelps as the magazine hits him right in the face. "Hey! You shouldn't be so disrespectful to your father!"
"Go away," Ryoma mutters, wriggling back under the blankets and pulling his pillow over his head. He sighs as his father shrieks when Karupin, even grumpier than Ryoma over being woken up, bites Nanjiroh's hand and gets him out of the room more effectively than Ryoma ever could have managed.
Ryoma sighs as Karupin leaps back onto the bed and curls up beside him, purring, and vows that he's going to kill Fuji tomorrow.
:::
"Why me?" Ryoma suddenly asks one day, when Fuji is drinking water after a practise match.
Fuji takes one last swallow, pauses, and then lowers his bottle to meet Ryoma's gaze. "Because I wanted to," he says.
Ryoma scowls. "Give me a straight answer," he snaps. "Why us?"
Fuji tilts his head, apparently considering. "Because you're interesting," he says at last, nodding almost to himself, "and because Tezuka needs someone like you."
"You said I'd never catch up," Ryoma accuses, glaring at him. "You said I'd never catch him. Neither of us would."
"I lied," Fuji says simply.
:::
Tezuka kisses him twice, once before Kantou and the other time in the middle of it, and Ryoma almost feels like bashing his head against the wall afterwards, when he is alone. At least the feeling of his head throbbing would be real, even if it wouldn't help Ryoma make any more sense out of this mess than he's already tried.
:::
The anticipation of Nationals is in the air, and it feels like they're practising morning, noon and night of every day, but no one complains because they all know what's at stake. Ryoma comes home and sleeps with pleasantly-aching muscles, and knows that he's getting even stronger, outdistancing his opponents even more.
He still doesn't know what to do about Fuji or buchou, or even if he should do anything. It seems to be sort of working, as much as anything between the three of them could, and Ryoma is content to leave it that way until Nationals is over, and he knows that Tezuka at least feels the same about this.
Summer arrives again, and there's already a hint of the coming humidity and mugginess in the air. Ryoma sighs, thinking of all the Ponta he will drink this summer, and the amount of naps he will take with his cat, but knows that this summer won't be like any other that's come before. The important things have changed.
He jogs towards the public courts, late, and Tezuka and Fuji are already there, waiting for him. Tezuka is reading the newspaper while Fuji leans over his shoulder, smiling and pointing at something on the page. Ryoma watches them for a moment, snorts, and then takes a step forward to disrupt the brief calm.
"Che," he says, "boring," and both Tezuka and Fuji look up at him. They both smile.
END
Feel free to start throwing things at me now. :|