FIC: Six Percent Doki Doki, NiouKiri, NC17 (5/5)
Title: Six Percent Doki Doki (Part 5/5)
Author: Ociwen
Wordcount: 36000
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Niou/Kirihara + others (if you squint)
Disclaimer: Konomi owns all.
Summary: In High School, Kirihara realizes that something is wrong when Niou stops showing up to tennis practice. Tennis, misunderstandings and Genius abounds.
Author's Notes: Written for pixxers in rikkai_exchange. Pixxers, I really hope you like this! Thanks to shikishi for the help.
[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5]
The changing room is on fire. Dozens of tennis club members talk at once, and the name on their lips is all the same.
Niou.
Before all of this, Kirihara knows that Niou would have adored it. He wouldn’t have said anything, but he’d have smirked and looked pleased with himself and taken extra long at stretches just to get tongues wagging about his tennis. This new Niou, well, Kirihara doesn’t know if he’d like all the attention when last week he was infamous and shunned from the club for liking guys.
Kirihara tingles all the way to his toes. He’s not nervous- not like Nationals games nervous- but his eyes are sharp as he runs a practice lap and works on a few lunges, just for a warm up. Niou wasn’t in the changing room this afternoon.
He wouldn’t bale, would he?
Kirihara looks down at his hand holding his racket. Hours ago, he was touching Niou’s skin with the same hand. Now he can barely remember the feel of Niou’s skin because his palm is slick with sweat already from the temperature. His mind wants to remember the touch, even if his body can’t.
Waves of heat flicker up from the clay court. Like this morning, no one else in the club plays their own games- not even Sanada, who stands and scowls and looks from Yagyuu to Yanagi to Kirihara, then back to Yukimura standing beside him.
Kirihara is alone on his side of the court. Marui and Jackal wave from his baseline, flashing him thumbs-ups when they aren’t searching around, just like everyone else, looking for that one last player.
The ref- this time another senior, but one who’s a regular, Nishiki- opens his mouth to say something right when the crowd of people by the fence part. The chain link door slams closed.
Niou smirks.
A pin could drop and be heard across the court from the silence that follows. Niou keeps smirking and he keeps walking towards the court. He stops and looks around at everyone. Marui’s bubble hangs from his mouth. Kirihara leans forward onto his toes, waiting.
“Puri,” Niou says.
The chirping of birds is the first sound, then the breeze rifling through the lime trees lining the pathway to the university buildings. Last is the tennis club, who resume their whispering and shuffling and coughing all at once.
Niou dumps his tennisbag by the net post, then he walks toward the baseline, right up to Kirihara. With his hand, he motions for Kirihara. “Go play net,” he says.
Kirihara nods.
As he settles his sneakers into the clay in front of the net and wipes a bead of sweat from his temple, Kirihara notices something glimmer in the corner of his eye.
Hanging from a side zipper of Niou’s tennisbag is the twin unicorn charm.
Kirihara laughs.
He can’t think of anything else to do.
Niou has the serve and they’re trailing by a game. He’s a southpaw, so he’ll serve towards the right side of the other court. Yagyuu is already standing there, ready and waiting, with Yanagi at the left baseline. Kirihara stands in the middle-ish. He’s not sure what Niou is going to do- set up a volley? Kirihara hates volleys, usually, unless he’s messing around with another player. He’d rather slam ball after ball into a court and play a fast and as hard as he can.
Something hums, a bug flying right by Kirihara’s ear. He moves his free hand to swat it away when he sees that no, it’s not a bug, it must have been the ball because Yagyuu’s swinging his racket and-
Gotta move, he thinks. Kirihara rushes to the other side of the court. It’s the wrong angle for a backhand or a poach, so he lobs it, unable to do anything else until he gets a good footing. It’s weird to hear someone else’s footsteps behind him, running and grunting and going for the ball. Kirihara is so used to playing by himself that he runs for the balls regardless.
“Kirihara!” Niou yells. Finally, he’s playing too.
Kirihara nods.
Right, doubles.
Kirihara dodges back to the net, right in time to catch Yanagi’s volley. He cradles it with his racket, sliding the ball over his racket strings to gather as much topspin as he can. Kirihara slugs it back, but to the right side, instead of the left.
Yagyuu ran left.
So did Yanagi.
Tricked them, Kirihara thinks as the point is announced. He licks his lips, pleased with himself. He takes a step around and back, digging his heels in. The ground is damp today and soft, which makes it hard to do much with his split-step. But then, there’s not much dust being kicked up this way, so it’s not so bad.
Niou’s second serve is a straight ball, a bit like Yagyuu’s laser beam, which makes Kirihara blink in surprise. It’s not as fast and it’s not special, but Kirihara manages to set up a smash. He jumps up with a big grin on his face- Yagyuu is too busy pushing his glasses up. Right when Kirihara makes his move, Yanagi rushes to the net, right in front of Yagyuu and punts the ball up.
The ball drops, mid-court between Niou and Kirihara.
15-15, Yanagi-Yagyuu pair.
“Shit,” Kirihara grumbles.
“That’s just how the game is,” Yagyuu calls out. He nods toward Niou, who just shrugs his shoulders and grabs another ball out of the basket for his next serve. Yagyuu doesn’t seem as angry this afternoon, but as soon as Kirihara hears the girly shouting and giggling by the fence, he can make a pretty good guess as to why.
Niou, too, doesn’t seem as angry. His eyes don’t spark with that steely ice of this morning. If he was playing to win when the game started, then now, maybe he’s playing for fun. Playing for real.
Kirihara bounces his head. That’s good, he thinks, if they could be friends again somehow.
Only, Niou’s next serve suggests otherwise.
He serves a lob, which Kirihara thinks is a bit weird, but then Niou is weird and he must have something up his sleeve. The ball arcs back toward the baseline, lost in the glare of the sunlight. Kirihara squints, searching for the ball like Yanagi, who darts left, then right, trying to judge where to hit it best from. Yagyuu moves along the net, bent low and ready to strike at any moment. He holds his racket loose and light in both his hands.
Yanagi swings wide; his ball is the sort that should start a rally. Kirihara runs for it out of instinct, but before he can use his backhand, he hears the scuffle of sneakers crunching into the clay. Niou makes a noise, and Kirihara can see him throw his racket into his right hand, stands up straight and stiff and swings his arm back.
The ball is so fast that Yagyuu doesn’t have time to move. It is a yellow streak through the air in the instant before it hits the fence, still spinning it imbeds in the chain link. Yagyuu yells and clutches his shoulder where the laser beam hit his bicep.
Niou says nothing, but as he tosses his rat tail over his shoulder, Kirihara can see that same hard look in his eyes from this morning. Niou-senpai wants to win, whatever the cost.
Yagyuu composes himself and brushes off the sleeve of his t-shirt. Kirihara can almost see a singed mark from the ball on the fabric, but it could just be the sun playing tricks. Sweat stings his eyes and makes it hard to see, even harder when the heat waves rise up from the court and obscure the opposite baseline. Still, Kirihara’s played tennis for so long that he could play with his eyes closed. He could play blind.
Just like that Fuji Shuusuke from Seigaku.
The phantom memory of loss pricks his insides for a moment before Kirihara shakes his head and shakes it off. That was a long time ago and high school’s different. Everything’s different.
Using the laser beam once scored them a point, but its Kirihara’s smashes that take the game. He grins and sends balls vaulting up and then behind Yagyuu’s shoulder, in his blind spot where Yanagi won’t take them. Yanagi is setting something up- Kirihara can see it in the quirk of his lips and it only makes him hit the balls harder because he wants Yanagi to do something more than patrol the baseline. It’s not even as though Yanagi and Yagyuu have divided up the court- front Yagyuu, back Yanagi, no it’s just like…
The ref calls out “Game, Kirihara-Niou, 2-2!”
Yanagi-senpai wouldn’t throw a game, would he?
Kirihara scratches his hair. It’s damp with sweat and feels like bugs are crawling through it, which only makes him itch more. The cicadas are louder than ever and buzzing from every direction. Yanagi and Yagyuu duck heads and they must be talking about strategy as they switch courts.
The games begin to alternate and Kirihara settles into an almost routine. He’s not pushing himself hard enough to Self-Actualize: he could, and maybe he should, but it’s not his game. Its Niou’s game. Niou wanted to play in the first place and Kirihara is happy to play, but doubles isn’t really his thing.
The court feels constricted with twice as many people. Kirihara has to be continually aware of where Niou is. He has to listen not just for the grunts from Yagyuu and Yanagi and the sound of the ball, the spin, the hollow bounces, but he’s got to listen too for Niou’s heavy breathing, his pants, the sound of his sneakers and the swish of his racket swinging. It’s twice as much effort and Kirihara can’t let himself Actualize because he’d lose that conscious effort he needs to stop from swinging too far back and smacking Niou in the knee or split-stepping into Niou when he wants to set up a play.
Yanagi, too, doesn’t Self-Actualize. But then he wouldn’t need to push himself as far to win either. He seems content to volley back and forth with Niou, then Kirihara, let Yagyuu lob, then go back to volleying later. He plays where he needs to with a little smile on his face, sweating only a bit on his forehead. When he lifts his arm high enough to catch Kirihara’s poach, Kirihara can see that Yanagi is barely sweating at all- his armpits aren’t stained dark like his own, or Yagyuu’s back, or Niou’s chest.
Kirihara can remember the first time he saw Yanagi enter the State of Self-Actualization. It was a game against Sanada in junior high and Yanagi conked out, right over the net. Kirihara and Niou and Marui and Jackal, too- it took four of them because Yanagi was the tallest back then!- dragged Yanagi’s corpse into the clubhouse where they scribbled over his face with Niou’s black marker.
Kirihara snickers, remembering the black eyes he drew on Yanagi’s eyelids. It must have taken a week for them to completely wash off. The laps were worth seeing Sanada’s face twitch, though. He almost laughed at Yanagi then!
Pong!
Another shot, another point for Yagyuu and Yanagi. It’s a rally of points and games: Yanagi and Yagyuu take one game with a laser beam from Yagyuu, then Kirihara and Niou take the next because Niou can return laser beams best with a counter laser- this weird, wonky shot that gathers all of Yagyuu’s speed and concentrates it into spin instead, which makes the ball curve randomly. Kirihara returns Yanagi’s shots, shooting to the far edges of the court and laughing when his senpais have to lunge and dive and scrape their knees up.
Yagyuu scowls at him.
But not as much as he scowls at Niou, who brings the match to 4-4 when he smashes the ball to Yagyuu’s blind spot.
“I thought you were ambidextrous,” Niou says, his voice low and kinda dangerous. Kirihara feels a fat drop of sweat slide down the middle of his back.
Yagyuu snorts. He pushes his glasses up his nose and rolls his shoulders around to loosen them up. “I see you’re playing serious, Niou-kun,” he says. “I’ll make sure to return the favour.”
Yagyuu steps up the pace of the next game- Yanagi to serve. Kirihara knows that Yanagi will sometimes wait for his opponents to mess up before he attacks and Yagyuu…well, Yagyuu will sometimes attack out of nowhere.
Kirihara’s at the baseline again, his favourite place because he has room to move around. Niou is at the net, wiggling his butt a little when Yagyuu wiggles his. Yagyuu darts right and Niou does too. Yagyuu shuffles back a foot. So does Niou. He’s mimicking Yagyuu and mirroring his shots. Yagyuu moves faster, he swings further and his balls barrel onto Kirihara’s side harder than even. Kirihara grins. This is the sort of thing he likes, when a player pushes themselves to the edge.
Yagyuu’s sweating hard, too, under the hot summer sun. A rally flies, back and forth, back and forth, but each time Kirihara goes for the ball, Niou barges in front of him and takes the shot- a backhand, a forehand, a poach, a lob: whatever it takes for him to be able to hit the ball, he does.
And Yagyuu takes his bait perfectly.
Niou scores points between rallies. Kirihara stops even trying to run for the ball much. He’s mirroring Yanagi in his own sort of way, just a token player at the baseline, holding his racket and watching Niou smash, watching Yagyuu lean down so low for a rising shot to counter it that he scrapes his shins up until they bleed. Niou grunts. Yagyuu groans. The air is filled with the smell of burning rubber from laser beams, careening off the court at rapid-fire rate. The air is filled with the smell of sweat and blood, too, and the occasional call from the referee.
Niou can still play tennis pretty damn good.
Game, Niou-Kirihara pair, 5-4.
Kirihara blinks. The crowds around the court titter, but the air has gone completely still, making everything even hotter. The sun hovers in the western horizon, bouncing off the junior high school building windows in the distance and multiplying the glare. When the words sink in to Kirihara’s brain that they have the advantage again, he pumps his fist.
“Go Niou-senpai!” he yells.
They switch courts. It could be the match game, for all Kirihara knows. It’s his serve and he’ll put what he needs into it in order for them to win. In order for Niou to win.
Yukimura has taken a seat at one of the few benches by the court. His legs are spread wide and his hands between them as he leans forward. As Kirihara sets his serve up, bouncing the ball a few times to get a feel for it, he sees Sanada take a seat beside Yukimura and whisper something in Yukimura’s ear before he resumes his scowl.
Niou-senpai is proud like Sanada-fukubuchou, Kirihara thinks. In his own way.
And it all makes sense to him, now, why Niou is playing. He doesn’t look proud, slouching and crouched by the net right now, but he is. Kirihara bites back a smile and nods once. Then, he squeezes the ball in his hand as tight as he can before he chucks it up into the air.
I’ll give him my knuckle serve.
His senpais know his serve, too, and it makes Kirihara tingle, all the way down to his toes, to see them wait a split-second, then scramble, left, right, back, front trying to figure out where the ball will go. It veers at an angle first, then back around, zipping past Niou’s side then over the net.
Yagyuu hits it, grunting through his return. He had to dash to get the ball just on the tip of his racket and his shot zooms toward Niou, low and skimming the net. Kirihara jerks forward, wanting to get the ball himself, but knowing Niou wants it even more.
Niou swings back and raises his right arm over his head. Breathing in as he hits the ball, he sends a left-handed laser beam to Yagyuu. Niou starts to smirk when Yagyuu’s eyes widen with surprise, because the laser beam is angled, too. Unless he wants to backhand it, Yagyuu has to move.
Kirihara moves along the baseline; his eyes never leave the ball, but they never leave Niou’s back, either. Niou’s t-shirt sticks to his back, shifting with his muscles as he readies himself for a volley from Yagyuu. He stands up to catch the ball when all of a sudden-
Yagyuu changes everything.
He’s not going for a volley.
He jumps up to smash.
Even Yanagi’s eyes flash and his jaw drops as Yagyuu slams the ball down, teeth bared and eyes blazing. There’s a noise, like something caught in the back of Niou’s throat. And he throws himself and holds his racket out in a futile attempt to get the ball. There’s no way Niou can make it- his reach isn’t long enough, but Kirihara can’t just stand there and watch Niou plow into the net the way he did himself once.
Kirihara runs, but it’s too late. The ball slams into the ground first, inches away from Niou’s racket. Niou slams into the ground next, dust clouding up around him.
There is dead silence for a second, then Yukimura clicks his tongue. The crowds start to shake their heads and mutter, “What an idiot” and “He wouldn’t have made that shot anyway.”
Niou doesn’t move. He just lies there, stretched out on the clay cloud as the dust settles around him. At the net, Yagyuu looks down, his glasses shining and his eyes huge and white behind them. He’s taken the first point of the game.
But then, Niou’s hand starts to twitch. And he pushes himself up onto his knees. Blood streams down the inside of his arms and the skin is all scraped up and dirty. Hair hides his face. His motions are slow and jerky, like a videogame robot. Niou raises his head, slow slow slow and Kirihara drops the ball he was going to serve.
Because Niou isn’t just standing up at the net again, blood oozing down his arms and legs and making the edges of his socks red. He isn’t just standing there with a blank, unfocused look to his eyes and a silly little smirk on his face.
Niou is standing there and glowing.
“State of Self-Actualization,” Yanagi’s lips mouth.
Niou starts to chuckle. Yagyuu blinks and sputters and he’s lost the edge he just had.
Something bursts inside Kirihara’s stomach and flutters out of his open mouth. He gapes, almost not believing his eyes because it’s true, but it’s just so…cool to see Niou with his hair flying up and that invisible sort of aura making him float as he walks back to the net and leans down to begin playing.
“Kirihara to serve!” the ref yells.
“Right,” Kirihara says. “Right.” He waves for another ball, unable to wrench his eyes from Niou just yet. Someone places a ball in his hand.
Niou just keeps on glowing.
Kirihara doesn’t need to use his knuckle serve at all, but he does. It’s built into him how to use it, automatic, even though all focus is on Niou. Kirihara serves, sure, but Niou takes over the entire rest of the play. Yanagi is the one to lob a return, the only sign he’s surprised being the patch of sweat underneath the armpit of his t-shirt now.
Niou can play.
Niou glides on the court, he doesn’t run. His racket arm seems to have a mind of its own, and Kirihara nods, remembering the feeling of it- the surrealness of playing tennis and just having your body guide you because your mind is just…there, but not at the same time. Maybe like an out of body thing.
Niou taps the ball with his racket. Behind Kirihara, Marui is the first to yell out, “My tight-rope-walking ball!”
Sure enough, the ball rolls across the net. Yagyuu can’t do anything with the ball rolling back and forth, back and forth. There’s no telling when it’ll fall.
15-15, Niou-Kirihara pair.
Niou’s next ball makes Marui yell out a second time. Kirihara’s feet are practically cemented to the baseline after his serves. Only Yagyuu and Niou play: Yagyuu, red-faced and sweating so hard that fat drops fall from his forehead to the clay court. Niou’s eyes are huge and directionless as he jumps up, jack-knifing the ball right between Yagyuu’s legs.
30-15, Niou-Kirihara pair.
Match point sends a shiver through Kirihara. The ball feels heavy in his hand and he hesitates, doing nothing more than feeling the yellow fuzz with his fingertips. He’s hot and blood pounds through his veins. The courts echo with the talk of the crowds and the urgent flailing of the girls at the fence. Niou is at the edge of the court, toward the middle and encroaching on Kirihara’s space. For once, Kirihara doesn’t mind.
Seeing Niou there, with his hair whipping up after it fell out of his rat tail, seeing Niou as tall as he can be and as confident as he stands, his racket at his side like an extension of his arm, it makes Kirihara’s heart thump, just that six percent more than a regular game would.
He sets up a serve, then steps back.
It’s your game, senpai, he thinks. Do your best!
Yagyuu volleys.
Niou…Niou brings his arm down even lower and twists his racket up. He split-steps, stealing Kirihara’s technique, which makes Kirihara pout before he realizes what the heck Niou is doing.
“My post-ball!” Marui yells.
Sure enough, with a ping, the ball bounces off the post. For the briefest moment, everything is suspended as the ball shoots up, the direction completely unknown.
Kirihara has seen Yanagi return Marui’s shots a dozen times before, easily. He’s seen Yanagi’s mouth moves as he gauges the angle of the shot, and he’s seen Yanagi dart left or right or wherever he needs to before he swings.
The ball flies over Yagyuu’s head, right toward the back of the court.
Yagyuu whips his head around. Yanagi holds out his racket, moving a half-step
…in the wrong direction!
The ball falls softly, squarely, to Yanagi’s left side. He looks down at the ball, then over to Yukimura and Sanada, smiling slightly. Yagyuu’s mouth forms a tight line as the ref calls out, “Game, 6-4! Won by Niou-Kirihara pair!”
Kirihara stares out blankly as the crowds start to peter out almost immediately. He has no idea what time it is, but the sun is a lot lower than it was when they started. Lines of varied shades of blue signaling sunset have taken over the sky. He looks back up as Yanagi and Yagyuu walk off the court. They may be defeated, but they’re both tall and proud anyway.
Niou stands exactly as he did hitting the shot- his arm tight to his body, his legs bent forward. Kirihara opens his mouth to shout, right when Niou’s legs crumple. He collapses forward.
“Senpai!” Kirihara yells. He runs over to Niou, kicking his racket out of the way to roll him over.
Niou’s stopped glowing. His eyes are closed. His mouth hangs open and a snore escapes his lips.
Kirihara snorts. Then, he realizes his hands are on Niou’s warm shoulders and his one thumb actually touches Niou’s neck, the skin sweaty and too hot and too real and it burns his fingertips. He recoils and scrambles to his feet.
Yukimura looks at him, then he looks at Niou. “You know we’ll expect him back at tennis tomorrow, Akaya.”
Kirihara nods. Yanagi steps up next and takes Kirihara’s hand in a firm shake. “Good game,” he says. His eye seems to twitch.
Kirihara blinks.
Was that a…wink?
Kirihara blinks again.
Did Yanagi miss that shot on purpose?!
But by the time Kirihara thinks to accuse Yanagi of throwing the game, Yanagi has turned his back to talk with Sanada on the way to the change room.
Yagyuu is last. He looks at Niou and inhales, his nostrils flaring out as he does. He says nothing, not even when Yukimura raises an eyebrow at him.
Yukimura leaves. The court is empty, all except for the three of them now. Niou snores, the rumble from his throat louder than the shrill hum of the cicadas.
Kirihara’s throat feels swollen and dry and full of cotton. Yagyuu keeps breathing. Niou keeps snoring. He has to ask.
“Are you ever gonna play doubles again with Niou-senpai?”
Yagyuu keeps staring at Niou for a beat or two before he turns. Pushing his glasses up hides his eyes when he says, “We’ll see about next year.”
It’s good enough, Kirihara thinks. The wind picks up and cools his skin a little. He takes a moment to relish the feeling and to give his legs and arms a rest from the workout of the game. At the gate, Yagyuu talks with his girlfriend, who stands there and nods and smiles at him, as if it didn’t matter whether he won or lost.
She’s still a stupid girl, Kirihara thinks. But maybe she’s an okay stupid girl…
He takes one last deep breath before he leans down, shoves his hands into Niou’s sweaty armpits and starts to drag Niou’s sleeping body off the court. It was easy with Yanagi when there were four of them. With Niou, there’s only Kirihara. If Niou’s backpack was heavy, then Niou himself is even worse.
Kirihara really should have known that.
***
It takes until everyone else has gone home for Kirihara to finish dragging Niou to the clubhouse. Kirihara heaves, pulling Niou’s arms. Then he takes a break. Kirihara groans, tugging at Niou’s ankles. Then he takes a break. His limbs are tired and heavy from the tennis match and no one bothers to help as they leave the clubhouse.
When Kirihara makes it to within ten feet of the clubhouse, Jackal stops. He’s dressed to go home, with his favourite bowler hat and t-shirt on, but like Marui, he’s still wearing his schoolpants.
“Not going to just leave him?” Jackal asks.
Marui glances over his shoulder back at Kirihara. He snickers to himself. “First time, they always fall asleep like that. Maybe he’s dreaming about guy-”
“No!” Kirihara shouts, cutting Marui off. He lets go of Niou’s ankle and his leg flops down to the ground, but he still doesn’t wake up. “It’s fine, senpais. I don’t mind. He could get…”
Kirihara thinks.
Jackal tips up the brim of his hat and raises his eyebrows.
Marui pops a bubble.
“…a sunburn!”
Jackal shrugs. “Yeah, I guess so. You just want to make him play that game he owes you, right?”
Marui keeps snickering. Kirihara nods emphatically. Close enough, he thinks.
Marui and Jackal were the last of his teammates to leave, although some of the regulars- well, Yukimura and Sanada- have stayed behind on the quiet courts to play their own matches. The lowered sun means the temperature will drop and Kirihara almost envies them, being smart enough to play evening games.
The familiar sound of balls being hit makes Kirihara linger a moment before he grabs Niou’s arms for the final stretch into the clubhouse. He digs his heels into the ground and pulls hard. Niou’s already scraped up enough and if he’s going to keep sleeping like this, then Kirihara will just keep dragging anyway. It’s the thought that counts.
The clubhouse may be out of the last afternoon sun, but it’s warm inside and smells like mouldy old tennis shoes. Niou’s feet catch on the threshold. He keeps snoring, sometimes catching his breath, but always returning to those deep breaths that make his chest rise and fall rhythmically.
Kirihara shoves Niou’s feet over the threshold and closes the door behind them. He steps over Niou’s arm and finds the window, cranking it as wide as he can to get some air inside before he flops onto a bench.
“Are you ever gonna get up?” Kirihara asks.
Niou lets out a soft snore.
Kirihara scratches his scalp and sighs. “I didn’t sleep that long the first time,” he grumbles. He pauses a minute before he goes back outside to grab their tennisbags. Yukimura waves to him absently as he sends a backhanded drive to Sanada’s far court. Kirihara waves back and picks up Niou’s tennisbag, slinging it over his free shoulder.
Twin unicorn charms jingle as he walks. One, then the other. One, then the other. But Yukimura and Sanada play hard when they play each other. They’d never notice something like the charms. They don’t notice anything except the game, really.
Niou is still sleeping when Kirihara closes the door behind himself a second time. He checks the air conditioning settings on the box under the window. It’s on, but the machine is too old to be working properly. Kirihara gives it a shove and plays with the digital buttons until the light goes off completely.
“Oops,” he mutters. “Oh well.”
Walking back to Niou, Kirihara hesitates. Niou’s hair is spread out on the clubhouse floor, a bit grey from the court clay dust, but other than that, kinda like last night. When he exhales, his lips pout just a bit. In his sleep, Niou must lick his lips because they’re kinda shiny, but in a good way.
It makes Kirihara lick his lips too.
He bends down beside Niou’s shoulder. Niou’s t-shirt has ridden up; Kirihara can see his pale stomach. His skin is smooth, bisected in the middle by a few dark hairs down from his bellybutton. Kirihara never looked in the showers before, but now, close enough to smell the faint melon fanta on Niou’s breath, he wants to look.
His belly tightens, all numb and warm at once and his dick twitches in his shorts. Shaking his head, Kirihara doesn’t try to make the feeling to go away, but he does kinda wish his heart wouldn’t flutter around his ribs like that and make it hard to think straight.
Or to think right.
“Right,” he says. “Right.”
Kirihara pokes Niou in the ear.
Niou keeps snoring.
Kirihara pokes him in the stomach. The skin gives and it’s soft to the touch and makes Kirihara even harder. The temptation is there to run his fingertips along Niou’s belly even more, but…but no. He can’t.
He pulls his hand away, then, with a flash of something Marui would call Genius, Kirihara slaps Niou’s cheek. “Tarundoru!” he shouts. “Get up, lazy a-”
The hand by Niou’s arm is suddenly grabbed and Kirihara lurches forward, falling down onto Niou’s mouth. Fingers wrap around his wrist, tight and warm and a bit sweaty. Teeth clack and noses bump and umph Kirihara can’t breathe for a moment because Niou’s face is pressed against his and…
Oh.
Oh!
And his lips are moving too, moving against Kirihara’s in some weird, awkward upside-down kiss that is wet and messy and Niou’s tongue slips over his top lip and gets awful close to his nostril, but that’s okay because the shivers it sends down Kirihara’s spine are just…
Awesome.
Niou pulls back long enough to sit up. He opens his eyes, black pupil obscuring everything as they reflect Kirihara’s shiny, open mouth.
Someone normal, someone not weird like this would stand up and tell Niou to go take a shower and get dressed and go home, but Kirihara…
If he can still play tennis- if Niou can still play tennis too, does anything else matter? Yukimura said that tennis was number one, everything else is secondary and…
Kirihara licks his lips again, pushing doubt away as he runs his tongue over his teeth. He looks at Niou, who looks at him with his hair wild all around his head and just...Kirihara doesn’t know what to think except, Niou-senpai deserves this.
Squashing the doki doki feeling in his chest, Kirihara presses his mouth to Niou’s.
I want him to deserve this.
Niou kisses him back. This time, they know it’s each other and this time, they are the right angle for tongues to part lips to slide over teeth and taste the wetness of each other’s mouths. Kirihara doesn’t really know what to do, so he goes with it and does what Niou does to him, the same things that are making currents of bloodshot feelings trace his arms, his legs, his head. His dick throbs, but his heart doesn’t anymore.
Not when Niou’s palm presses to his chest and pushes him onto his back on the floor. It’s hard, but so is Niou, something that makes Kirihara gasp when he feels that weird lump against his thigh.
Niou-senpai likes this…
Kirihara can hear himself moan, he can feel the vibrations in his throat as Niou’s tongue licks the side of his mouth. He pushes himself up against Niou, rubbing faintly and moaning again, louder still.
I like this too…
It’s like electricity pulsing through his body, making him rub and moan and part his legs a bit more. Niou has a knee between Kirihara’s legs and his hand is fisted in Kirihara’s hair. Kirihara pulls on Niou’s hair. It feels soft, too, and sweaty and gritty all at once. His other hand dives between their stomachs, searching out Niou’s skin, to touch it for real this time.
When Kirihara touches it, Niou gasps against his jaw. “Akaya!” he hisses.
Not Yagyuu, then.
Kirihara grins. He turns his head to the side, his hand stroking Niou’s stomach, feeling the contours as Niou sucks it in, like he’s a bit ticklish. Their mouths meet again, sloppy messy kisses turning into harder, deeper ones. Niou’s other hand wedges between their legs and brushes close to Kirihara’s dick.
He bucks, thrusting up into Niou’s leg. Niou, who pants in his ear, who licks the skin behind Kirihara’s ear where it’s sweaty and gross but Niou doesn’t seem to care because he keeps doing it, licking a hot, wet path down the shell of his ear before he bites the earlobe, hard enough to almost hurt, but soft enough to send another shudder through them both.
Niou’s hand wriggles under Kirihara’s waistband. But he hesitates, stopping under Kirihara’s navel, which only makes Kirihara squirm and groan and want more. Niou pulls back and looks down at Kirihara. Hair fans around his face, fluttering in the breeze coming through the window. He’s breathing hard, his lips shine with saliva and his eyes search Kirihara’s out, big and wavering and asking.
Kirihara hooks his leg around Niou. With both hands on Niou’s shoulders, Kirihara pushes him down. They kiss again, and a thrill rises through his belly when Kirihara feels Niou’s fingers slide down his stomach, down under his underpants and cup around his dick.
“Ah!”
He makes a sound, almost like a meowl as Niou starts to stroke him, thumb on his balls, fingers on his dick, one touching the end, slick with pre-come. It makes his head light and shudders wrack his body, make his legs shake and his hips buck. Kirihara stops kissing Niou back because he can’t think properly, he just holds Niou even tighter.
“Akaya,” Niou pants into his ear.
It’s enough for Kirihara to be able to touch Niou’s stomach again, wanting Niou to feel as good as he does, to feel these shudders that make him moan and arch his back, to feel the blood pumping through his veins, all over his body with wracks of pleasure. He sticks his hand between Niou’s legs and pushes at Niou’s shorts between the waves flushing through his own body.
Niou’s eyes go huge. Kirihara shoves the shorts away, and then Niou’s underwear too, groping until he feels Niou’s dick. Niou is like him, but different; he’s hotter and wetter and thicker. Kirihara fights back his own shuddering to tighten his hand, confidence growing with each moan Niou makes through his teeth. His eyes flutter closed and a sob escapes his lips.
Kirihara kisses it away.
It’s a fast, furious fumble, completely opposite to their endless doubles game. Legs bump and spread and squeeze together and Kirihara tries to hold onto Niou as much as he can, but the ache of his own dick, the rising waves in his belly make it hard and is he doing it wrong? Is a tennis grip good? If he twists his wrist is it bad?
“Oh god,” Niou whispers. He pants, his breath almost wet against Kirihara’s neck and no, it can’t be wrong for Kirihara to squeeze a little harder and thumb that spot near Niou’s balls because he can feel Niou’s legs shake and his own are too, but not as bad. Niou sucks in a breath, like he’s dying, and in a way, he is. His eyes roll back and hot come shudders through his dick. It only makes Kirihara’s grip falter before he squeezes too tight back and Niou grunts and then the hand on Kirihara’s dick slips too.
And he’s gone.
Like the State of Self-Actualization, the flash of blackness and the falling over the edge, unable to hold back anymore because it feels so damn good to let go, to let those shivering waves rush over and through his belly, spreading out as he shakes and shudders and moans and lets everything happen.
Like the State of Self-Actualization, Kirihara’s mind blots out exactly what happens until his breathing grows steady and calm once again and he realizes that Niou’s hair prickles his neck and his leg is cramped, slung over the back of Niou’s knee and his butt is sweaty, bare against the hard clubhouse floor.
It’s messy. And sticky when Niou peels himself away first.
They’re hot- it’s too hot here without working air conditioning. The light grows steadily dimmer through the window and the floor suddenly feels an awful lot harder and more uncomfortable when the first rush of air comes over Kirihara. His shorts are pushed down to his thighs and there’s come on his underpants- whose, he doesn’t quite know.
It smells like his musty sheets at home after one of those dreams, only combined with rotten gym socks. But unlike those dreams, Kirihara knows what just happened.
He looks at Niou, who looks away from him. Instead of wiping his hands off with a sweat towel (like Kirihara does), Niou unzips a pocket of his tennisbag and ties his hair back with a spare hair tie from inside it.
Then he looks at Kirihara. Huge pupils shine into his and Kirihara knows these eyes, they are the same from his dream, only now, he’s not afraid of being seen so deep that he feels naked.
Even though Kirihara’s cheeks blush, Niou’s gaze makes a warmth settle inside him.
“You’re like me,” Niou says.
A second passes before Kirihara nods. “I think so,” he says. When Niou scrunches up his forehead, skeptical with the narrowing of his eyes, Kirihara nods again, smiling lop-sided. “Yeah,” he says. “I guess I am.”
Kirihara makes a move to lean forward and prove it again when something slides out of his pocket. He blinks at seeing his dilapidated list sitting on the floor beside his outstretched hand.
Niou ducks his head and starts to laugh under his breath. “I owe you a game sometime, don’t I?”
“Yeah,” Kirihara says, his voice rising from the whisper of before and resuming its usual tone. He’s confident and smiling back at Niou when he says firmly, “Yeah senpai, you do.”
Niou touches his mole. Kirihara has the urge to lean over and kiss it. Did he kiss it before, so close to Niou’s lips it could be forgotten? His heart flies around between his ribs at the thought, like six percent more doki doki or something stupid and girly like that.
Kirihara feels like an idiot.
It feels good.
“Maybe I’ll self-actualize on you,” Niou says offhand. Except it really isn’t all that convincing because Niou’s underpants may be pulled back up, but his shorts are still bunched around his thighs. “Can’t let you become a lazy ass, Kirihara…”
Kirihara blinks.
“Were you asleep the whole time?” Kirihara asks. “Or were you tricking me?” He pokes Niou in the chest, which makes Niou wrap his fingers around Kirihara’s hand again, still sticky with come.
Niou smirks.
***
It takes Kirihara a week to realize something else.
Yukimura still owes him a game too.
Looking up from his LCD cell phone screen where a half-typed message to Niou reads do u want to go for yakiniku on, Kirihara starts to cackle.
“I’ll crush you, too, buchou,” he murmurs. In his pocket, his list sits warm and dog-eared, the names crossed off in perfect alphabetical order.
This game, Niou can come and watch him. The two of them, well…Kirihara thinks that it won’t be just himself making the regulars come September.
Kirihara laughs even louder.
Author: Ociwen
Wordcount: 36000
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Niou/Kirihara + others (if you squint)
Disclaimer: Konomi owns all.
Summary: In High School, Kirihara realizes that something is wrong when Niou stops showing up to tennis practice. Tennis, misunderstandings and Genius abounds.
Author's Notes: Written for pixxers in rikkai_exchange. Pixxers, I really hope you like this! Thanks to shikishi for the help.
[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5]
The changing room is on fire. Dozens of tennis club members talk at once, and the name on their lips is all the same.
Niou.
Before all of this, Kirihara knows that Niou would have adored it. He wouldn’t have said anything, but he’d have smirked and looked pleased with himself and taken extra long at stretches just to get tongues wagging about his tennis. This new Niou, well, Kirihara doesn’t know if he’d like all the attention when last week he was infamous and shunned from the club for liking guys.
Kirihara tingles all the way to his toes. He’s not nervous- not like Nationals games nervous- but his eyes are sharp as he runs a practice lap and works on a few lunges, just for a warm up. Niou wasn’t in the changing room this afternoon.
He wouldn’t bale, would he?
Kirihara looks down at his hand holding his racket. Hours ago, he was touching Niou’s skin with the same hand. Now he can barely remember the feel of Niou’s skin because his palm is slick with sweat already from the temperature. His mind wants to remember the touch, even if his body can’t.
Waves of heat flicker up from the clay court. Like this morning, no one else in the club plays their own games- not even Sanada, who stands and scowls and looks from Yagyuu to Yanagi to Kirihara, then back to Yukimura standing beside him.
Kirihara is alone on his side of the court. Marui and Jackal wave from his baseline, flashing him thumbs-ups when they aren’t searching around, just like everyone else, looking for that one last player.
The ref- this time another senior, but one who’s a regular, Nishiki- opens his mouth to say something right when the crowd of people by the fence part. The chain link door slams closed.
Niou smirks.
A pin could drop and be heard across the court from the silence that follows. Niou keeps smirking and he keeps walking towards the court. He stops and looks around at everyone. Marui’s bubble hangs from his mouth. Kirihara leans forward onto his toes, waiting.
“Puri,” Niou says.
The chirping of birds is the first sound, then the breeze rifling through the lime trees lining the pathway to the university buildings. Last is the tennis club, who resume their whispering and shuffling and coughing all at once.
Niou dumps his tennisbag by the net post, then he walks toward the baseline, right up to Kirihara. With his hand, he motions for Kirihara. “Go play net,” he says.
Kirihara nods.
As he settles his sneakers into the clay in front of the net and wipes a bead of sweat from his temple, Kirihara notices something glimmer in the corner of his eye.
Hanging from a side zipper of Niou’s tennisbag is the twin unicorn charm.
Kirihara laughs.
He can’t think of anything else to do.
Niou has the serve and they’re trailing by a game. He’s a southpaw, so he’ll serve towards the right side of the other court. Yagyuu is already standing there, ready and waiting, with Yanagi at the left baseline. Kirihara stands in the middle-ish. He’s not sure what Niou is going to do- set up a volley? Kirihara hates volleys, usually, unless he’s messing around with another player. He’d rather slam ball after ball into a court and play a fast and as hard as he can.
Something hums, a bug flying right by Kirihara’s ear. He moves his free hand to swat it away when he sees that no, it’s not a bug, it must have been the ball because Yagyuu’s swinging his racket and-
Gotta move, he thinks. Kirihara rushes to the other side of the court. It’s the wrong angle for a backhand or a poach, so he lobs it, unable to do anything else until he gets a good footing. It’s weird to hear someone else’s footsteps behind him, running and grunting and going for the ball. Kirihara is so used to playing by himself that he runs for the balls regardless.
“Kirihara!” Niou yells. Finally, he’s playing too.
Kirihara nods.
Right, doubles.
Kirihara dodges back to the net, right in time to catch Yanagi’s volley. He cradles it with his racket, sliding the ball over his racket strings to gather as much topspin as he can. Kirihara slugs it back, but to the right side, instead of the left.
Yagyuu ran left.
So did Yanagi.
Tricked them, Kirihara thinks as the point is announced. He licks his lips, pleased with himself. He takes a step around and back, digging his heels in. The ground is damp today and soft, which makes it hard to do much with his split-step. But then, there’s not much dust being kicked up this way, so it’s not so bad.
Niou’s second serve is a straight ball, a bit like Yagyuu’s laser beam, which makes Kirihara blink in surprise. It’s not as fast and it’s not special, but Kirihara manages to set up a smash. He jumps up with a big grin on his face- Yagyuu is too busy pushing his glasses up. Right when Kirihara makes his move, Yanagi rushes to the net, right in front of Yagyuu and punts the ball up.
The ball drops, mid-court between Niou and Kirihara.
15-15, Yanagi-Yagyuu pair.
“Shit,” Kirihara grumbles.
“That’s just how the game is,” Yagyuu calls out. He nods toward Niou, who just shrugs his shoulders and grabs another ball out of the basket for his next serve. Yagyuu doesn’t seem as angry this afternoon, but as soon as Kirihara hears the girly shouting and giggling by the fence, he can make a pretty good guess as to why.
Niou, too, doesn’t seem as angry. His eyes don’t spark with that steely ice of this morning. If he was playing to win when the game started, then now, maybe he’s playing for fun. Playing for real.
Kirihara bounces his head. That’s good, he thinks, if they could be friends again somehow.
Only, Niou’s next serve suggests otherwise.
He serves a lob, which Kirihara thinks is a bit weird, but then Niou is weird and he must have something up his sleeve. The ball arcs back toward the baseline, lost in the glare of the sunlight. Kirihara squints, searching for the ball like Yanagi, who darts left, then right, trying to judge where to hit it best from. Yagyuu moves along the net, bent low and ready to strike at any moment. He holds his racket loose and light in both his hands.
Yanagi swings wide; his ball is the sort that should start a rally. Kirihara runs for it out of instinct, but before he can use his backhand, he hears the scuffle of sneakers crunching into the clay. Niou makes a noise, and Kirihara can see him throw his racket into his right hand, stands up straight and stiff and swings his arm back.
The ball is so fast that Yagyuu doesn’t have time to move. It is a yellow streak through the air in the instant before it hits the fence, still spinning it imbeds in the chain link. Yagyuu yells and clutches his shoulder where the laser beam hit his bicep.
Niou says nothing, but as he tosses his rat tail over his shoulder, Kirihara can see that same hard look in his eyes from this morning. Niou-senpai wants to win, whatever the cost.
Yagyuu composes himself and brushes off the sleeve of his t-shirt. Kirihara can almost see a singed mark from the ball on the fabric, but it could just be the sun playing tricks. Sweat stings his eyes and makes it hard to see, even harder when the heat waves rise up from the court and obscure the opposite baseline. Still, Kirihara’s played tennis for so long that he could play with his eyes closed. He could play blind.
Just like that Fuji Shuusuke from Seigaku.
The phantom memory of loss pricks his insides for a moment before Kirihara shakes his head and shakes it off. That was a long time ago and high school’s different. Everything’s different.
Using the laser beam once scored them a point, but its Kirihara’s smashes that take the game. He grins and sends balls vaulting up and then behind Yagyuu’s shoulder, in his blind spot where Yanagi won’t take them. Yanagi is setting something up- Kirihara can see it in the quirk of his lips and it only makes him hit the balls harder because he wants Yanagi to do something more than patrol the baseline. It’s not even as though Yanagi and Yagyuu have divided up the court- front Yagyuu, back Yanagi, no it’s just like…
The ref calls out “Game, Kirihara-Niou, 2-2!”
Yanagi-senpai wouldn’t throw a game, would he?
Kirihara scratches his hair. It’s damp with sweat and feels like bugs are crawling through it, which only makes him itch more. The cicadas are louder than ever and buzzing from every direction. Yanagi and Yagyuu duck heads and they must be talking about strategy as they switch courts.
The games begin to alternate and Kirihara settles into an almost routine. He’s not pushing himself hard enough to Self-Actualize: he could, and maybe he should, but it’s not his game. Its Niou’s game. Niou wanted to play in the first place and Kirihara is happy to play, but doubles isn’t really his thing.
The court feels constricted with twice as many people. Kirihara has to be continually aware of where Niou is. He has to listen not just for the grunts from Yagyuu and Yanagi and the sound of the ball, the spin, the hollow bounces, but he’s got to listen too for Niou’s heavy breathing, his pants, the sound of his sneakers and the swish of his racket swinging. It’s twice as much effort and Kirihara can’t let himself Actualize because he’d lose that conscious effort he needs to stop from swinging too far back and smacking Niou in the knee or split-stepping into Niou when he wants to set up a play.
Yanagi, too, doesn’t Self-Actualize. But then he wouldn’t need to push himself as far to win either. He seems content to volley back and forth with Niou, then Kirihara, let Yagyuu lob, then go back to volleying later. He plays where he needs to with a little smile on his face, sweating only a bit on his forehead. When he lifts his arm high enough to catch Kirihara’s poach, Kirihara can see that Yanagi is barely sweating at all- his armpits aren’t stained dark like his own, or Yagyuu’s back, or Niou’s chest.
Kirihara can remember the first time he saw Yanagi enter the State of Self-Actualization. It was a game against Sanada in junior high and Yanagi conked out, right over the net. Kirihara and Niou and Marui and Jackal, too- it took four of them because Yanagi was the tallest back then!- dragged Yanagi’s corpse into the clubhouse where they scribbled over his face with Niou’s black marker.
Kirihara snickers, remembering the black eyes he drew on Yanagi’s eyelids. It must have taken a week for them to completely wash off. The laps were worth seeing Sanada’s face twitch, though. He almost laughed at Yanagi then!
Pong!
Another shot, another point for Yagyuu and Yanagi. It’s a rally of points and games: Yanagi and Yagyuu take one game with a laser beam from Yagyuu, then Kirihara and Niou take the next because Niou can return laser beams best with a counter laser- this weird, wonky shot that gathers all of Yagyuu’s speed and concentrates it into spin instead, which makes the ball curve randomly. Kirihara returns Yanagi’s shots, shooting to the far edges of the court and laughing when his senpais have to lunge and dive and scrape their knees up.
Yagyuu scowls at him.
But not as much as he scowls at Niou, who brings the match to 4-4 when he smashes the ball to Yagyuu’s blind spot.
“I thought you were ambidextrous,” Niou says, his voice low and kinda dangerous. Kirihara feels a fat drop of sweat slide down the middle of his back.
Yagyuu snorts. He pushes his glasses up his nose and rolls his shoulders around to loosen them up. “I see you’re playing serious, Niou-kun,” he says. “I’ll make sure to return the favour.”
Yagyuu steps up the pace of the next game- Yanagi to serve. Kirihara knows that Yanagi will sometimes wait for his opponents to mess up before he attacks and Yagyuu…well, Yagyuu will sometimes attack out of nowhere.
Kirihara’s at the baseline again, his favourite place because he has room to move around. Niou is at the net, wiggling his butt a little when Yagyuu wiggles his. Yagyuu darts right and Niou does too. Yagyuu shuffles back a foot. So does Niou. He’s mimicking Yagyuu and mirroring his shots. Yagyuu moves faster, he swings further and his balls barrel onto Kirihara’s side harder than even. Kirihara grins. This is the sort of thing he likes, when a player pushes themselves to the edge.
Yagyuu’s sweating hard, too, under the hot summer sun. A rally flies, back and forth, back and forth, but each time Kirihara goes for the ball, Niou barges in front of him and takes the shot- a backhand, a forehand, a poach, a lob: whatever it takes for him to be able to hit the ball, he does.
And Yagyuu takes his bait perfectly.
Niou scores points between rallies. Kirihara stops even trying to run for the ball much. He’s mirroring Yanagi in his own sort of way, just a token player at the baseline, holding his racket and watching Niou smash, watching Yagyuu lean down so low for a rising shot to counter it that he scrapes his shins up until they bleed. Niou grunts. Yagyuu groans. The air is filled with the smell of burning rubber from laser beams, careening off the court at rapid-fire rate. The air is filled with the smell of sweat and blood, too, and the occasional call from the referee.
Niou can still play tennis pretty damn good.
Game, Niou-Kirihara pair, 5-4.
Kirihara blinks. The crowds around the court titter, but the air has gone completely still, making everything even hotter. The sun hovers in the western horizon, bouncing off the junior high school building windows in the distance and multiplying the glare. When the words sink in to Kirihara’s brain that they have the advantage again, he pumps his fist.
“Go Niou-senpai!” he yells.
They switch courts. It could be the match game, for all Kirihara knows. It’s his serve and he’ll put what he needs into it in order for them to win. In order for Niou to win.
Yukimura has taken a seat at one of the few benches by the court. His legs are spread wide and his hands between them as he leans forward. As Kirihara sets his serve up, bouncing the ball a few times to get a feel for it, he sees Sanada take a seat beside Yukimura and whisper something in Yukimura’s ear before he resumes his scowl.
Niou-senpai is proud like Sanada-fukubuchou, Kirihara thinks. In his own way.
And it all makes sense to him, now, why Niou is playing. He doesn’t look proud, slouching and crouched by the net right now, but he is. Kirihara bites back a smile and nods once. Then, he squeezes the ball in his hand as tight as he can before he chucks it up into the air.
I’ll give him my knuckle serve.
His senpais know his serve, too, and it makes Kirihara tingle, all the way down to his toes, to see them wait a split-second, then scramble, left, right, back, front trying to figure out where the ball will go. It veers at an angle first, then back around, zipping past Niou’s side then over the net.
Yagyuu hits it, grunting through his return. He had to dash to get the ball just on the tip of his racket and his shot zooms toward Niou, low and skimming the net. Kirihara jerks forward, wanting to get the ball himself, but knowing Niou wants it even more.
Niou swings back and raises his right arm over his head. Breathing in as he hits the ball, he sends a left-handed laser beam to Yagyuu. Niou starts to smirk when Yagyuu’s eyes widen with surprise, because the laser beam is angled, too. Unless he wants to backhand it, Yagyuu has to move.
Kirihara moves along the baseline; his eyes never leave the ball, but they never leave Niou’s back, either. Niou’s t-shirt sticks to his back, shifting with his muscles as he readies himself for a volley from Yagyuu. He stands up to catch the ball when all of a sudden-
Yagyuu changes everything.
He’s not going for a volley.
He jumps up to smash.
Even Yanagi’s eyes flash and his jaw drops as Yagyuu slams the ball down, teeth bared and eyes blazing. There’s a noise, like something caught in the back of Niou’s throat. And he throws himself and holds his racket out in a futile attempt to get the ball. There’s no way Niou can make it- his reach isn’t long enough, but Kirihara can’t just stand there and watch Niou plow into the net the way he did himself once.
Kirihara runs, but it’s too late. The ball slams into the ground first, inches away from Niou’s racket. Niou slams into the ground next, dust clouding up around him.
There is dead silence for a second, then Yukimura clicks his tongue. The crowds start to shake their heads and mutter, “What an idiot” and “He wouldn’t have made that shot anyway.”
Niou doesn’t move. He just lies there, stretched out on the clay cloud as the dust settles around him. At the net, Yagyuu looks down, his glasses shining and his eyes huge and white behind them. He’s taken the first point of the game.
But then, Niou’s hand starts to twitch. And he pushes himself up onto his knees. Blood streams down the inside of his arms and the skin is all scraped up and dirty. Hair hides his face. His motions are slow and jerky, like a videogame robot. Niou raises his head, slow slow slow and Kirihara drops the ball he was going to serve.
Because Niou isn’t just standing up at the net again, blood oozing down his arms and legs and making the edges of his socks red. He isn’t just standing there with a blank, unfocused look to his eyes and a silly little smirk on his face.
Niou is standing there and glowing.
“State of Self-Actualization,” Yanagi’s lips mouth.
Niou starts to chuckle. Yagyuu blinks and sputters and he’s lost the edge he just had.
Something bursts inside Kirihara’s stomach and flutters out of his open mouth. He gapes, almost not believing his eyes because it’s true, but it’s just so…cool to see Niou with his hair flying up and that invisible sort of aura making him float as he walks back to the net and leans down to begin playing.
“Kirihara to serve!” the ref yells.
“Right,” Kirihara says. “Right.” He waves for another ball, unable to wrench his eyes from Niou just yet. Someone places a ball in his hand.
Niou just keeps on glowing.
Kirihara doesn’t need to use his knuckle serve at all, but he does. It’s built into him how to use it, automatic, even though all focus is on Niou. Kirihara serves, sure, but Niou takes over the entire rest of the play. Yanagi is the one to lob a return, the only sign he’s surprised being the patch of sweat underneath the armpit of his t-shirt now.
Niou can play.
Niou glides on the court, he doesn’t run. His racket arm seems to have a mind of its own, and Kirihara nods, remembering the feeling of it- the surrealness of playing tennis and just having your body guide you because your mind is just…there, but not at the same time. Maybe like an out of body thing.
Niou taps the ball with his racket. Behind Kirihara, Marui is the first to yell out, “My tight-rope-walking ball!”
Sure enough, the ball rolls across the net. Yagyuu can’t do anything with the ball rolling back and forth, back and forth. There’s no telling when it’ll fall.
15-15, Niou-Kirihara pair.
Niou’s next ball makes Marui yell out a second time. Kirihara’s feet are practically cemented to the baseline after his serves. Only Yagyuu and Niou play: Yagyuu, red-faced and sweating so hard that fat drops fall from his forehead to the clay court. Niou’s eyes are huge and directionless as he jumps up, jack-knifing the ball right between Yagyuu’s legs.
30-15, Niou-Kirihara pair.
Match point sends a shiver through Kirihara. The ball feels heavy in his hand and he hesitates, doing nothing more than feeling the yellow fuzz with his fingertips. He’s hot and blood pounds through his veins. The courts echo with the talk of the crowds and the urgent flailing of the girls at the fence. Niou is at the edge of the court, toward the middle and encroaching on Kirihara’s space. For once, Kirihara doesn’t mind.
Seeing Niou there, with his hair whipping up after it fell out of his rat tail, seeing Niou as tall as he can be and as confident as he stands, his racket at his side like an extension of his arm, it makes Kirihara’s heart thump, just that six percent more than a regular game would.
He sets up a serve, then steps back.
It’s your game, senpai, he thinks. Do your best!
Yagyuu volleys.
Niou…Niou brings his arm down even lower and twists his racket up. He split-steps, stealing Kirihara’s technique, which makes Kirihara pout before he realizes what the heck Niou is doing.
“My post-ball!” Marui yells.
Sure enough, with a ping, the ball bounces off the post. For the briefest moment, everything is suspended as the ball shoots up, the direction completely unknown.
Kirihara has seen Yanagi return Marui’s shots a dozen times before, easily. He’s seen Yanagi’s mouth moves as he gauges the angle of the shot, and he’s seen Yanagi dart left or right or wherever he needs to before he swings.
The ball flies over Yagyuu’s head, right toward the back of the court.
Yagyuu whips his head around. Yanagi holds out his racket, moving a half-step
…in the wrong direction!
The ball falls softly, squarely, to Yanagi’s left side. He looks down at the ball, then over to Yukimura and Sanada, smiling slightly. Yagyuu’s mouth forms a tight line as the ref calls out, “Game, 6-4! Won by Niou-Kirihara pair!”
Kirihara stares out blankly as the crowds start to peter out almost immediately. He has no idea what time it is, but the sun is a lot lower than it was when they started. Lines of varied shades of blue signaling sunset have taken over the sky. He looks back up as Yanagi and Yagyuu walk off the court. They may be defeated, but they’re both tall and proud anyway.
Niou stands exactly as he did hitting the shot- his arm tight to his body, his legs bent forward. Kirihara opens his mouth to shout, right when Niou’s legs crumple. He collapses forward.
“Senpai!” Kirihara yells. He runs over to Niou, kicking his racket out of the way to roll him over.
Niou’s stopped glowing. His eyes are closed. His mouth hangs open and a snore escapes his lips.
Kirihara snorts. Then, he realizes his hands are on Niou’s warm shoulders and his one thumb actually touches Niou’s neck, the skin sweaty and too hot and too real and it burns his fingertips. He recoils and scrambles to his feet.
Yukimura looks at him, then he looks at Niou. “You know we’ll expect him back at tennis tomorrow, Akaya.”
Kirihara nods. Yanagi steps up next and takes Kirihara’s hand in a firm shake. “Good game,” he says. His eye seems to twitch.
Kirihara blinks.
Was that a…wink?
Kirihara blinks again.
Did Yanagi miss that shot on purpose?!
But by the time Kirihara thinks to accuse Yanagi of throwing the game, Yanagi has turned his back to talk with Sanada on the way to the change room.
Yagyuu is last. He looks at Niou and inhales, his nostrils flaring out as he does. He says nothing, not even when Yukimura raises an eyebrow at him.
Yukimura leaves. The court is empty, all except for the three of them now. Niou snores, the rumble from his throat louder than the shrill hum of the cicadas.
Kirihara’s throat feels swollen and dry and full of cotton. Yagyuu keeps breathing. Niou keeps snoring. He has to ask.
“Are you ever gonna play doubles again with Niou-senpai?”
Yagyuu keeps staring at Niou for a beat or two before he turns. Pushing his glasses up hides his eyes when he says, “We’ll see about next year.”
It’s good enough, Kirihara thinks. The wind picks up and cools his skin a little. He takes a moment to relish the feeling and to give his legs and arms a rest from the workout of the game. At the gate, Yagyuu talks with his girlfriend, who stands there and nods and smiles at him, as if it didn’t matter whether he won or lost.
She’s still a stupid girl, Kirihara thinks. But maybe she’s an okay stupid girl…
He takes one last deep breath before he leans down, shoves his hands into Niou’s sweaty armpits and starts to drag Niou’s sleeping body off the court. It was easy with Yanagi when there were four of them. With Niou, there’s only Kirihara. If Niou’s backpack was heavy, then Niou himself is even worse.
Kirihara really should have known that.
***
It takes until everyone else has gone home for Kirihara to finish dragging Niou to the clubhouse. Kirihara heaves, pulling Niou’s arms. Then he takes a break. Kirihara groans, tugging at Niou’s ankles. Then he takes a break. His limbs are tired and heavy from the tennis match and no one bothers to help as they leave the clubhouse.
When Kirihara makes it to within ten feet of the clubhouse, Jackal stops. He’s dressed to go home, with his favourite bowler hat and t-shirt on, but like Marui, he’s still wearing his schoolpants.
“Not going to just leave him?” Jackal asks.
Marui glances over his shoulder back at Kirihara. He snickers to himself. “First time, they always fall asleep like that. Maybe he’s dreaming about guy-”
“No!” Kirihara shouts, cutting Marui off. He lets go of Niou’s ankle and his leg flops down to the ground, but he still doesn’t wake up. “It’s fine, senpais. I don’t mind. He could get…”
Kirihara thinks.
Jackal tips up the brim of his hat and raises his eyebrows.
Marui pops a bubble.
“…a sunburn!”
Jackal shrugs. “Yeah, I guess so. You just want to make him play that game he owes you, right?”
Marui keeps snickering. Kirihara nods emphatically. Close enough, he thinks.
Marui and Jackal were the last of his teammates to leave, although some of the regulars- well, Yukimura and Sanada- have stayed behind on the quiet courts to play their own matches. The lowered sun means the temperature will drop and Kirihara almost envies them, being smart enough to play evening games.
The familiar sound of balls being hit makes Kirihara linger a moment before he grabs Niou’s arms for the final stretch into the clubhouse. He digs his heels into the ground and pulls hard. Niou’s already scraped up enough and if he’s going to keep sleeping like this, then Kirihara will just keep dragging anyway. It’s the thought that counts.
The clubhouse may be out of the last afternoon sun, but it’s warm inside and smells like mouldy old tennis shoes. Niou’s feet catch on the threshold. He keeps snoring, sometimes catching his breath, but always returning to those deep breaths that make his chest rise and fall rhythmically.
Kirihara shoves Niou’s feet over the threshold and closes the door behind them. He steps over Niou’s arm and finds the window, cranking it as wide as he can to get some air inside before he flops onto a bench.
“Are you ever gonna get up?” Kirihara asks.
Niou lets out a soft snore.
Kirihara scratches his scalp and sighs. “I didn’t sleep that long the first time,” he grumbles. He pauses a minute before he goes back outside to grab their tennisbags. Yukimura waves to him absently as he sends a backhanded drive to Sanada’s far court. Kirihara waves back and picks up Niou’s tennisbag, slinging it over his free shoulder.
Twin unicorn charms jingle as he walks. One, then the other. One, then the other. But Yukimura and Sanada play hard when they play each other. They’d never notice something like the charms. They don’t notice anything except the game, really.
Niou is still sleeping when Kirihara closes the door behind himself a second time. He checks the air conditioning settings on the box under the window. It’s on, but the machine is too old to be working properly. Kirihara gives it a shove and plays with the digital buttons until the light goes off completely.
“Oops,” he mutters. “Oh well.”
Walking back to Niou, Kirihara hesitates. Niou’s hair is spread out on the clubhouse floor, a bit grey from the court clay dust, but other than that, kinda like last night. When he exhales, his lips pout just a bit. In his sleep, Niou must lick his lips because they’re kinda shiny, but in a good way.
It makes Kirihara lick his lips too.
He bends down beside Niou’s shoulder. Niou’s t-shirt has ridden up; Kirihara can see his pale stomach. His skin is smooth, bisected in the middle by a few dark hairs down from his bellybutton. Kirihara never looked in the showers before, but now, close enough to smell the faint melon fanta on Niou’s breath, he wants to look.
His belly tightens, all numb and warm at once and his dick twitches in his shorts. Shaking his head, Kirihara doesn’t try to make the feeling to go away, but he does kinda wish his heart wouldn’t flutter around his ribs like that and make it hard to think straight.
Or to think right.
“Right,” he says. “Right.”
Kirihara pokes Niou in the ear.
Niou keeps snoring.
Kirihara pokes him in the stomach. The skin gives and it’s soft to the touch and makes Kirihara even harder. The temptation is there to run his fingertips along Niou’s belly even more, but…but no. He can’t.
He pulls his hand away, then, with a flash of something Marui would call Genius, Kirihara slaps Niou’s cheek. “Tarundoru!” he shouts. “Get up, lazy a-”
The hand by Niou’s arm is suddenly grabbed and Kirihara lurches forward, falling down onto Niou’s mouth. Fingers wrap around his wrist, tight and warm and a bit sweaty. Teeth clack and noses bump and umph Kirihara can’t breathe for a moment because Niou’s face is pressed against his and…
Oh.
Oh!
And his lips are moving too, moving against Kirihara’s in some weird, awkward upside-down kiss that is wet and messy and Niou’s tongue slips over his top lip and gets awful close to his nostril, but that’s okay because the shivers it sends down Kirihara’s spine are just…
Awesome.
Niou pulls back long enough to sit up. He opens his eyes, black pupil obscuring everything as they reflect Kirihara’s shiny, open mouth.
Someone normal, someone not weird like this would stand up and tell Niou to go take a shower and get dressed and go home, but Kirihara…
If he can still play tennis- if Niou can still play tennis too, does anything else matter? Yukimura said that tennis was number one, everything else is secondary and…
Kirihara licks his lips again, pushing doubt away as he runs his tongue over his teeth. He looks at Niou, who looks at him with his hair wild all around his head and just...Kirihara doesn’t know what to think except, Niou-senpai deserves this.
Squashing the doki doki feeling in his chest, Kirihara presses his mouth to Niou’s.
I want him to deserve this.
Niou kisses him back. This time, they know it’s each other and this time, they are the right angle for tongues to part lips to slide over teeth and taste the wetness of each other’s mouths. Kirihara doesn’t really know what to do, so he goes with it and does what Niou does to him, the same things that are making currents of bloodshot feelings trace his arms, his legs, his head. His dick throbs, but his heart doesn’t anymore.
Not when Niou’s palm presses to his chest and pushes him onto his back on the floor. It’s hard, but so is Niou, something that makes Kirihara gasp when he feels that weird lump against his thigh.
Niou-senpai likes this…
Kirihara can hear himself moan, he can feel the vibrations in his throat as Niou’s tongue licks the side of his mouth. He pushes himself up against Niou, rubbing faintly and moaning again, louder still.
I like this too…
It’s like electricity pulsing through his body, making him rub and moan and part his legs a bit more. Niou has a knee between Kirihara’s legs and his hand is fisted in Kirihara’s hair. Kirihara pulls on Niou’s hair. It feels soft, too, and sweaty and gritty all at once. His other hand dives between their stomachs, searching out Niou’s skin, to touch it for real this time.
When Kirihara touches it, Niou gasps against his jaw. “Akaya!” he hisses.
Not Yagyuu, then.
Kirihara grins. He turns his head to the side, his hand stroking Niou’s stomach, feeling the contours as Niou sucks it in, like he’s a bit ticklish. Their mouths meet again, sloppy messy kisses turning into harder, deeper ones. Niou’s other hand wedges between their legs and brushes close to Kirihara’s dick.
He bucks, thrusting up into Niou’s leg. Niou, who pants in his ear, who licks the skin behind Kirihara’s ear where it’s sweaty and gross but Niou doesn’t seem to care because he keeps doing it, licking a hot, wet path down the shell of his ear before he bites the earlobe, hard enough to almost hurt, but soft enough to send another shudder through them both.
Niou’s hand wriggles under Kirihara’s waistband. But he hesitates, stopping under Kirihara’s navel, which only makes Kirihara squirm and groan and want more. Niou pulls back and looks down at Kirihara. Hair fans around his face, fluttering in the breeze coming through the window. He’s breathing hard, his lips shine with saliva and his eyes search Kirihara’s out, big and wavering and asking.
Kirihara hooks his leg around Niou. With both hands on Niou’s shoulders, Kirihara pushes him down. They kiss again, and a thrill rises through his belly when Kirihara feels Niou’s fingers slide down his stomach, down under his underpants and cup around his dick.
“Ah!”
He makes a sound, almost like a meowl as Niou starts to stroke him, thumb on his balls, fingers on his dick, one touching the end, slick with pre-come. It makes his head light and shudders wrack his body, make his legs shake and his hips buck. Kirihara stops kissing Niou back because he can’t think properly, he just holds Niou even tighter.
“Akaya,” Niou pants into his ear.
It’s enough for Kirihara to be able to touch Niou’s stomach again, wanting Niou to feel as good as he does, to feel these shudders that make him moan and arch his back, to feel the blood pumping through his veins, all over his body with wracks of pleasure. He sticks his hand between Niou’s legs and pushes at Niou’s shorts between the waves flushing through his own body.
Niou’s eyes go huge. Kirihara shoves the shorts away, and then Niou’s underwear too, groping until he feels Niou’s dick. Niou is like him, but different; he’s hotter and wetter and thicker. Kirihara fights back his own shuddering to tighten his hand, confidence growing with each moan Niou makes through his teeth. His eyes flutter closed and a sob escapes his lips.
Kirihara kisses it away.
It’s a fast, furious fumble, completely opposite to their endless doubles game. Legs bump and spread and squeeze together and Kirihara tries to hold onto Niou as much as he can, but the ache of his own dick, the rising waves in his belly make it hard and is he doing it wrong? Is a tennis grip good? If he twists his wrist is it bad?
“Oh god,” Niou whispers. He pants, his breath almost wet against Kirihara’s neck and no, it can’t be wrong for Kirihara to squeeze a little harder and thumb that spot near Niou’s balls because he can feel Niou’s legs shake and his own are too, but not as bad. Niou sucks in a breath, like he’s dying, and in a way, he is. His eyes roll back and hot come shudders through his dick. It only makes Kirihara’s grip falter before he squeezes too tight back and Niou grunts and then the hand on Kirihara’s dick slips too.
And he’s gone.
Like the State of Self-Actualization, the flash of blackness and the falling over the edge, unable to hold back anymore because it feels so damn good to let go, to let those shivering waves rush over and through his belly, spreading out as he shakes and shudders and moans and lets everything happen.
Like the State of Self-Actualization, Kirihara’s mind blots out exactly what happens until his breathing grows steady and calm once again and he realizes that Niou’s hair prickles his neck and his leg is cramped, slung over the back of Niou’s knee and his butt is sweaty, bare against the hard clubhouse floor.
It’s messy. And sticky when Niou peels himself away first.
They’re hot- it’s too hot here without working air conditioning. The light grows steadily dimmer through the window and the floor suddenly feels an awful lot harder and more uncomfortable when the first rush of air comes over Kirihara. His shorts are pushed down to his thighs and there’s come on his underpants- whose, he doesn’t quite know.
It smells like his musty sheets at home after one of those dreams, only combined with rotten gym socks. But unlike those dreams, Kirihara knows what just happened.
He looks at Niou, who looks away from him. Instead of wiping his hands off with a sweat towel (like Kirihara does), Niou unzips a pocket of his tennisbag and ties his hair back with a spare hair tie from inside it.
Then he looks at Kirihara. Huge pupils shine into his and Kirihara knows these eyes, they are the same from his dream, only now, he’s not afraid of being seen so deep that he feels naked.
Even though Kirihara’s cheeks blush, Niou’s gaze makes a warmth settle inside him.
“You’re like me,” Niou says.
A second passes before Kirihara nods. “I think so,” he says. When Niou scrunches up his forehead, skeptical with the narrowing of his eyes, Kirihara nods again, smiling lop-sided. “Yeah,” he says. “I guess I am.”
Kirihara makes a move to lean forward and prove it again when something slides out of his pocket. He blinks at seeing his dilapidated list sitting on the floor beside his outstretched hand.
Niou ducks his head and starts to laugh under his breath. “I owe you a game sometime, don’t I?”
“Yeah,” Kirihara says, his voice rising from the whisper of before and resuming its usual tone. He’s confident and smiling back at Niou when he says firmly, “Yeah senpai, you do.”
Niou touches his mole. Kirihara has the urge to lean over and kiss it. Did he kiss it before, so close to Niou’s lips it could be forgotten? His heart flies around between his ribs at the thought, like six percent more doki doki or something stupid and girly like that.
Kirihara feels like an idiot.
It feels good.
“Maybe I’ll self-actualize on you,” Niou says offhand. Except it really isn’t all that convincing because Niou’s underpants may be pulled back up, but his shorts are still bunched around his thighs. “Can’t let you become a lazy ass, Kirihara…”
Kirihara blinks.
“Were you asleep the whole time?” Kirihara asks. “Or were you tricking me?” He pokes Niou in the chest, which makes Niou wrap his fingers around Kirihara’s hand again, still sticky with come.
Niou smirks.
***
It takes Kirihara a week to realize something else.
Yukimura still owes him a game too.
Looking up from his LCD cell phone screen where a half-typed message to Niou reads do u want to go for yakiniku on, Kirihara starts to cackle.
“I’ll crush you, too, buchou,” he murmurs. In his pocket, his list sits warm and dog-eared, the names crossed off in perfect alphabetical order.
This game, Niou can come and watch him. The two of them, well…Kirihara thinks that it won’t be just himself making the regulars come September.
Kirihara laughs even louder.