FIC: We'll Always Have Kanagawa, YukiSana, NC17 (4/4)
Title: We'll Always Have Kanagawa (4/4)
Author: Ociwen
Rating: NC17
Pairing(s): Yukimura/Sanada + others
Wordcount: 26 000
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created by Konomi Takeshi. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Warnings: Everything you can possibly imagine. Not for the weak of heart-or of mind. Spoilers for 40.5 and the entire manga series.
Summary: Sanada is a girl. Yukimura kinda likes it.
Author's notes: This is related one-shot fic to Dénoument. The fics can be read separately, but they make more sense together. Written for Yukimura's birthday 2008. Happy Birthday Yukimura!
This fic has been truncated into 4 parts due to length. The parts are NOT chapters. [Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4]
Comments are most welcome.
4. Finale
The turning point is when Andy toddles into their room (well, main room, technically, but Yukimura had slid the door shut) in the apartment the middle of the night. Sanada is on his back. His legs are spread apart. His toes dig into the futon. Yukimura's tongue flicks his clit. Sanada groans and mewls.
"Er…" Yukimura says.
"Eep!" Sanada says.
"Too loud," Andy says.
They buy a house not too far from Kamakura, but the main train line is close. They have a koi fish pond (with a baby gate around the edges) and a garden in the front. They have two bedrooms and one door has a lock on it. There is room for the tv and a Wii and all of Yukimura's tennis equipment too. The house is Western-style and the roof doesn't leak.
Yukimura closes the front door behind himself. "I'm home!" he calls.
Silence.
"Hello?"
In the middle of the foyer, Number Two sprawls across the floor. He stares at Yukimura and slaps his tail on the floor. His eyes narrow. Yukimura curls his lip.
There is a clacking noise from the direction of Andy's room. Yukimura dumps his bag and peels off his sneakers. He shuffles through the hallway to peak inside.
Andy's curtains are drawn. He sits in front of a pasokon. His hands clack over the keyboard. His eyes are glued to the screen and his glasses slip down his nose.
"Is that new?" Yukimura asks.
Andy turns. His face is lit from the side with blue-ish light from the monitor. His lenses glow. "I set it up today," he mumbles.
Yukimura says, "Oh." His stomach sinks. "I thought we could set it up together."
Andy turns back to his computer game. The keyboard clacks. The screen bursts into white light from a game explosion.
Yukimura shuffles into the kitchen. His shoulder aches. He swung too wide on a shot this afternoon.
Sanada dumps a cup of rice into the cooker. Yukimura walks up behind him and nuzzles Sanada's neck. He kisses Sanada's ear. Sanada grunts.
"I'm thinking about going back to work," he says.
Yukimura makes a noise.
"There's a new museum opening up in Tokyo. They got my name."
Yukimura sighs against Sanada's back. Explosions and clacking punctuate the silence. He runs his hand up Sanada's front. The swell of his breasts never gets old. Yukimura still gets tingles down his spine and numbness in his dick when he feels Sanada's nipples stiffen under his clothes.
"We got a coupon in the mail," Sanada says.
Yukimura looks at the glossy paper on the table. "Tokyo DisneySea Park?" He flips the pamphlet over. Then he raises an eyebrow at Sanada.
Sanada flushes.
***
He has a week of freedom before his flight to Paris. Another year of missing Sanada's birthday to play the Roland Garros. Yukimura lies in bed. The curtains sway in the breeze. Sanada moves next to him, rolling onto his side, then his back. He rolls over to face Yukimura. In the darkness, his eyes are black and liquid. He smells fresh from the shower and his hair makes damp spots on the pillows.
This will be his last year playing pro. He hasn't told anyone, let alone Sanada. Andy Roddick retired two years ago. Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal last year. The circuit is filled with teenagers and twenty-year-olds now. Yukimura's knees sometimes creak in the weight room at the sports centre.
He's thirty-one. He's won five Grand Slams. He has a dozen Master's wins. Trophies gleam on the shelf beside Sanada's pet rock. A train rolls by. Its light shines through the window onto the wall.
The cat paws at the door. It howls. Yukimura grunts. It howls again. Sanada groans and crawls out of bed to let it inside. Nekochan Number Two pads across the futon and steps on Yukimura's arm.
Sanada's yukata rides up on his leg. Yukimura can see his pale skin in the dim light. He's half-hard already-he always is when Sanada sleeps next to him, his breasts pressed to Yukimura's back and a hand on his leg. Sanada kneels down and shoves Number Two off the futon. The cat slinks into the corner of the room and starts to lick its butt.
The yukata slips on Sanada's shoulder. He sits there silhouetted against the dimness seeping in through the curtains. A breeze ruffles his hair and Sanada sighs. He touches the top of his breast and the yukata slips lower. Yukimura swallows. Sanada's hands dip under the fabric. The yukata rustles. Sanada moans. His fingers move across his breast but his eyes are on Yukimura.
Yukimura starts to sit up. His cock swells harder. Sanada pushes him down and climbs over his thighs. His weight presses his weight down. He leans back and exposes his neck. Yukimura touches it. He pets the soft skin of Sanada's collar and pushes the yukata completely off his shoulders.
Yukimura strokes Sanada's side. Sanada gasps and squirms as his fingers dance along Sanada's side. "The cat is-"
Sanada snorts. He leans down and licks Yukimura's ear. His weight is heavier on Yukimura's dick-and Sanada knows it. He rubs his cunt on Yukimura's leg and makes Yukimura gasp. "Aren't you in the mood?" he murmurs. He touches himself between the legs. Yukimura's mouth is dry. Sanada closes his eyes and moans. Yukimura's dick burns.
"I'm always in the mood," Yukimura whispers.
Sanada smirks. Hair falls over his eyes-they are completely black. Yukimura shivers. He can feel Sanada's wet heat on his leg and it makes his body shake with anticipation. Sanada wiggles out of the yukata and throws it across the room. The cat's collar jingles, then it goes silent.
Sanada hums. He lays down on Yukimura and humps him. He rubs over and over. Yukimura calls him a tease. He pulls at Sanada's hair and they kiss. Hot lips part and Sanada's tongue tangles with his. It's wet and slimy and good. Yukimura hooks a leg over Sanada's to roll them over.
But Sanada pulls back. He shakes his head. Yukimura starts to speak. Sanada places a finger over his mouth. Yukimura bites Sanada's thumb. Tension rises in his belly. It numbs his balls and sets his dick on fire. He gasps again.
Sanada sinks down onto his dick and Yukimura's eyes roll back. Sanada squeezes and bounces on his cock. Yukimura watches Sanada's breasts jiggle and he comes.
After, Sanada lies on Yukimura's chest. His body rises and falls as Yukimura breathes. He combs the damp ends of Sanada's hair with his fingers. Sanada smiles against his skin.
Yukimura feels guilty for not telling Sanada. He doesn't want to ruin the moment.
Munich can wait.
***
His coach rails at him on the phone.
"Take a day off? Why would you do that? The French Open is in less than-"
"I know!" Yukimura snaps. "Just- one day. Tomorrow. I'll be into the centre in an hour."
"Fischer wants to know your answer by the week's end," his coach says. "If you don't accept the position, Tezuka will, or that German bitch Krauser."
Yukimura cringes. He frowns into his cellphone. "I know," he says. "I'm still deciding."
"The coaching's all in Europe and America. You don't have prospects in Japan if you want to coach tennis, Yukimura-kun."
Yukimura sighs. He presses end. He's heard this argument a hundred times before. Nothing left in Japan. Akaya will get the Keio coaching job when Nakayama retires in a few years. The rest are foreigners.
The only thing left is coaching high school tennis. Yukimura's eyes linger on the photograph on the shelf. Three twelve-year olds in dated yellow jerseys smile at the camera-or two do. Sanada turns and scowls. He's boyish and gangly in the photo. Yukimura's arm is around his shoulders. Yanagi holds the Rikkai flag.
There is no coach in the background, just a dozen older teammates.
Yukimura eats three doughnuts at the train station for breakfast, then he catches the next commuter train to the university campus.
***
An old injury comes back to haunt him. Yukimura's wrist burns during practice. He grinds his teeth through swings, but his racket slips during a smash.
He cradles his hand against his chest. The coach wraps it for him. Yukimura walks back onto the court. The days are warm enough outside. The sun shines down on his back and he squints.
"I can't practice with stupid deadlines," Yukimura mutters.
He pushes his body as far as it will go. His calves and gluts are on fire. The balls scorch the clay. The air is filled with dust and the damp-earth smell of spring. Yukimura takes a deep breath.
"BALL!"
***
A department store bag sits in the hallway instead of Number Two's sprawled body. Yukimura sets his bag down. He whips his sunglasses off and folds them into the pocket of his polo. He creeps up to peak inside.
"Don't!" Sanada snaps.
Yukimura looks up. He blinks. Sanada scowls. His lips pout. Yukimura kisses them.
"A present?" he asks.
"No," Sanada says. His eyes shift.
Yukimura grins.
They eat supper at the same time every night. Andy sits at the table across from Yukimura. His gameboy sings beside his bowl of wakame soup. He reaches for it, but Sanada slaps his hand.
"No playing during supper! Tarundoru!"
Andy glares at Sanada. His glasses are scummy. Yukimura asks how school was today. He glares at Yukimura too.
Yukimura sighs. He pokes at a flake of fried fish. It's fresh and creamy and melts in his mouth. He wonders if Germany has fish like this. His chest constricts.
Andy pushes his food away and says he doesn't like fish. He moves to grab his gameboy, but Sanada takes it away. "Eat," he says. "You need a bath soon and we have to be up early."
"Four am early?" Yukimura asks. He laughs. Sanada frowns-he doesn't get the joke. Yukimura adds, "You used to get up at four am all the time. Remember?"
Sanada's cheeks are red. He grumbles something that Yukimura doesn't catch.
When supper finishes, Yukimura asks Andy if he wants to play a game of tennis at the streetcourts. The night is warm and the sky is clear, violet-tinged on the horizon that disappears behind valleys of bamboo. A late crow caws in the distance. Yukimura's heart is heavy. Spring in Japan is his favourite time of the year-the warm salty breezes off the sea, wakame soup, watching cherry blossoms in crowded parks and eating the sweet fruits two months later. The world is alive again after a dead winter. It blooms with green promise. He presses his hand to the doorframe and swallows. His throat is thick.
Sanada asks if he's okay.
Yukimura nods.
Andy refuses to play tennis.
***
They wake up at five am.
Yukimura stuffs his face in his pillow. Sanada calls him a lazyass and rips the futon cover off his body. Yukimura shivers. His feet are cold. His back is cold. He curls up into a fetal position and groans.
A hand slaps the back of his head. Sanada yells at him again. Yukimura cracks an eye open. Every fluorescent light is on in the house. Through the window, the city sleeps. Yukimura envies them.
He chews the fried tofu for breakfast. Andy stares blankly at the wall. His glasses are crooked and his hair has a cowlick in the same place that Sanada's does. "I don't like Disneyland," he mumbles.
Yukimura doesn't either, not if it means waking up this early on his day off.
He pads to the bathroom. He slides the door open, but Sanada shouts, "Wait!" The shower isn't running. The sink faucet runs. Yukimura scratches his head.
"What are you doing in there?" he asks.
"Just…wait!" Sanada says. Something slaps skin and Sanada groans. Yukimura presses his ear to the door. Sanada opens it and he falls forward.
"It's DisneySea, so wear your swim shorts," Sanada grumbles. "I packed lunch."
***
Yukimura drives. He yawns and steers with one hand. In the rear-view mirror he can see Andy's head hung low as he plays with his gameboy. Sanada sits beside Yukimura up front. He keeps scratching his neck. His breasts bounce when Yukimura drives over bumps in the pavement. Yukimura can't keep his eyes on the road for too long at a time.
Whatever bra Sanada wears today, he likes it. Yukimura smiles.
They probably could have taken the direct bus from Yokohama station-or even the train-but Yukimura likes driving. He rolls his window down a crack. Wind rushes over his skin. His seatbelt whips on his shoulder. Sanada complains that he's cold, but the goosepimples breaking out on Yukimura's arm remind him that he's alive.
He can forget about Munich and retirement and everything else right now. He presses the gas harder and signals to change lanes. A sign announces the Disneyworld ramp. Yukimura squints ahead. Cars stream off the expressway. He joins the line.
The theme park is expensive. Yukimura pulls his sunglasses down over his eyes. He's recognized anywhere he goes. It's sort of irritating to be out with Sanada or Andy (or both) and having girls walk up to him and insist on photos and autographs and handshakes. But he's used to it.
The clerk at the ticket counter asks if he's that famous tennis player. Yukimura sniffs. "Yeah," he says, "that's me."
The clerk gives them an extra discount. Sanada mutters that it's not right, but Yukimura smiles and says thanks.
He's been to Disneyland once when he was a kid. Just before he got sick, his parents took him and his sister. Yukimura remembers the costumed characters and the feeling of weightlessness in the Tower of Terror, but not much more. It's different now with his own kid.
He holds Sanada's hand and squeezes. Sanada looks at him. He wears his ratty old black cap, but Yukimura can see the smile on Sanada's lips.
"Where do you want to go first?" he asks.
Andy looks up from his gameboy. He wears a Gekiranger t-shirt and flip-flop sandals. He gives Yukimura a long, hard stare. "I don't like Disneyland," he says.
Sanada frowns. Yukimura looks at the map. Sanada grabs Andy's hand ("I don't want some gaijin pedophile-" Sanada starts to say until Yukimura laughs at him). The entire park is colourful and busy and filled with people. They buy expensive ice-creams and a cheesy hat with ears. Andy says he doesn't like it. Sanada scowls.
They go on little boat rides through the man-made lakes and canals. Yukimura pretends to ooh and ahh at waterfalls and Venetian gondoliers floating by. They walk through underground caverns filled with aquariums. Sting rays lurk along the bottom. Sanada presses his hand up to the glass.
Andy plays with his gameboy. Sanada takes it away and he cries. "It'll rot your brain," he says.
"I don't care."
"I do. We're going swimming today."
"I hate swimming."
"Too bad," Sanada says.
On a bench beside a hibiscus bush, they eat picnic bentos. Sanada picks at the rice. Yukimura chows down on a cold tonkatsu cutlet. Andy slurps his juicebox and pouts. Sanada excuses himself to go to the washroom.
"Can I have my gameboy?" Andy asks. He sniffles. His chin trembles. His glasses hang off the end of his nose. "Please Dad…?"
Guilt pricks Yukimura's chest. He hesitates. He unwraps a melon pan and offers Andy a piece. Andy shakes his head.
A shadow looms over them. Yukimura looks up. His jaw drops.
Sanada wears a bikini top-a white bikini top that is tied around his neck. His nipples poke through the thin fabric. Yukimura's mouth is dry. His shorts feel tight. He stiffens and sits up straight.
"Don't say anything," Sanada mutters.
Yukimura shakes his head.
"It's a water park," Sanada grumbles. "So…" His face is red under his cap. He slathered his arms in sunscreen when they first got to the parking lot. Now, he asks Yukimura to do his back.
Yukimura's hands shake on Sanada's back. He rubs the sunscreen across Sanada's skin. He is warm and buttery and smooth. He rubs the cream around Sanada's neck. Sanada leans back into Yukimura's hands. Yukimura bites his lip. If Andy wasn't here-if no one walked by, he might…
Sanada's shoulders tense. "That's good," he says.
Yukimura has a dry mouth all afternoon. Sanada looks increasingly awkward. They walk past the Arabian section a third time. There is no beach around. The walk through the Mermaid Lagoon. There is no beach there either. Sanada walks with an awkward gait, like there is something in his underpants.
Andy asks if Sanada has a wedgie.
Yukimura whispers to ask Sanada if it's that time of the-
"No!" he shouts.
Andy agrees to go on the Flying Fish Coaster. Yukimura squeezes himself into the seat beside Andy. His knees press against the bar. The attendant asks him if he's the famous Yukimura who plays tennis.
"Yes," Yukimura says. He frowns.
The sun is hotter. They walk past the main gates. Sanada walks bow-legged. Yukimura scuffs his sandals. He looks at his watch. Steam rises from the bushes and blooming azalea beds. His back is sweaty.
Sanada is the only woman in a bathing suit. Two teenagers walk by and whisper about the dumb woman in a bikini and ugly shorts. Yukimura looks at Sanada's shorts. He recognizes them as an old pair from when they played tennis in junior high school. They strain over Sanada's bum. Yukimura's mouth twitches.
"I don't think there's actually a swimming pool here," he says.
Sanada purses his lips. For a long moment, he is quiet. Then he says, "Oh."
***
His cellphone buzzes when Sanada packs the bags into the Toyota trunk. Yukimura flips it open. It's a message from Marui.
omg might have chevy! guy near utsunomiya has an 84 pickup he imported. wish me luck!!! (^-^)v
Yukimura laughs.
***
He drives along the expressway that runs beside the ocean. Sanada stares out the window in silence. He pouts. Yukimura can see it in his side-mirror. Andy plays with his gameboy, but the whipping wind drowns out his music. He puts in a pair of earbuds. Yukimura rolls his window down more. He can taste the salt in the air.
The sun casts a golden shadow over the water. Yukimura drives past their exit. Sanada asks where he's going. Yukimura smiles. He turns. Sanada's forehead is scrunched up. His skin is tanned from the sun today-the white of his bikini top contrasts with his skin.
"Let's go to the beach," Yukimura says. He pulls off onto the first sign for a beach that he sees. The beach isn't too busy-people are leaving, not arriving. Seagulls swarm in the air above. Their squawking and the rush of the waves are the only thing Yukimura hears. He takes a deep breath and peels his sandals off.
Sanada looks at him.
Yukimura takes off his t-shirt. He tosses it down onto the sand beside his sandals. The sand is cool and dry and a little pebbly. Andy looks up at the ocean and then he looks at Yukimura. With a shrug, he sets down his gameboy on Yukimura's t-shirt. He creeps up to the edge of the water. Sanada shouts. Yukimura touches Sanada's arm.
"Look," he says.
Andy sits near the surf-but not too close. He stares at the sand for a long time. Yukimura can't remember if Andy has ever been to a beach. Yukimura's gone so often for tennis he doesn't ask Sanada what they do when he's not there. Yukimura holds his breath. Andy scoops sand into a pile.
"He's building a castle," Yukimura says.
Sanada's shoulders sink. He stops biting his lip. He nods. Yukimura strokes Sanada's arm. The hairs on Sanada's skin stand up. His hair lifts up. Sanada looks at his feet. He might be blushing. It might just be the warm glow of the sun: Yukimura's face feels warm too.
Sanada's sandals join the pile. The beach is nearly empty. The sun is low in the sky, but there is plenty of daylight left. The light reflects on the cement apartment blocks clustering the far end of the bay, and it multiplies.
Sanada steps out of his shorts. He exhales. He clears his throat. Yukimura stares at his body. He can't not. The bikini is small and Sanada's hips look wide. Yukimura wants to run his hands over Sanada's curves and peel the bikini off. He hasn't seen Sanada's navel exposed in public…ever.
His belly tightens. His cock swells. Yukimura drags his eyes to Sanada's face. Sanada's cheeks are red. "I…had a shaving…accident," he says.
Yukimura blinks. "Eh?"
"Down…" Sanada nods down.
Yukimura's eyes widen. "Oh. That's why…?"
Sanada nods once.
"You didn't need to," Yukimura says.
Sanada frowns. "Jackal said-"
"Yeah, but Jackal…" Yukimura shakes his head. "I don't care. Besides," he says. "You look good."
Sanada raises an eyebrow. His cap rides up on his forehead.
Yukimura pokes Sanada in the side. Sanada gasps and shrieks. Yukimura laughs. "It's true," he says. He tackles Sanada and Sanada stumbles. They fall onto the sand laughing. Yukimura hooks his knee around Sanada's calf. He rubs up on Sanada's hips. Sanada says no, Andy is right over there, but Yukimura licks his jaw.
"I'm not going to do anything here," he murmurs. He bites Sanada's earlobe. Sanada hisses. His nipples harden on Yukimura's chest. Yukimura wraps an arm around Sanada's shoulders. He sighs.
Is this the last summer we'll be here…?
Yukimura exhales, but the tension doesn't leave his belly. He touches the rise of Sanada's bum. Sanada hums and pokes a hole in the sand beside Yukimura's arm.
They walk along the beach and hold hands. Yukimura's feet sink into the sand. The water laps at Sanada's ankles. Andy digs a hole and it fills with the foaming surf. Yukimura slides his hand around Sanada's waist. His body feels good-warm and solid. He's been pregnant once since Andy was born, but that only lasted a month or two. It's never happened since. His body doesn’t show the scars, only a faint bruise on the swell of his left breast.
Yukimura smiles. He probably made that bruise. Tonight, he can kiss it away.
He wonders-sometimes-if Sanada is happy like this. He never asks. Sanada never says. He wonders if Sanada would agree to Munich. The pay is a lot. They want Yukimura. Here…
Here is home.
Yukimura's chest has a cramp. He stumbles on a piece of beach glass. Andy runs over and picks it up. Sanada leans into his side and looks out over the ocean.
They drive home. Yukimura still doesn't know how to say it, so he says nothing.
***
Paris smells like fried tomatoes and onions and strange floral herbs. Yukimura doesn't like it. He cranks the windows open because the hotel room is stuffy. He sighs. It's past ten and jet lag has settled into his body. Paris, however, is alive. The hotel overlooks a stony courtyard and women cook supper across the way.
He wants to sleep.
His body twitches.
The coos of pigeons and loud shouting keep him awake. Strains of Edith Piaf warble and the breeze filters through the tall slate roofs. Yukimura feels like shit. The flight was bumpy. He has gas. He presses a hand on his belly and pokes the skin. His stomach churns.
It's five in the morning in Kanagawa. Sanada is at home with Andy. They are both asleep. Yukimura stares at the ceiling. He has practice at the stadium at nine tomorrow. His neck has a crick and the pillow is lumpy.
He won't sleep tonight, so he unpacks his suitcase. In the bottom layer he keeps his sketchbook. There are dozens of sketches inside. Yukimura flips through. His eyes linger on the pages. He can see Sanada turning his head away and flushing. He can see Sanada holding a hand up to his stomach. He can see Sanada straining and gasping and the sweat beads in the valley between his breasts. Yukimura swallows.
He misses Sanada already.
His hands shake with the pencil. His lines are uneven. They waver over a clean sheet in the book. His pencil feels the curves of Sanada's waist. His pencil traces the line of Sanada's neck. His pencil shades the skin of Sanada's nipples. He can see Sanada clear in his mind, always. Sometimes Sanada is underneath him. Sometimes Sanada crawls over him with a smirk. Sometimes Sanada stands across the room with his back to Yukimura.
Yukimura puts the sketchbook back in his suitcase. He pulls his pants down and cups his dick. He rubs his palm over his cock until it hardens, but he's not really in the mood. He masturbates and thinks about Sanada.
Munich clouds everything. Yukimura rolls onto his side and sighs.
***
Japanese people all look the same to Parisians. Yukimura walks through the Metro station without sunglasses. His cell buzzes.
Message from Marui.
Yukimura steps aside to read it. The kanji are familiar. There are no strange words to strain over. He smiles. The Metro station has rubbish in the corners and billboards in French. Bare breasts and fashion labels are pasted to the walls. Yukimura leans against one.
can i borrow 50k? guy wants deposit on chevy asap and i cant get a loan atm.
ps. good luck kicking ass! dont tell Akaya i told him the same thing (.ω.)
***
He shakes hands with Fischer and says yes.
His body is numb during practice. The coach pulls him to the bench. "Your form is terrible," he says.
Yukimura nods. On the court adjacent, an American practices. A young kid with a powerful serve. Yukimura has seen it before. It’s a kick serve, but the kid cuts his follow-through short.
His eyes go wide. At the sideline, Andy Roddick nods to him. Yukimura jogs over. They chat about idle things-wives, weather, Paris and the good restaurant in the Montmartre area that they went to years ago together.
"Is this your player?" Yukimura asks.
Andy Roddick nods. "Yeah, Hill's good. You might play him this tournament, old man."
Yukimura raises an eyebrow.
***
He knows he's getting older. He's at the top of his game and there is no place left to go except down. He's terrified of the prospect of losing tennis. Yukimura pushes himself through ten-hour days until his muscles lock. His elbow won't bend. His knees shake. He needs to take care of his body, but he needs to win, too.
If this is Yukimura's last year, it needs to be his best.
Akaya is a familiar face, but he practices at a different time and on a different court. Yukimura meets him at the hotel to go out for dinner-his French is better. Akaya uses taxis to get anywhere. He still cannot read romanji very well.
They drink beer and eat fried steaks. Yukimura slides down in his seat. His ankle rolls. Akaya talks about the Keio coach and the lack of positions opening up in Japan. "I gotta think about my family," he says.
Yukimura nods.
"You heard about that Munich job?" he asks. Yukimura nods again. Akaya stares at him and then his eyes go wide. "Wait-you're not-"
"I said yes," Yukimura says. The fries in his stomach congeals. Grease coats his throat. The flowing French and smell of cigarettes and spilled wine gives him a headache.
"Does Sanada-senpai know?" Akaya asks.
Yukimura says nothing.
***
"Hi."
"Hi."
"What time is it at home?"
"Six. I just got up…no French?"
"I'm tired of it."
"You sound tired. Sorry for the-"
"No. We gotta talk."
Sanada says nothing. Yukimura twists the hem of his pajama shirt. His throat is closed up. His stomach is knotted. The mattress squeaks when he sits down.
"There's a coaching position…in Munich."
Sanada is quiet. He doesn't breathe. Yukimura swallows. "Sanada?"
"I'm here."
"…well…"
"Are you taking it?"
He closes his eyes. They sting. In the background, he can hear Andy moving around the kitchen and asking what breakfast is. Here, Yukimura can smell the fried food he ate for dinner. It seeps through his clothing.
"I said yes. The pay is good. Really good. Sanada, if you want to come-"
"Why wouldn't I?" Sanada snaps. "Did you think you would pack up and move across the world alone?"
Yukimura frowns. There's nothing left back home for me…but there's everything for you guys…
"I don't know," he whispers.
"When were you going to tell me this?"
Yukimura's voice catches.
Sanada hangs up.
***
Yukimura plays Hill in the semifinals.
He throws himself into his serves. He forces his body to work to the maximum: his thighs burn from the running. His arms vibrate and the ball slides across his racket, gathering a deep slice. Yukimura slugs the ball over the net. It was too much. It was too calculated.
The ball zooms to the baseline.
Hill has it in the bag. He wins the set, 5-7, 7-5, 6-4.
But Akaya wins the French Open. He screams his victory at the finals net and sweats blood. Yukimura smiles and sends a text to congratulate him. He smiles and claps, but his heart aches.
This will be his last year. He knows it now.
Fischer finds him at the tournament after-party. Yukimura nurses a glass of red wine. The tannins cling to his tongue and leave a sour taste. He nibbles on creamy cheeses and crisp baguettes and fois gras and fattening French food that turns his stomach. A waiter comes around. Yukimura holds his glass out for more wine.
"Everything is in place for you to start in September," she says. "Your coach knows about the visa procedure and he can forward all the documentation to us as soon as possible. All you need to do is sign."
Yukimura blinks. He gulps the glass of wine in three tries. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "And my family?"
Fischer blinks. She sets her glass down on a table. The rim leaves a red circle on the white tablecloth. "Oh. We didn't know if you were considering them."
"Why not?" Yukimura snaps.
"You told us last month they weren't a factor."
Yukimura sets his glass down. He walks into the bathroom and closes the stall door. He slams the wood and shouts, "Fuck!" His hand hurts. His head hurts. The wine swims in his vision. He sits down on the toilet seat and rubs his temple.
There is a knock on his stall door.
Yukimura opens it. He looks up. Andy Roddick looks at him.
"You all right?"
Yukimura says nothing.
"No one says you have to go to Munich," he says.
"There's nothing left in Japan," Yukimura mumbles.
Andy Roddick smiles. He taps the frame of the door. "Remember Rafa?" he asks.
Yukimura nods. "Of course."
"Well, he's back in Mallorca and I heard that he's opening up his own tennis school there. He was offered the Munich job last year and he said no because of his family too." Andy Roddick takes a deep breath. "Just so you know, Munich isn't everything."
***
Yukimura thinks about it on the flight to Narita.
The papers sit in his suitcase, on top of the sketchbook.
He chews on the package of peanuts. He watches a subtitled movie on the screen in the back of the seat in front of him. He touches the cellphone in his pocket. It's turned off. Sanada didn't call last night.
Yukimura doesn't sleep at all. He stares out the window and watches the blinding light of the atmosphere and the streams of clouds kilometers below. The wing of the plane reflects. A stewardess asks him to close his window. The rest of the plane is dark and sleeping.
Yukimura frowns.
His suitcase is empty of trophies. He's recognized by Narita customs. Yukimura pushes the sunglasses on and buries his face in the collar of his jacket. The coach leaves him at the baggage claim.
"We have Sweden coming up and then Wimbledon right after," he says.
"I'll be there Monday," Yukimura says. Today is Saturday-he thinks. The time change throws him off. Yukimura lives in a state of limbo half the time. The sun rises and sets and he jets off to another match. Sleep comes sometimes. The other times, he has little blue pills to help.
And then times like now, his mind races with a hundred thoughts as his body is sticky with lack of sleep. He bows his head and the coach leaves.
Yukimura can't remember if he drove the car or not. He sets his bags down and uses the washroom. He sits on the toilet and lets out a stream of gas. It might be time for a morning shit. He doesn't remember that, either. He leans on his elbows and takes a deep breath. He presses the buttons at the side of the toilet: the flush noise, the seat warmer. His butt sweats. He wipes and flushes and leaves.
Light shines through the huge glass windows of the Narita terminal. Yukimura follows the signs and drags his suitcase. His tennisbag is stacked on top. It wobbles. He fixes it and walks further.
Someone calls his name. Yukimura blinks. The air is damp and warm and smells fresh and clean. There are no fried tomatoes or lavender, just a Starbucks beside the tourist centre.
"Seiichi!"
Yukimura turns. He has a face full of someone who hugs him tight. Yukimura drops his suitcase handle. His hand hangs at his thigh until he smells the soap on Sanada's neck. He touches Sanada's waist. His heart throbs. He buries his face into Sanada's neck and nuzzles the soft skin where his collar pulls away.
Breasts squish against his chest. It feels good.
"I drove," Sanada says. "So you don't have to."
Yukimura naps in the car.
***
He wakes in the middle of the night. Or the morning. He doesn't know the time until he blinks. A clock on the dresser has red digital numbers that shine. 3:42am. A fan blows cool air over his body. His dick is wet.
Yukimura opens his mouth. His tongue is woolen and sticky. His dick is hard, too. He closes his eyes. He reaches out into the darkness, but there is no one.
"Genichirou?" he mumbles.
Something hums on his dick. Yukimura's eyes widen. Sanada's weight is heavy across his legs. Yukimura gasps. He thrusts into Sanada's mouth. He closes his eyes and bucks and his legs shake. Sanada keeps sucking. The tense coil in his belly is numb and set and loaded. The suction is tighter. There are hands on his balls, rubbing the skin. Yukimura groans and thrusts his hips. His belly explodes. He grunts and comes. Sanada pulls away. He grimaces.
Sanada crawls up beside him and takes off his yukata. They lie on top of the futon-both of them are naked. Sanada's skin is flushed warm. He kisses Yukimura's jaw. His nipples are hard and they poke Yukimura's arm. Yukimura shifts. He slings a leg over Sanada's knee and rubs a bit. His dick is sensitized, but soft. Sanada kisses him on the mouth.
Yukimura doesn't know how he could live without this anymore. He squeezes his arm around Sanada's side. His fingers stroke the skin stretched out over Sanada's back. He feels sad, but he doesn't know why.
They don't have sex.
***
There is no one home. Yukimura is clammy and gassy. The sunlight is harsh through the window, although the curtains are drawn. The light creeps underneath and floods a puddle on the tatami floor near his face.
Yukimura stumbles to the toilet to take a piss. He sighs as it hits the water. He shakes himself off and wanders into the kitchen.
The light on the telephone flashes on and off. Yukimura blinks. He microwaves a bento from the fridge (which he hopes Sanada left for him, but there was no note) and presses play.
There is low, smooth voice.
"I heard you needed a German tutor. Ore-sama would make sure you got some very detailed lessons, Sanada, hn? Give me a call at this number."
Yukimura's insides freeze. The microwave dings. He stares at the telephone until the door opens and Andy shuffles through the kitchen, followed by Sanada. Sanada asks if he's okay and did he find the food in the fridge.
Andy slinks off to his bedroom. As soon as his door closes, Yukimura unclenches his fist and slams it down on the table. "Why the hell was Atobe calling?" he hisses.
Sanada shakes his head. "I don't know! I don't- I haven't spoken to him in years."
Yukimura grabs Sanada's shirt and tugs. Sanada scowls. Yukimura curls his lip. He jerks his head to the phone. "Then how did he get our number!" he snaps. "Why they hell does he know-"
"I don't know!" Sanada says. His voice rises. He's almost yelling. Yukimura pushes him into the wall and bares his teeth. Sanada shakes his head. He shoves Yukimura in the arm. "Get off me!"
Yukimura slams his body into the wall. The table shakes. He wedges his knee between Sanada's and his dick brushes the inside of Sanada's thigh. He's hard. His heart races. Sanada's eyes are wide and black. They reflect his face: his tense jaw, his huge eyes, the thin set line of his lips.
Yukimura kisses him hard. Sanada pulls away and slaps his face. Yukimura shoves Sanada back into the wall. It thumps. He hisses no. Yukimura bites his bottom lip and Sanada moans. He rubs against Yukimura's erection. Yukimura tells him he wants it, he tells him he's a slut, he tells him he's going to fuck Sanada right here, right now-
"Andy's just-"
"I don't care," Yukimura says. He licks Sanada's neck and bites the skin of his collar. He sticks his hands under Sanada's skirt and lifts Sanada's leg over his hip. Sanada whimpers and slaps his shoulder.
"Do you want him to hear?" Sanada asks. Yukimura curls his lip. He rubs Sanada's underpants. They are damp. His dick stiffens harder. He slides his hand under the waistband of Sanada's underpants. His cunt is wet and hot.
Sanada groans. Yukimura rubs his clit with his fingers. Sanada sobs and bucks on his leg. Music from Andy's computer game drifts into the kitchen, but it doesn't drown the sounds of the wet slapping of their bodies as Yukimura fucks Sanada hard and fast and furious against the kitchen wall.
He bites Sanada's breast through his t-shirt. He comes in a shuddering gasp when Sanada squeezes around his dick so tight and so slick that Yukimura falls forward. They slump to the floor. A bag of apples spills open. Sanada pushes his skirt down. He leans forward to grab the apples. His eyes are shiny and so is the inside of his thigh.
Yukimura picks an apple up. He looks at it, then he hands it to Sanada. "I…"
Sanada nods. His throat bobs.
***
The coach tells him Fischer phoned to ask when Yukimura was faxing the documents.
He drives home after practice. He rolls down the window and screams into the wind rushing down the expressway over the hood of the Toyota.
There is a book sitting on the table at home. Yukimura picks it up. Andy shrugs. "Mom bought it," he says.
Yukimura reads the title, Learn to Speak German. He throws it into the garbage. Sanada yells. Yukimura stomps out of the house and slams balls into the cement wall of a dried up canal until Andy comes to find him.
"Mom said 'supper is cold, but you can still have some if you come home you lazyass'," he says.
Yukimura tosses him the ball. "Play?" he asks.
"I don't like tennis," Andy says.
***
Munich will affect the Swedish Open. Munich affects everything.
Yukimura buys six cans of Asahi regular from the conbini. He sits in the Toyota in the driveway. The can cracks when he opens it. He downs the entire beer and crunches it in his hand. The metal is sharp, but it doesn't cut his palm.
He walks through the garden. Koi pucker their lips on the pond's surface as he passes. Sanada takes good care of it, but there are dead peony stalks left to wither. Yukimura pulls them. He pulls tiny weeds from under the azalea bed. Dirt gets under his fingernails. The ground is damp under his knees. He leans forward to pull another weed.
A shadow looms over him. The back of his neck prickles.
"What are you doing?" Sanada mumbles.
Yukimura stands up. He wipes his hands on his shorts. Sanada frowns. Yukimura swallows. His legs are numb. It feels like his disease has returned. His eyes are wet. He shakes his head and tries again.
"I can't go," he says. "I- I can't leave here. I can't leave you or Andy or…"
Sanada takes the sunglasses from Yukimura's face. With his thumb, he wipes away a tear from Yukimura's cheek. Yukimura didn't know he was crying. He shakes his head and says he's an idiot.
"That's okay," Sanada says. His breasts jiggle as he breathes. He holds Yukimura's face to them. Yukimura can feel the heat of Sanada's body through his cheek. His chest constricts, but he doesn't sob.
"We'd always have Kanagawa anyway," Sanada says.
Yukimura kisses the swell of Sanada's breasts. They jiggle when he laughs too.
***
They have sex. Number Two sleeps on the end of the futon. He doesn’t mind Yukimura's rhythmic thrusting or Sanada curling his toes and digging his heels into the sheets. Sanada cries. Yukimura shakes. He holds Sanada close after and doesn't pull out, even when his dick is soft.
"I haven't had my period in two months," Sanada whispers.
Yukimura sucks in a breath. Sanada's eyes are big in the dark. Yukimura touches his cheeks with the tips of his fingers. He can feel Sanada's blush. He opens his mouth, but he can't speak.
Before dawn, they walk to a streetcourt by the junior high school nearby. A grayish finger of light tickles the east, but the streetlamps are bright. Their shadows are long. Their sneakers slap on the pavement. Sanada's skirt swishes.
It's been a long time since they have played a game together. Sanada unpacks his tennisbag. He tests the gut on his racket: it's his old Babolat. Sanada smiles at it. He puts his cap on. Yukimura waits at the net.
"Rough or smooth?"
Sanada's lips twitch. "Smooth." He picks first serve.
Sanada is rusty. Yukimura swings low and easy. Sanada pulls back and makes a face. "Don't go easy on me!" he shouts. "Is that all you have?"
Yukimura clicks his tongue. He hits a lob to tease Sanada. Sanada scowls and runs for the ball. He strikes. He invades Yukimura's court like fire. The ball burns across the court and it leaves the smell of rubber in the dewy air. Yukimura breathes it in.
His skin hums. He sets up his serve. Sanada has never been prettier: his face is pink with effort. His cap is sideways-the brim is frayed and bent but he still wears it. His breasts bounce as he jogs. Sanada bares his teeth through a backhand. He grins when the ball arcs so high that Yukimura squints to see it.
The floodlights are unforgiving. Yukimura uses a drop shot. Sanada dives, but he doesn't have the coordination he once had.
"It doesn't matter," Yukimura whispers. He touches Sanada on the arm. His skin is bumpy with goosepimples. Sanada shivers a second time. Yukimura leans close and kisses his flushed face.
Sanada's lips move under Yukimura's mouth. "We met playing tennis, remember?" he asks. Yukimura touches his cheekbone. He brushes a strand of damp hair from Sanada's eyes. The cap falls from Sanada's fingers when he splays his hand over Yukimura's back.
"We'll play it always," Yukimura says.
***
He wins the Swedish Open.
He wins Wimbledon.
Sanada calls him and says that he's been sick all week. Yukimura cradles his cellphone to his ear. The sheen of the trophy sitting in his hotel room is nothing compared with Sanada's voice asking if he's still there, if he's still listening.
"Yes," Yukimura says. "I'm coming home tomorrow."
Author: Ociwen
Rating: NC17
Pairing(s): Yukimura/Sanada + others
Wordcount: 26 000
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created by Konomi Takeshi. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Warnings: Everything you can possibly imagine. Not for the weak of heart-or of mind. Spoilers for 40.5 and the entire manga series.
Summary: Sanada is a girl. Yukimura kinda likes it.
Author's notes: This is related one-shot fic to Dénoument. The fics can be read separately, but they make more sense together. Written for Yukimura's birthday 2008. Happy Birthday Yukimura!
This fic has been truncated into 4 parts due to length. The parts are NOT chapters. [Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4]
Comments are most welcome.
4. Finale
The turning point is when Andy toddles into their room (well, main room, technically, but Yukimura had slid the door shut) in the apartment the middle of the night. Sanada is on his back. His legs are spread apart. His toes dig into the futon. Yukimura's tongue flicks his clit. Sanada groans and mewls.
"Er…" Yukimura says.
"Eep!" Sanada says.
"Too loud," Andy says.
They buy a house not too far from Kamakura, but the main train line is close. They have a koi fish pond (with a baby gate around the edges) and a garden in the front. They have two bedrooms and one door has a lock on it. There is room for the tv and a Wii and all of Yukimura's tennis equipment too. The house is Western-style and the roof doesn't leak.
Yukimura closes the front door behind himself. "I'm home!" he calls.
Silence.
"Hello?"
In the middle of the foyer, Number Two sprawls across the floor. He stares at Yukimura and slaps his tail on the floor. His eyes narrow. Yukimura curls his lip.
There is a clacking noise from the direction of Andy's room. Yukimura dumps his bag and peels off his sneakers. He shuffles through the hallway to peak inside.
Andy's curtains are drawn. He sits in front of a pasokon. His hands clack over the keyboard. His eyes are glued to the screen and his glasses slip down his nose.
"Is that new?" Yukimura asks.
Andy turns. His face is lit from the side with blue-ish light from the monitor. His lenses glow. "I set it up today," he mumbles.
Yukimura says, "Oh." His stomach sinks. "I thought we could set it up together."
Andy turns back to his computer game. The keyboard clacks. The screen bursts into white light from a game explosion.
Yukimura shuffles into the kitchen. His shoulder aches. He swung too wide on a shot this afternoon.
Sanada dumps a cup of rice into the cooker. Yukimura walks up behind him and nuzzles Sanada's neck. He kisses Sanada's ear. Sanada grunts.
"I'm thinking about going back to work," he says.
Yukimura makes a noise.
"There's a new museum opening up in Tokyo. They got my name."
Yukimura sighs against Sanada's back. Explosions and clacking punctuate the silence. He runs his hand up Sanada's front. The swell of his breasts never gets old. Yukimura still gets tingles down his spine and numbness in his dick when he feels Sanada's nipples stiffen under his clothes.
"We got a coupon in the mail," Sanada says.
Yukimura looks at the glossy paper on the table. "Tokyo DisneySea Park?" He flips the pamphlet over. Then he raises an eyebrow at Sanada.
Sanada flushes.
***
He has a week of freedom before his flight to Paris. Another year of missing Sanada's birthday to play the Roland Garros. Yukimura lies in bed. The curtains sway in the breeze. Sanada moves next to him, rolling onto his side, then his back. He rolls over to face Yukimura. In the darkness, his eyes are black and liquid. He smells fresh from the shower and his hair makes damp spots on the pillows.
This will be his last year playing pro. He hasn't told anyone, let alone Sanada. Andy Roddick retired two years ago. Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal last year. The circuit is filled with teenagers and twenty-year-olds now. Yukimura's knees sometimes creak in the weight room at the sports centre.
He's thirty-one. He's won five Grand Slams. He has a dozen Master's wins. Trophies gleam on the shelf beside Sanada's pet rock. A train rolls by. Its light shines through the window onto the wall.
The cat paws at the door. It howls. Yukimura grunts. It howls again. Sanada groans and crawls out of bed to let it inside. Nekochan Number Two pads across the futon and steps on Yukimura's arm.
Sanada's yukata rides up on his leg. Yukimura can see his pale skin in the dim light. He's half-hard already-he always is when Sanada sleeps next to him, his breasts pressed to Yukimura's back and a hand on his leg. Sanada kneels down and shoves Number Two off the futon. The cat slinks into the corner of the room and starts to lick its butt.
The yukata slips on Sanada's shoulder. He sits there silhouetted against the dimness seeping in through the curtains. A breeze ruffles his hair and Sanada sighs. He touches the top of his breast and the yukata slips lower. Yukimura swallows. Sanada's hands dip under the fabric. The yukata rustles. Sanada moans. His fingers move across his breast but his eyes are on Yukimura.
Yukimura starts to sit up. His cock swells harder. Sanada pushes him down and climbs over his thighs. His weight presses his weight down. He leans back and exposes his neck. Yukimura touches it. He pets the soft skin of Sanada's collar and pushes the yukata completely off his shoulders.
Yukimura strokes Sanada's side. Sanada gasps and squirms as his fingers dance along Sanada's side. "The cat is-"
Sanada snorts. He leans down and licks Yukimura's ear. His weight is heavier on Yukimura's dick-and Sanada knows it. He rubs his cunt on Yukimura's leg and makes Yukimura gasp. "Aren't you in the mood?" he murmurs. He touches himself between the legs. Yukimura's mouth is dry. Sanada closes his eyes and moans. Yukimura's dick burns.
"I'm always in the mood," Yukimura whispers.
Sanada smirks. Hair falls over his eyes-they are completely black. Yukimura shivers. He can feel Sanada's wet heat on his leg and it makes his body shake with anticipation. Sanada wiggles out of the yukata and throws it across the room. The cat's collar jingles, then it goes silent.
Sanada hums. He lays down on Yukimura and humps him. He rubs over and over. Yukimura calls him a tease. He pulls at Sanada's hair and they kiss. Hot lips part and Sanada's tongue tangles with his. It's wet and slimy and good. Yukimura hooks a leg over Sanada's to roll them over.
But Sanada pulls back. He shakes his head. Yukimura starts to speak. Sanada places a finger over his mouth. Yukimura bites Sanada's thumb. Tension rises in his belly. It numbs his balls and sets his dick on fire. He gasps again.
Sanada sinks down onto his dick and Yukimura's eyes roll back. Sanada squeezes and bounces on his cock. Yukimura watches Sanada's breasts jiggle and he comes.
After, Sanada lies on Yukimura's chest. His body rises and falls as Yukimura breathes. He combs the damp ends of Sanada's hair with his fingers. Sanada smiles against his skin.
Yukimura feels guilty for not telling Sanada. He doesn't want to ruin the moment.
Munich can wait.
***
His coach rails at him on the phone.
"Take a day off? Why would you do that? The French Open is in less than-"
"I know!" Yukimura snaps. "Just- one day. Tomorrow. I'll be into the centre in an hour."
"Fischer wants to know your answer by the week's end," his coach says. "If you don't accept the position, Tezuka will, or that German bitch Krauser."
Yukimura cringes. He frowns into his cellphone. "I know," he says. "I'm still deciding."
"The coaching's all in Europe and America. You don't have prospects in Japan if you want to coach tennis, Yukimura-kun."
Yukimura sighs. He presses end. He's heard this argument a hundred times before. Nothing left in Japan. Akaya will get the Keio coaching job when Nakayama retires in a few years. The rest are foreigners.
The only thing left is coaching high school tennis. Yukimura's eyes linger on the photograph on the shelf. Three twelve-year olds in dated yellow jerseys smile at the camera-or two do. Sanada turns and scowls. He's boyish and gangly in the photo. Yukimura's arm is around his shoulders. Yanagi holds the Rikkai flag.
There is no coach in the background, just a dozen older teammates.
Yukimura eats three doughnuts at the train station for breakfast, then he catches the next commuter train to the university campus.
***
An old injury comes back to haunt him. Yukimura's wrist burns during practice. He grinds his teeth through swings, but his racket slips during a smash.
He cradles his hand against his chest. The coach wraps it for him. Yukimura walks back onto the court. The days are warm enough outside. The sun shines down on his back and he squints.
"I can't practice with stupid deadlines," Yukimura mutters.
He pushes his body as far as it will go. His calves and gluts are on fire. The balls scorch the clay. The air is filled with dust and the damp-earth smell of spring. Yukimura takes a deep breath.
"BALL!"
***
A department store bag sits in the hallway instead of Number Two's sprawled body. Yukimura sets his bag down. He whips his sunglasses off and folds them into the pocket of his polo. He creeps up to peak inside.
"Don't!" Sanada snaps.
Yukimura looks up. He blinks. Sanada scowls. His lips pout. Yukimura kisses them.
"A present?" he asks.
"No," Sanada says. His eyes shift.
Yukimura grins.
They eat supper at the same time every night. Andy sits at the table across from Yukimura. His gameboy sings beside his bowl of wakame soup. He reaches for it, but Sanada slaps his hand.
"No playing during supper! Tarundoru!"
Andy glares at Sanada. His glasses are scummy. Yukimura asks how school was today. He glares at Yukimura too.
Yukimura sighs. He pokes at a flake of fried fish. It's fresh and creamy and melts in his mouth. He wonders if Germany has fish like this. His chest constricts.
Andy pushes his food away and says he doesn't like fish. He moves to grab his gameboy, but Sanada takes it away. "Eat," he says. "You need a bath soon and we have to be up early."
"Four am early?" Yukimura asks. He laughs. Sanada frowns-he doesn't get the joke. Yukimura adds, "You used to get up at four am all the time. Remember?"
Sanada's cheeks are red. He grumbles something that Yukimura doesn't catch.
When supper finishes, Yukimura asks Andy if he wants to play a game of tennis at the streetcourts. The night is warm and the sky is clear, violet-tinged on the horizon that disappears behind valleys of bamboo. A late crow caws in the distance. Yukimura's heart is heavy. Spring in Japan is his favourite time of the year-the warm salty breezes off the sea, wakame soup, watching cherry blossoms in crowded parks and eating the sweet fruits two months later. The world is alive again after a dead winter. It blooms with green promise. He presses his hand to the doorframe and swallows. His throat is thick.
Sanada asks if he's okay.
Yukimura nods.
Andy refuses to play tennis.
***
They wake up at five am.
Yukimura stuffs his face in his pillow. Sanada calls him a lazyass and rips the futon cover off his body. Yukimura shivers. His feet are cold. His back is cold. He curls up into a fetal position and groans.
A hand slaps the back of his head. Sanada yells at him again. Yukimura cracks an eye open. Every fluorescent light is on in the house. Through the window, the city sleeps. Yukimura envies them.
He chews the fried tofu for breakfast. Andy stares blankly at the wall. His glasses are crooked and his hair has a cowlick in the same place that Sanada's does. "I don't like Disneyland," he mumbles.
Yukimura doesn't either, not if it means waking up this early on his day off.
He pads to the bathroom. He slides the door open, but Sanada shouts, "Wait!" The shower isn't running. The sink faucet runs. Yukimura scratches his head.
"What are you doing in there?" he asks.
"Just…wait!" Sanada says. Something slaps skin and Sanada groans. Yukimura presses his ear to the door. Sanada opens it and he falls forward.
"It's DisneySea, so wear your swim shorts," Sanada grumbles. "I packed lunch."
***
Yukimura drives. He yawns and steers with one hand. In the rear-view mirror he can see Andy's head hung low as he plays with his gameboy. Sanada sits beside Yukimura up front. He keeps scratching his neck. His breasts bounce when Yukimura drives over bumps in the pavement. Yukimura can't keep his eyes on the road for too long at a time.
Whatever bra Sanada wears today, he likes it. Yukimura smiles.
They probably could have taken the direct bus from Yokohama station-or even the train-but Yukimura likes driving. He rolls his window down a crack. Wind rushes over his skin. His seatbelt whips on his shoulder. Sanada complains that he's cold, but the goosepimples breaking out on Yukimura's arm remind him that he's alive.
He can forget about Munich and retirement and everything else right now. He presses the gas harder and signals to change lanes. A sign announces the Disneyworld ramp. Yukimura squints ahead. Cars stream off the expressway. He joins the line.
The theme park is expensive. Yukimura pulls his sunglasses down over his eyes. He's recognized anywhere he goes. It's sort of irritating to be out with Sanada or Andy (or both) and having girls walk up to him and insist on photos and autographs and handshakes. But he's used to it.
The clerk at the ticket counter asks if he's that famous tennis player. Yukimura sniffs. "Yeah," he says, "that's me."
The clerk gives them an extra discount. Sanada mutters that it's not right, but Yukimura smiles and says thanks.
He's been to Disneyland once when he was a kid. Just before he got sick, his parents took him and his sister. Yukimura remembers the costumed characters and the feeling of weightlessness in the Tower of Terror, but not much more. It's different now with his own kid.
He holds Sanada's hand and squeezes. Sanada looks at him. He wears his ratty old black cap, but Yukimura can see the smile on Sanada's lips.
"Where do you want to go first?" he asks.
Andy looks up from his gameboy. He wears a Gekiranger t-shirt and flip-flop sandals. He gives Yukimura a long, hard stare. "I don't like Disneyland," he says.
Sanada frowns. Yukimura looks at the map. Sanada grabs Andy's hand ("I don't want some gaijin pedophile-" Sanada starts to say until Yukimura laughs at him). The entire park is colourful and busy and filled with people. They buy expensive ice-creams and a cheesy hat with ears. Andy says he doesn't like it. Sanada scowls.
They go on little boat rides through the man-made lakes and canals. Yukimura pretends to ooh and ahh at waterfalls and Venetian gondoliers floating by. They walk through underground caverns filled with aquariums. Sting rays lurk along the bottom. Sanada presses his hand up to the glass.
Andy plays with his gameboy. Sanada takes it away and he cries. "It'll rot your brain," he says.
"I don't care."
"I do. We're going swimming today."
"I hate swimming."
"Too bad," Sanada says.
On a bench beside a hibiscus bush, they eat picnic bentos. Sanada picks at the rice. Yukimura chows down on a cold tonkatsu cutlet. Andy slurps his juicebox and pouts. Sanada excuses himself to go to the washroom.
"Can I have my gameboy?" Andy asks. He sniffles. His chin trembles. His glasses hang off the end of his nose. "Please Dad…?"
Guilt pricks Yukimura's chest. He hesitates. He unwraps a melon pan and offers Andy a piece. Andy shakes his head.
A shadow looms over them. Yukimura looks up. His jaw drops.
Sanada wears a bikini top-a white bikini top that is tied around his neck. His nipples poke through the thin fabric. Yukimura's mouth is dry. His shorts feel tight. He stiffens and sits up straight.
"Don't say anything," Sanada mutters.
Yukimura shakes his head.
"It's a water park," Sanada grumbles. "So…" His face is red under his cap. He slathered his arms in sunscreen when they first got to the parking lot. Now, he asks Yukimura to do his back.
Yukimura's hands shake on Sanada's back. He rubs the sunscreen across Sanada's skin. He is warm and buttery and smooth. He rubs the cream around Sanada's neck. Sanada leans back into Yukimura's hands. Yukimura bites his lip. If Andy wasn't here-if no one walked by, he might…
Sanada's shoulders tense. "That's good," he says.
Yukimura has a dry mouth all afternoon. Sanada looks increasingly awkward. They walk past the Arabian section a third time. There is no beach around. The walk through the Mermaid Lagoon. There is no beach there either. Sanada walks with an awkward gait, like there is something in his underpants.
Andy asks if Sanada has a wedgie.
Yukimura whispers to ask Sanada if it's that time of the-
"No!" he shouts.
Andy agrees to go on the Flying Fish Coaster. Yukimura squeezes himself into the seat beside Andy. His knees press against the bar. The attendant asks him if he's the famous Yukimura who plays tennis.
"Yes," Yukimura says. He frowns.
The sun is hotter. They walk past the main gates. Sanada walks bow-legged. Yukimura scuffs his sandals. He looks at his watch. Steam rises from the bushes and blooming azalea beds. His back is sweaty.
Sanada is the only woman in a bathing suit. Two teenagers walk by and whisper about the dumb woman in a bikini and ugly shorts. Yukimura looks at Sanada's shorts. He recognizes them as an old pair from when they played tennis in junior high school. They strain over Sanada's bum. Yukimura's mouth twitches.
"I don't think there's actually a swimming pool here," he says.
Sanada purses his lips. For a long moment, he is quiet. Then he says, "Oh."
***
His cellphone buzzes when Sanada packs the bags into the Toyota trunk. Yukimura flips it open. It's a message from Marui.
omg might have chevy! guy near utsunomiya has an 84 pickup he imported. wish me luck!!! (^-^)v
Yukimura laughs.
***
He drives along the expressway that runs beside the ocean. Sanada stares out the window in silence. He pouts. Yukimura can see it in his side-mirror. Andy plays with his gameboy, but the whipping wind drowns out his music. He puts in a pair of earbuds. Yukimura rolls his window down more. He can taste the salt in the air.
The sun casts a golden shadow over the water. Yukimura drives past their exit. Sanada asks where he's going. Yukimura smiles. He turns. Sanada's forehead is scrunched up. His skin is tanned from the sun today-the white of his bikini top contrasts with his skin.
"Let's go to the beach," Yukimura says. He pulls off onto the first sign for a beach that he sees. The beach isn't too busy-people are leaving, not arriving. Seagulls swarm in the air above. Their squawking and the rush of the waves are the only thing Yukimura hears. He takes a deep breath and peels his sandals off.
Sanada looks at him.
Yukimura takes off his t-shirt. He tosses it down onto the sand beside his sandals. The sand is cool and dry and a little pebbly. Andy looks up at the ocean and then he looks at Yukimura. With a shrug, he sets down his gameboy on Yukimura's t-shirt. He creeps up to the edge of the water. Sanada shouts. Yukimura touches Sanada's arm.
"Look," he says.
Andy sits near the surf-but not too close. He stares at the sand for a long time. Yukimura can't remember if Andy has ever been to a beach. Yukimura's gone so often for tennis he doesn't ask Sanada what they do when he's not there. Yukimura holds his breath. Andy scoops sand into a pile.
"He's building a castle," Yukimura says.
Sanada's shoulders sink. He stops biting his lip. He nods. Yukimura strokes Sanada's arm. The hairs on Sanada's skin stand up. His hair lifts up. Sanada looks at his feet. He might be blushing. It might just be the warm glow of the sun: Yukimura's face feels warm too.
Sanada's sandals join the pile. The beach is nearly empty. The sun is low in the sky, but there is plenty of daylight left. The light reflects on the cement apartment blocks clustering the far end of the bay, and it multiplies.
Sanada steps out of his shorts. He exhales. He clears his throat. Yukimura stares at his body. He can't not. The bikini is small and Sanada's hips look wide. Yukimura wants to run his hands over Sanada's curves and peel the bikini off. He hasn't seen Sanada's navel exposed in public…ever.
His belly tightens. His cock swells. Yukimura drags his eyes to Sanada's face. Sanada's cheeks are red. "I…had a shaving…accident," he says.
Yukimura blinks. "Eh?"
"Down…" Sanada nods down.
Yukimura's eyes widen. "Oh. That's why…?"
Sanada nods once.
"You didn't need to," Yukimura says.
Sanada frowns. "Jackal said-"
"Yeah, but Jackal…" Yukimura shakes his head. "I don't care. Besides," he says. "You look good."
Sanada raises an eyebrow. His cap rides up on his forehead.
Yukimura pokes Sanada in the side. Sanada gasps and shrieks. Yukimura laughs. "It's true," he says. He tackles Sanada and Sanada stumbles. They fall onto the sand laughing. Yukimura hooks his knee around Sanada's calf. He rubs up on Sanada's hips. Sanada says no, Andy is right over there, but Yukimura licks his jaw.
"I'm not going to do anything here," he murmurs. He bites Sanada's earlobe. Sanada hisses. His nipples harden on Yukimura's chest. Yukimura wraps an arm around Sanada's shoulders. He sighs.
Is this the last summer we'll be here…?
Yukimura exhales, but the tension doesn't leave his belly. He touches the rise of Sanada's bum. Sanada hums and pokes a hole in the sand beside Yukimura's arm.
They walk along the beach and hold hands. Yukimura's feet sink into the sand. The water laps at Sanada's ankles. Andy digs a hole and it fills with the foaming surf. Yukimura slides his hand around Sanada's waist. His body feels good-warm and solid. He's been pregnant once since Andy was born, but that only lasted a month or two. It's never happened since. His body doesn’t show the scars, only a faint bruise on the swell of his left breast.
Yukimura smiles. He probably made that bruise. Tonight, he can kiss it away.
He wonders-sometimes-if Sanada is happy like this. He never asks. Sanada never says. He wonders if Sanada would agree to Munich. The pay is a lot. They want Yukimura. Here…
Here is home.
Yukimura's chest has a cramp. He stumbles on a piece of beach glass. Andy runs over and picks it up. Sanada leans into his side and looks out over the ocean.
They drive home. Yukimura still doesn't know how to say it, so he says nothing.
***
Paris smells like fried tomatoes and onions and strange floral herbs. Yukimura doesn't like it. He cranks the windows open because the hotel room is stuffy. He sighs. It's past ten and jet lag has settled into his body. Paris, however, is alive. The hotel overlooks a stony courtyard and women cook supper across the way.
He wants to sleep.
His body twitches.
The coos of pigeons and loud shouting keep him awake. Strains of Edith Piaf warble and the breeze filters through the tall slate roofs. Yukimura feels like shit. The flight was bumpy. He has gas. He presses a hand on his belly and pokes the skin. His stomach churns.
It's five in the morning in Kanagawa. Sanada is at home with Andy. They are both asleep. Yukimura stares at the ceiling. He has practice at the stadium at nine tomorrow. His neck has a crick and the pillow is lumpy.
He won't sleep tonight, so he unpacks his suitcase. In the bottom layer he keeps his sketchbook. There are dozens of sketches inside. Yukimura flips through. His eyes linger on the pages. He can see Sanada turning his head away and flushing. He can see Sanada holding a hand up to his stomach. He can see Sanada straining and gasping and the sweat beads in the valley between his breasts. Yukimura swallows.
He misses Sanada already.
His hands shake with the pencil. His lines are uneven. They waver over a clean sheet in the book. His pencil feels the curves of Sanada's waist. His pencil traces the line of Sanada's neck. His pencil shades the skin of Sanada's nipples. He can see Sanada clear in his mind, always. Sometimes Sanada is underneath him. Sometimes Sanada crawls over him with a smirk. Sometimes Sanada stands across the room with his back to Yukimura.
Yukimura puts the sketchbook back in his suitcase. He pulls his pants down and cups his dick. He rubs his palm over his cock until it hardens, but he's not really in the mood. He masturbates and thinks about Sanada.
Munich clouds everything. Yukimura rolls onto his side and sighs.
***
Japanese people all look the same to Parisians. Yukimura walks through the Metro station without sunglasses. His cell buzzes.
Message from Marui.
Yukimura steps aside to read it. The kanji are familiar. There are no strange words to strain over. He smiles. The Metro station has rubbish in the corners and billboards in French. Bare breasts and fashion labels are pasted to the walls. Yukimura leans against one.
can i borrow 50k? guy wants deposit on chevy asap and i cant get a loan atm.
ps. good luck kicking ass! dont tell Akaya i told him the same thing (.ω.)
***
He shakes hands with Fischer and says yes.
His body is numb during practice. The coach pulls him to the bench. "Your form is terrible," he says.
Yukimura nods. On the court adjacent, an American practices. A young kid with a powerful serve. Yukimura has seen it before. It’s a kick serve, but the kid cuts his follow-through short.
His eyes go wide. At the sideline, Andy Roddick nods to him. Yukimura jogs over. They chat about idle things-wives, weather, Paris and the good restaurant in the Montmartre area that they went to years ago together.
"Is this your player?" Yukimura asks.
Andy Roddick nods. "Yeah, Hill's good. You might play him this tournament, old man."
Yukimura raises an eyebrow.
***
He knows he's getting older. He's at the top of his game and there is no place left to go except down. He's terrified of the prospect of losing tennis. Yukimura pushes himself through ten-hour days until his muscles lock. His elbow won't bend. His knees shake. He needs to take care of his body, but he needs to win, too.
If this is Yukimura's last year, it needs to be his best.
Akaya is a familiar face, but he practices at a different time and on a different court. Yukimura meets him at the hotel to go out for dinner-his French is better. Akaya uses taxis to get anywhere. He still cannot read romanji very well.
They drink beer and eat fried steaks. Yukimura slides down in his seat. His ankle rolls. Akaya talks about the Keio coach and the lack of positions opening up in Japan. "I gotta think about my family," he says.
Yukimura nods.
"You heard about that Munich job?" he asks. Yukimura nods again. Akaya stares at him and then his eyes go wide. "Wait-you're not-"
"I said yes," Yukimura says. The fries in his stomach congeals. Grease coats his throat. The flowing French and smell of cigarettes and spilled wine gives him a headache.
"Does Sanada-senpai know?" Akaya asks.
Yukimura says nothing.
***
"Hi."
"Hi."
"What time is it at home?"
"Six. I just got up…no French?"
"I'm tired of it."
"You sound tired. Sorry for the-"
"No. We gotta talk."
Sanada says nothing. Yukimura twists the hem of his pajama shirt. His throat is closed up. His stomach is knotted. The mattress squeaks when he sits down.
"There's a coaching position…in Munich."
Sanada is quiet. He doesn't breathe. Yukimura swallows. "Sanada?"
"I'm here."
"…well…"
"Are you taking it?"
He closes his eyes. They sting. In the background, he can hear Andy moving around the kitchen and asking what breakfast is. Here, Yukimura can smell the fried food he ate for dinner. It seeps through his clothing.
"I said yes. The pay is good. Really good. Sanada, if you want to come-"
"Why wouldn't I?" Sanada snaps. "Did you think you would pack up and move across the world alone?"
Yukimura frowns. There's nothing left back home for me…but there's everything for you guys…
"I don't know," he whispers.
"When were you going to tell me this?"
Yukimura's voice catches.
Sanada hangs up.
***
Yukimura plays Hill in the semifinals.
He throws himself into his serves. He forces his body to work to the maximum: his thighs burn from the running. His arms vibrate and the ball slides across his racket, gathering a deep slice. Yukimura slugs the ball over the net. It was too much. It was too calculated.
The ball zooms to the baseline.
Hill has it in the bag. He wins the set, 5-7, 7-5, 6-4.
But Akaya wins the French Open. He screams his victory at the finals net and sweats blood. Yukimura smiles and sends a text to congratulate him. He smiles and claps, but his heart aches.
This will be his last year. He knows it now.
Fischer finds him at the tournament after-party. Yukimura nurses a glass of red wine. The tannins cling to his tongue and leave a sour taste. He nibbles on creamy cheeses and crisp baguettes and fois gras and fattening French food that turns his stomach. A waiter comes around. Yukimura holds his glass out for more wine.
"Everything is in place for you to start in September," she says. "Your coach knows about the visa procedure and he can forward all the documentation to us as soon as possible. All you need to do is sign."
Yukimura blinks. He gulps the glass of wine in three tries. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "And my family?"
Fischer blinks. She sets her glass down on a table. The rim leaves a red circle on the white tablecloth. "Oh. We didn't know if you were considering them."
"Why not?" Yukimura snaps.
"You told us last month they weren't a factor."
Yukimura sets his glass down. He walks into the bathroom and closes the stall door. He slams the wood and shouts, "Fuck!" His hand hurts. His head hurts. The wine swims in his vision. He sits down on the toilet seat and rubs his temple.
There is a knock on his stall door.
Yukimura opens it. He looks up. Andy Roddick looks at him.
"You all right?"
Yukimura says nothing.
"No one says you have to go to Munich," he says.
"There's nothing left in Japan," Yukimura mumbles.
Andy Roddick smiles. He taps the frame of the door. "Remember Rafa?" he asks.
Yukimura nods. "Of course."
"Well, he's back in Mallorca and I heard that he's opening up his own tennis school there. He was offered the Munich job last year and he said no because of his family too." Andy Roddick takes a deep breath. "Just so you know, Munich isn't everything."
***
Yukimura thinks about it on the flight to Narita.
The papers sit in his suitcase, on top of the sketchbook.
He chews on the package of peanuts. He watches a subtitled movie on the screen in the back of the seat in front of him. He touches the cellphone in his pocket. It's turned off. Sanada didn't call last night.
Yukimura doesn't sleep at all. He stares out the window and watches the blinding light of the atmosphere and the streams of clouds kilometers below. The wing of the plane reflects. A stewardess asks him to close his window. The rest of the plane is dark and sleeping.
Yukimura frowns.
His suitcase is empty of trophies. He's recognized by Narita customs. Yukimura pushes the sunglasses on and buries his face in the collar of his jacket. The coach leaves him at the baggage claim.
"We have Sweden coming up and then Wimbledon right after," he says.
"I'll be there Monday," Yukimura says. Today is Saturday-he thinks. The time change throws him off. Yukimura lives in a state of limbo half the time. The sun rises and sets and he jets off to another match. Sleep comes sometimes. The other times, he has little blue pills to help.
And then times like now, his mind races with a hundred thoughts as his body is sticky with lack of sleep. He bows his head and the coach leaves.
Yukimura can't remember if he drove the car or not. He sets his bags down and uses the washroom. He sits on the toilet and lets out a stream of gas. It might be time for a morning shit. He doesn't remember that, either. He leans on his elbows and takes a deep breath. He presses the buttons at the side of the toilet: the flush noise, the seat warmer. His butt sweats. He wipes and flushes and leaves.
Light shines through the huge glass windows of the Narita terminal. Yukimura follows the signs and drags his suitcase. His tennisbag is stacked on top. It wobbles. He fixes it and walks further.
Someone calls his name. Yukimura blinks. The air is damp and warm and smells fresh and clean. There are no fried tomatoes or lavender, just a Starbucks beside the tourist centre.
"Seiichi!"
Yukimura turns. He has a face full of someone who hugs him tight. Yukimura drops his suitcase handle. His hand hangs at his thigh until he smells the soap on Sanada's neck. He touches Sanada's waist. His heart throbs. He buries his face into Sanada's neck and nuzzles the soft skin where his collar pulls away.
Breasts squish against his chest. It feels good.
"I drove," Sanada says. "So you don't have to."
Yukimura naps in the car.
***
He wakes in the middle of the night. Or the morning. He doesn't know the time until he blinks. A clock on the dresser has red digital numbers that shine. 3:42am. A fan blows cool air over his body. His dick is wet.
Yukimura opens his mouth. His tongue is woolen and sticky. His dick is hard, too. He closes his eyes. He reaches out into the darkness, but there is no one.
"Genichirou?" he mumbles.
Something hums on his dick. Yukimura's eyes widen. Sanada's weight is heavy across his legs. Yukimura gasps. He thrusts into Sanada's mouth. He closes his eyes and bucks and his legs shake. Sanada keeps sucking. The tense coil in his belly is numb and set and loaded. The suction is tighter. There are hands on his balls, rubbing the skin. Yukimura groans and thrusts his hips. His belly explodes. He grunts and comes. Sanada pulls away. He grimaces.
Sanada crawls up beside him and takes off his yukata. They lie on top of the futon-both of them are naked. Sanada's skin is flushed warm. He kisses Yukimura's jaw. His nipples are hard and they poke Yukimura's arm. Yukimura shifts. He slings a leg over Sanada's knee and rubs a bit. His dick is sensitized, but soft. Sanada kisses him on the mouth.
Yukimura doesn't know how he could live without this anymore. He squeezes his arm around Sanada's side. His fingers stroke the skin stretched out over Sanada's back. He feels sad, but he doesn't know why.
They don't have sex.
***
There is no one home. Yukimura is clammy and gassy. The sunlight is harsh through the window, although the curtains are drawn. The light creeps underneath and floods a puddle on the tatami floor near his face.
Yukimura stumbles to the toilet to take a piss. He sighs as it hits the water. He shakes himself off and wanders into the kitchen.
The light on the telephone flashes on and off. Yukimura blinks. He microwaves a bento from the fridge (which he hopes Sanada left for him, but there was no note) and presses play.
There is low, smooth voice.
"I heard you needed a German tutor. Ore-sama would make sure you got some very detailed lessons, Sanada, hn? Give me a call at this number."
Yukimura's insides freeze. The microwave dings. He stares at the telephone until the door opens and Andy shuffles through the kitchen, followed by Sanada. Sanada asks if he's okay and did he find the food in the fridge.
Andy slinks off to his bedroom. As soon as his door closes, Yukimura unclenches his fist and slams it down on the table. "Why the hell was Atobe calling?" he hisses.
Sanada shakes his head. "I don't know! I don't- I haven't spoken to him in years."
Yukimura grabs Sanada's shirt and tugs. Sanada scowls. Yukimura curls his lip. He jerks his head to the phone. "Then how did he get our number!" he snaps. "Why they hell does he know-"
"I don't know!" Sanada says. His voice rises. He's almost yelling. Yukimura pushes him into the wall and bares his teeth. Sanada shakes his head. He shoves Yukimura in the arm. "Get off me!"
Yukimura slams his body into the wall. The table shakes. He wedges his knee between Sanada's and his dick brushes the inside of Sanada's thigh. He's hard. His heart races. Sanada's eyes are wide and black. They reflect his face: his tense jaw, his huge eyes, the thin set line of his lips.
Yukimura kisses him hard. Sanada pulls away and slaps his face. Yukimura shoves Sanada back into the wall. It thumps. He hisses no. Yukimura bites his bottom lip and Sanada moans. He rubs against Yukimura's erection. Yukimura tells him he wants it, he tells him he's a slut, he tells him he's going to fuck Sanada right here, right now-
"Andy's just-"
"I don't care," Yukimura says. He licks Sanada's neck and bites the skin of his collar. He sticks his hands under Sanada's skirt and lifts Sanada's leg over his hip. Sanada whimpers and slaps his shoulder.
"Do you want him to hear?" Sanada asks. Yukimura curls his lip. He rubs Sanada's underpants. They are damp. His dick stiffens harder. He slides his hand under the waistband of Sanada's underpants. His cunt is wet and hot.
Sanada groans. Yukimura rubs his clit with his fingers. Sanada sobs and bucks on his leg. Music from Andy's computer game drifts into the kitchen, but it doesn't drown the sounds of the wet slapping of their bodies as Yukimura fucks Sanada hard and fast and furious against the kitchen wall.
He bites Sanada's breast through his t-shirt. He comes in a shuddering gasp when Sanada squeezes around his dick so tight and so slick that Yukimura falls forward. They slump to the floor. A bag of apples spills open. Sanada pushes his skirt down. He leans forward to grab the apples. His eyes are shiny and so is the inside of his thigh.
Yukimura picks an apple up. He looks at it, then he hands it to Sanada. "I…"
Sanada nods. His throat bobs.
***
The coach tells him Fischer phoned to ask when Yukimura was faxing the documents.
He drives home after practice. He rolls down the window and screams into the wind rushing down the expressway over the hood of the Toyota.
There is a book sitting on the table at home. Yukimura picks it up. Andy shrugs. "Mom bought it," he says.
Yukimura reads the title, Learn to Speak German. He throws it into the garbage. Sanada yells. Yukimura stomps out of the house and slams balls into the cement wall of a dried up canal until Andy comes to find him.
"Mom said 'supper is cold, but you can still have some if you come home you lazyass'," he says.
Yukimura tosses him the ball. "Play?" he asks.
"I don't like tennis," Andy says.
***
Munich will affect the Swedish Open. Munich affects everything.
Yukimura buys six cans of Asahi regular from the conbini. He sits in the Toyota in the driveway. The can cracks when he opens it. He downs the entire beer and crunches it in his hand. The metal is sharp, but it doesn't cut his palm.
He walks through the garden. Koi pucker their lips on the pond's surface as he passes. Sanada takes good care of it, but there are dead peony stalks left to wither. Yukimura pulls them. He pulls tiny weeds from under the azalea bed. Dirt gets under his fingernails. The ground is damp under his knees. He leans forward to pull another weed.
A shadow looms over him. The back of his neck prickles.
"What are you doing?" Sanada mumbles.
Yukimura stands up. He wipes his hands on his shorts. Sanada frowns. Yukimura swallows. His legs are numb. It feels like his disease has returned. His eyes are wet. He shakes his head and tries again.
"I can't go," he says. "I- I can't leave here. I can't leave you or Andy or…"
Sanada takes the sunglasses from Yukimura's face. With his thumb, he wipes away a tear from Yukimura's cheek. Yukimura didn't know he was crying. He shakes his head and says he's an idiot.
"That's okay," Sanada says. His breasts jiggle as he breathes. He holds Yukimura's face to them. Yukimura can feel the heat of Sanada's body through his cheek. His chest constricts, but he doesn't sob.
"We'd always have Kanagawa anyway," Sanada says.
Yukimura kisses the swell of Sanada's breasts. They jiggle when he laughs too.
***
They have sex. Number Two sleeps on the end of the futon. He doesn’t mind Yukimura's rhythmic thrusting or Sanada curling his toes and digging his heels into the sheets. Sanada cries. Yukimura shakes. He holds Sanada close after and doesn't pull out, even when his dick is soft.
"I haven't had my period in two months," Sanada whispers.
Yukimura sucks in a breath. Sanada's eyes are big in the dark. Yukimura touches his cheeks with the tips of his fingers. He can feel Sanada's blush. He opens his mouth, but he can't speak.
Before dawn, they walk to a streetcourt by the junior high school nearby. A grayish finger of light tickles the east, but the streetlamps are bright. Their shadows are long. Their sneakers slap on the pavement. Sanada's skirt swishes.
It's been a long time since they have played a game together. Sanada unpacks his tennisbag. He tests the gut on his racket: it's his old Babolat. Sanada smiles at it. He puts his cap on. Yukimura waits at the net.
"Rough or smooth?"
Sanada's lips twitch. "Smooth." He picks first serve.
Sanada is rusty. Yukimura swings low and easy. Sanada pulls back and makes a face. "Don't go easy on me!" he shouts. "Is that all you have?"
Yukimura clicks his tongue. He hits a lob to tease Sanada. Sanada scowls and runs for the ball. He strikes. He invades Yukimura's court like fire. The ball burns across the court and it leaves the smell of rubber in the dewy air. Yukimura breathes it in.
His skin hums. He sets up his serve. Sanada has never been prettier: his face is pink with effort. His cap is sideways-the brim is frayed and bent but he still wears it. His breasts bounce as he jogs. Sanada bares his teeth through a backhand. He grins when the ball arcs so high that Yukimura squints to see it.
The floodlights are unforgiving. Yukimura uses a drop shot. Sanada dives, but he doesn't have the coordination he once had.
"It doesn't matter," Yukimura whispers. He touches Sanada on the arm. His skin is bumpy with goosepimples. Sanada shivers a second time. Yukimura leans close and kisses his flushed face.
Sanada's lips move under Yukimura's mouth. "We met playing tennis, remember?" he asks. Yukimura touches his cheekbone. He brushes a strand of damp hair from Sanada's eyes. The cap falls from Sanada's fingers when he splays his hand over Yukimura's back.
"We'll play it always," Yukimura says.
***
He wins the Swedish Open.
He wins Wimbledon.
Sanada calls him and says that he's been sick all week. Yukimura cradles his cellphone to his ear. The sheen of the trophy sitting in his hotel room is nothing compared with Sanada's voice asking if he's still there, if he's still listening.
"Yes," Yukimura says. "I'm coming home tomorrow."