[Fic] The Language of Love (for firerose1300)
Title: The Language of Love
Author: venivincere
Recipient: firerose1300
Pairings: Niou/Yagyuu, Inui/Kaidoh
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Tennis, among other things, is observation.
Warnings: Underage characters getting off with each other.
Notes: 2,638 words. Lioness, I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Niou thinks it might have been a good thing he didn’t find out about the Switch until after practice: after the kilometers run and the hundreds of tight, precise motions of his arms and legs had worked the energy out of him, dripping in rivulets of sweat down his temples and the backs of his knees, down the inside of his shirt along his spine where it tickled and itched and made him restless to undress and shower. When his arm swung out on automatic, aimed for Yagyuu’s face, he was tired enough and slow enough for Yagyuu to catch it, hold it out in front of him like a shield, and say, “No. We’re not doing this here.”
After dinner and a few strategic emails later, Niou mumbles something to his mother about “public courts, Yagyuu sleeping over later” as he sits in the entryway wiggling his feet into his tennis shoes. She takes her cue to tells him to be home by ten, and there’ll be a snack in the kitchen for them. He says “Fine,” and slouches out the door, racquet bag slung over his shoulder, bumping off his ass with every step he takes.
The courts are busy, but not much more than normal. He sees Yagyuu on the bench, his racquet balanced across his knees watching the game going on. After a closer look he realizes the players are all Seigaku, their doubles one and doubles two, playing each other.
“Hoi hoi!” shouts Red Hair-kun after scoring a point, waving his racquet around like an uchiwa.
The dark kid with him says something too low for Niou to hear, and across the net, Kaidoh scowls and kicks the dirt on the court. Niou breathes, “Ha!” and then makes his way over to the side.
He slides onto the bench next to Yagyuu and asks, “Can we do it here?”
Taken out of context, that sounds kinda gay, and if he weren’t one hundred percent certain that Yagyuu would understand exactly what he meant, he would be embarrassed enough to look away. As it is, he wants to finish what he started this afternoon.
“Yes,” says Yagyuu, and he gets up and walks out into the park behind the courts. It’s filled with tall pine trees, and the grounds are dark and fragrant. There’s a shed a little way beyond the courts. They sit down behind it in the shadows and lean against the corrugated metal with their legs drawn up, listening to the night air, all steam and singing insects. And now that they’re there, now that he’s got Yagyuu’s attention, he doesn’t know how to start, what to say that doesn’t sound whiney and uncool, but then he doesn’t have to say anything, because Yagyuu’s saying, “I’m sorry, Niou-kun.”
Niou doesn’t say anything, just swallows, then swallows again around the thickness in his throat, and dammit, it’s fucking allergies if anyone asks. If Yagyuu says anything. Niou dashes the back of his hand across his eyes and waits, but Yagyuu doesn’t tease. He rarely does, unless he’s being Niou.
“I shouldn’t have been so ready to share our team secrets,” says Yagyuu.
And that’s not it. That’s not it at all, and suddenly Niou’s pissed off again and his fist is in Yagyuu’s collar and he’s up on his knees, Yagyuu’s thighs trapped between them, breathing harshly in Yagyuu’s face.
“It’s not a secret, dumbass!” he snarls. “It’s ours!”
It’s plain that Yagyuu’s not getting it, but Niou’s beyond wanting to smash Yagyuu’s face. He wants him to understand, more than anything he wants Yagyuu to understand that this thing is sacred: their tennis, the way they play together, the way they dominate their court and win their game, the way they become each other, that’s theirs, no one else’s.
“We made that up. We made it ours and you shared it, and you didn’t ask me first,” he says, sniffing mightily. “How could you become anyone else?”
And when the light dawns in Yagyuu’s face, the fight goes out of him. Niou lets go of Yagyuu’s lapels and plops back down onto his ass beside him, legs touching at the knees.
“Niou…” says Yagyuu, pushing up his glasses. His hand brushes over Niou’s, just a brief touch to get his attention. “Believe me, it wasn’t a real Switch.”
Niou swallows one last time and looks him in the eye.
“We’ve played doubles together for a long time,” he says, eventually. “We’ve grown together, don’t you think?”
Niou doesn’t say anything for awhile but Yagyuu’s right. He looks at Yagyuu’s face, staring at him, earnest, then blinks his eyes away to the side.
“We’ve had a lot of practice getting to know one another. To observe one another. To be one another, right?”
Niou isn’t frowning anymore because it’s true and because it’s been more fun than tennis ever was, before. Yeah, there’s always the physical challenge of tennis, but the Switch - there’s a mental challenge with that. All the watching, the careful, miss-nothing watching, it’s like juggling, trying to keep all the pins in the air. Niou can’t physically do that but his mind is more than nimble enough. It’s been more fun than anything, just knowing Yagyuu as though he were himself. Being Yagyuu. Having Yagyuu be him.
Niou’s hand is flat in the dust behind the shed, and Yagyuu’s fingers touch his again for just a moment, the grains of dust scratching lightly into his knuckles. “I learned one thing, playing with Kaidoh,” says Yagyuu.
“What,” says Niou, a little hoarse, stifling an urge to go find bandana boy and punch him hard enough to make him bleed.
“I don’t want to be anyone other than you.”
It sinks in, makes Niou feel warm, and suddenly his heart is beating like he’s just finished a match, like he’s just Switched with Yagyuu, been Yagyuu, and it’s made all the difference, like they’ve won. Which is scary, and exhilarating, and Niou’s not just going to let those feelings dance on the surface and not explore them further because then he’d have to pull away from Yagyuu, who’s leaning closer, closer still, and then he’s stopped with his lips on Niou’s and they’re kissing.
He’s thinking about it, and he’s feeling it, kissing and opening his mouth when Yagyuu’s tongue pokes between his lips, and then someone makes a noise that sounds almost painful that’s immediately muffled by Yagyuu’s mouth, his soft lips and wet tongue, and Niou tastes salt in the corners of Yagyuu’s mouth and closes his eyes.
A moment later and he’s trapped Yagyuu’s thighs between his knees again, but instead of his hands gripping Yagyuu’s lapels, they’re cupping the sides of his face and they’re kissing like they may never get the chance to again. It’s ridiculous; of course, they’ll see each other tomorrow at morning practice and again in gym and at afternoon practice, and while there isn’t much time or space to be private at school, there’s always studying at either of their houses, which they do frequently enough not to be remarked upon, anyway.
And that’s when Niou realizes he’s making the assumption that they will do this again, this kissing, because it seems so natural and so very right that they should. Niou should be screeching and clawing and saying, “Get AWAY! GAY! THIS IS WAY TOO FUCKING GAY, YAGYUU!” he should be shouting it, shoving him away, but just the thought of shoving him away makes him pull Yagyuu in closer. He settles lower on Yagyuu’s lap and then he feels it - feels the long shape of Yagyuu’s hard cock pressing against his ass, and it’s at once scary and so familiar; so much like his own.
It’s the crackle of a pine branch and brief, violent shushing that has Niou flying off Yagyuu. Someone - two someones - are visible in the pines on the other side of the path. Niou doesn’t think he and Yagyuu have been seen. They’re deep in shadow, and he’s just about resolved to stop looking when he realizes it’s that Kaidoh kid being pulled around by the taller megane doubles-kun. Yagyuu whispers, “Who is it?”
Niou slaps a hand over Yagyuu’s mouth and whispers “Shhh!”, then points. The pair stop a little further away, silhouetted by the city lights just over the drop behind the trees. There’s a soft, unintelligible few words, and then Niou and Yagyuu hear clear as day:
“Kaidoh. Don’t worry.” The hand of the taller one, Inui, Niou remembers, comes up and rests on Kaidoh’s shoulder. “There’s a negligible chance that anyone will come back here.”
And then he tips Kaidoh’s head up and leans in, and then, urgh, they’re plastered together, not the tiniest gleam of light between them, kissing.
There are grunts and groans and little, breathy whines, and before he realizes it, Niou is squirming with embarrassment and ohgod he’s harder than ever in his pants. He hears a soft gasp beside him, and without any warning, gathering all his courage to the sticking place, he rests his hand on the front of Yagyuu’s track pants. Yagyuu’s hard, too, as hard as he is. Niou trembles and gulps.
Yagyuu breathes hard through his nose, loud enough that Niou almost misses it. He yanks his attention away from Yagyuu and hears Inui say, “You were good tonight,” between kisses. “Kaidoh. Your new training regimen - we won.” Inui tips Kaidoh against the trunk of the tree behind him and leans in, kissing again and thrusting his hips forward, grinding against Kaidoh’s stomach. “You were amazing. Kaoru.”
Kaidoh doesn’t say anything, but he goes limp against the tree, as though he’s lost the strength in his legs. Inui’s arms tighten around him and hold him up, and this time Niou does hear Kaidoh respond, hoarsely, “Sadaharu,” gasping between kisses, legs slotted around Inui’s thigh, trembling, thrusting right back.
“Niou,” Yagyuu says, in the tiniest voice, strained, and it’s only then that Niou realizes he’s been squeezing the head of Yagyuu’s hard cock in time with Inui’s thrusts. And… it’s kinda gross watching Seigaku doubles two doing… that. But before he can think any more about it, or even think to stop his squeezing hand, it’s getting wet and slick as Yagyuu loses it and shoots his release into the waistband of his pants.
And it’s more than Niou can take. He gasps, and yanks the front of his shorts down with one hand, and takes his sticky hand and wraps it around his own cock. Because Yagyuu just…. He gulps. And god, those two Seigaku jerks didn’t even look around before they started getting off, what kind of stupid is that, and then Niou is giving a breathy and infinitely relieved giggle because it couldn’t have been a real Switch, Yagyuu and Kaidoh, not if Kaidoh is this unobservant, and Yagyuu, thinks Niou, his thoughts swinging back to him once again, Yagyuu didn’t want to know Kaidoh, didn’t want to share himself that way with Kaidoh.
And it strikes Niou that the Switch, that all the observation and all the imitation, is a form of communication. It’s like their own special language that says the things they can’t say to each other with words. The realization makes him breathless, as breathless as Yagyuu panting as quietly as he can beside him, his waistband sticky and wet. Ohgod, Yagyuu just came in his hand….
Fingers scramble at the waistband of his pants, ghost over the tip of his cock next to his own; there’s warm breath on his cheeks and then lips on his, opening his own, and then Niou’s ass is clenching and the muscles in his stomach are involuntarily fluttering as he pulses a warm, sticky trail up the skin of his belly.
They both slump sideways, and fall to the ground facing each other, panting, breathing each other’s breaths. After awhile, the noises from the other side of the path crescendo into soft keening, drowning out the sound of Yagyuu’s breathing, and how annoying is that? So Niou resolves, “Let’s play them.”
He sees the wicked gleam of Yagyuu’s smile in the dark, and it’s his own.
::------------------------------------------------::
They’re on the court rallying the ball back and forth when Seigaku doubles two walk out of the trees with their racquets over their shoulders, looking flushed and possibly a little wobbly. No one else is around; it’s getting late.
“Inui-kun -- would you and Kaidoh-kun like to play a game?” asks Niou, as they approach the court. He’s good enough at this now that he barely has the urge to snigger at himself.
Inui and Kaidoh look at each other, and geez, how obvious, they’re blushing, and Inui says, “It won’t go well for you.”
“Yo, we were thinking the same thing,” says Yagyuu, smirking, bouncing the corner of his racquet off the toe of his shoe. Niou stares at him for a moment, pushes the glasses up his nose and blinks.
Kaidoh looks at Niou and says, “I’d like to play against you once, Yagyuu-kun.”
“And I, you,” says Niou with Yagyuu’s voice, and he wonders if even Yagyuu’s mother could tell them apart.
And then they play, grunting and yelling and slouching and running and blazing across the court, balls lasering off raquets and zooming around poles, and smashing perfect scuffs in the dirt of the court. 1-0, 2-2, 5-4, 5-5, and finally, 7-5, Inui laying face first in the dirt where his last, failed smash left him, panting little dust clouds into the air, with Kaidoh sitting next to him looking stunned. Niou walks up to the net, extends his hand. Kaidoh rises, takes it, and says, “Good game Yagyuu-kun.”
Inui gets up and dusts himself off, then shakes his hand, too. “You realize that we have your data. If we meet you in the finals, you won’t win.” His eyes gleam behind his glasses.
Inside, Niou is gleeful, but he smiles Yagyuu’s brief smile and says, “Don’t be too certain of that,” in Yagyuu’s voice.
Later, as he’s walking back to his house with Yagyuu, finally free to scratch at the itchy skin where the come in Yagyuu’s waistband had gone sticky and dried (and Niou thinks that that should gross him out a little more but he’s half Yagyuu anyway, isn’t he?), Yagyuu says, “They never even realized, did they?”
Niou’s still feeling gleeful about that. He snorts. “Some data man. Tennis is observation,” he says, and looks over at Yagyuu, looks at his skin, glazed with sweat in the hot, steamy night, shining orange in the streetlights. He thinks about the sticky slide of Yagyuu’s skin against his, and the way Yagyuu’s soft lips and wet tongue brush and suck and consume his own, and realizes he has so much more to observe. So much more to learn. He thinks of Yagyuu saying his name, strained and still in orgasm, and wonders if he could ever sound that tight and desperate, if he could ever be that still, coming in his pants. He knows Yagyuu will practice with him, practice until they get each other right, because they still have so much to learn about one another. They still have so much to say, and this beautiful, perfect, wordless language to say it with.
“They’ll never win against us,” says Yagyuu, and when he smiles, Niou floats. It’s like looking in a mirror.
Author: venivincere
Recipient: firerose1300
Pairings: Niou/Yagyuu, Inui/Kaidoh
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Tennis, among other things, is observation.
Warnings: Underage characters getting off with each other.
Notes: 2,638 words. Lioness, I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Niou thinks it might have been a good thing he didn’t find out about the Switch until after practice: after the kilometers run and the hundreds of tight, precise motions of his arms and legs had worked the energy out of him, dripping in rivulets of sweat down his temples and the backs of his knees, down the inside of his shirt along his spine where it tickled and itched and made him restless to undress and shower. When his arm swung out on automatic, aimed for Yagyuu’s face, he was tired enough and slow enough for Yagyuu to catch it, hold it out in front of him like a shield, and say, “No. We’re not doing this here.”
After dinner and a few strategic emails later, Niou mumbles something to his mother about “public courts, Yagyuu sleeping over later” as he sits in the entryway wiggling his feet into his tennis shoes. She takes her cue to tells him to be home by ten, and there’ll be a snack in the kitchen for them. He says “Fine,” and slouches out the door, racquet bag slung over his shoulder, bumping off his ass with every step he takes.
The courts are busy, but not much more than normal. He sees Yagyuu on the bench, his racquet balanced across his knees watching the game going on. After a closer look he realizes the players are all Seigaku, their doubles one and doubles two, playing each other.
“Hoi hoi!” shouts Red Hair-kun after scoring a point, waving his racquet around like an uchiwa.
The dark kid with him says something too low for Niou to hear, and across the net, Kaidoh scowls and kicks the dirt on the court. Niou breathes, “Ha!” and then makes his way over to the side.
He slides onto the bench next to Yagyuu and asks, “Can we do it here?”
Taken out of context, that sounds kinda gay, and if he weren’t one hundred percent certain that Yagyuu would understand exactly what he meant, he would be embarrassed enough to look away. As it is, he wants to finish what he started this afternoon.
“Yes,” says Yagyuu, and he gets up and walks out into the park behind the courts. It’s filled with tall pine trees, and the grounds are dark and fragrant. There’s a shed a little way beyond the courts. They sit down behind it in the shadows and lean against the corrugated metal with their legs drawn up, listening to the night air, all steam and singing insects. And now that they’re there, now that he’s got Yagyuu’s attention, he doesn’t know how to start, what to say that doesn’t sound whiney and uncool, but then he doesn’t have to say anything, because Yagyuu’s saying, “I’m sorry, Niou-kun.”
Niou doesn’t say anything, just swallows, then swallows again around the thickness in his throat, and dammit, it’s fucking allergies if anyone asks. If Yagyuu says anything. Niou dashes the back of his hand across his eyes and waits, but Yagyuu doesn’t tease. He rarely does, unless he’s being Niou.
“I shouldn’t have been so ready to share our team secrets,” says Yagyuu.
And that’s not it. That’s not it at all, and suddenly Niou’s pissed off again and his fist is in Yagyuu’s collar and he’s up on his knees, Yagyuu’s thighs trapped between them, breathing harshly in Yagyuu’s face.
“It’s not a secret, dumbass!” he snarls. “It’s ours!”
It’s plain that Yagyuu’s not getting it, but Niou’s beyond wanting to smash Yagyuu’s face. He wants him to understand, more than anything he wants Yagyuu to understand that this thing is sacred: their tennis, the way they play together, the way they dominate their court and win their game, the way they become each other, that’s theirs, no one else’s.
“We made that up. We made it ours and you shared it, and you didn’t ask me first,” he says, sniffing mightily. “How could you become anyone else?”
And when the light dawns in Yagyuu’s face, the fight goes out of him. Niou lets go of Yagyuu’s lapels and plops back down onto his ass beside him, legs touching at the knees.
“Niou…” says Yagyuu, pushing up his glasses. His hand brushes over Niou’s, just a brief touch to get his attention. “Believe me, it wasn’t a real Switch.”
Niou swallows one last time and looks him in the eye.
“We’ve played doubles together for a long time,” he says, eventually. “We’ve grown together, don’t you think?”
Niou doesn’t say anything for awhile but Yagyuu’s right. He looks at Yagyuu’s face, staring at him, earnest, then blinks his eyes away to the side.
“We’ve had a lot of practice getting to know one another. To observe one another. To be one another, right?”
Niou isn’t frowning anymore because it’s true and because it’s been more fun than tennis ever was, before. Yeah, there’s always the physical challenge of tennis, but the Switch - there’s a mental challenge with that. All the watching, the careful, miss-nothing watching, it’s like juggling, trying to keep all the pins in the air. Niou can’t physically do that but his mind is more than nimble enough. It’s been more fun than anything, just knowing Yagyuu as though he were himself. Being Yagyuu. Having Yagyuu be him.
Niou’s hand is flat in the dust behind the shed, and Yagyuu’s fingers touch his again for just a moment, the grains of dust scratching lightly into his knuckles. “I learned one thing, playing with Kaidoh,” says Yagyuu.
“What,” says Niou, a little hoarse, stifling an urge to go find bandana boy and punch him hard enough to make him bleed.
“I don’t want to be anyone other than you.”
It sinks in, makes Niou feel warm, and suddenly his heart is beating like he’s just finished a match, like he’s just Switched with Yagyuu, been Yagyuu, and it’s made all the difference, like they’ve won. Which is scary, and exhilarating, and Niou’s not just going to let those feelings dance on the surface and not explore them further because then he’d have to pull away from Yagyuu, who’s leaning closer, closer still, and then he’s stopped with his lips on Niou’s and they’re kissing.
He’s thinking about it, and he’s feeling it, kissing and opening his mouth when Yagyuu’s tongue pokes between his lips, and then someone makes a noise that sounds almost painful that’s immediately muffled by Yagyuu’s mouth, his soft lips and wet tongue, and Niou tastes salt in the corners of Yagyuu’s mouth and closes his eyes.
A moment later and he’s trapped Yagyuu’s thighs between his knees again, but instead of his hands gripping Yagyuu’s lapels, they’re cupping the sides of his face and they’re kissing like they may never get the chance to again. It’s ridiculous; of course, they’ll see each other tomorrow at morning practice and again in gym and at afternoon practice, and while there isn’t much time or space to be private at school, there’s always studying at either of their houses, which they do frequently enough not to be remarked upon, anyway.
And that’s when Niou realizes he’s making the assumption that they will do this again, this kissing, because it seems so natural and so very right that they should. Niou should be screeching and clawing and saying, “Get AWAY! GAY! THIS IS WAY TOO FUCKING GAY, YAGYUU!” he should be shouting it, shoving him away, but just the thought of shoving him away makes him pull Yagyuu in closer. He settles lower on Yagyuu’s lap and then he feels it - feels the long shape of Yagyuu’s hard cock pressing against his ass, and it’s at once scary and so familiar; so much like his own.
It’s the crackle of a pine branch and brief, violent shushing that has Niou flying off Yagyuu. Someone - two someones - are visible in the pines on the other side of the path. Niou doesn’t think he and Yagyuu have been seen. They’re deep in shadow, and he’s just about resolved to stop looking when he realizes it’s that Kaidoh kid being pulled around by the taller megane doubles-kun. Yagyuu whispers, “Who is it?”
Niou slaps a hand over Yagyuu’s mouth and whispers “Shhh!”, then points. The pair stop a little further away, silhouetted by the city lights just over the drop behind the trees. There’s a soft, unintelligible few words, and then Niou and Yagyuu hear clear as day:
“Kaidoh. Don’t worry.” The hand of the taller one, Inui, Niou remembers, comes up and rests on Kaidoh’s shoulder. “There’s a negligible chance that anyone will come back here.”
And then he tips Kaidoh’s head up and leans in, and then, urgh, they’re plastered together, not the tiniest gleam of light between them, kissing.
There are grunts and groans and little, breathy whines, and before he realizes it, Niou is squirming with embarrassment and ohgod he’s harder than ever in his pants. He hears a soft gasp beside him, and without any warning, gathering all his courage to the sticking place, he rests his hand on the front of Yagyuu’s track pants. Yagyuu’s hard, too, as hard as he is. Niou trembles and gulps.
Yagyuu breathes hard through his nose, loud enough that Niou almost misses it. He yanks his attention away from Yagyuu and hears Inui say, “You were good tonight,” between kisses. “Kaidoh. Your new training regimen - we won.” Inui tips Kaidoh against the trunk of the tree behind him and leans in, kissing again and thrusting his hips forward, grinding against Kaidoh’s stomach. “You were amazing. Kaoru.”
Kaidoh doesn’t say anything, but he goes limp against the tree, as though he’s lost the strength in his legs. Inui’s arms tighten around him and hold him up, and this time Niou does hear Kaidoh respond, hoarsely, “Sadaharu,” gasping between kisses, legs slotted around Inui’s thigh, trembling, thrusting right back.
“Niou,” Yagyuu says, in the tiniest voice, strained, and it’s only then that Niou realizes he’s been squeezing the head of Yagyuu’s hard cock in time with Inui’s thrusts. And… it’s kinda gross watching Seigaku doubles two doing… that. But before he can think any more about it, or even think to stop his squeezing hand, it’s getting wet and slick as Yagyuu loses it and shoots his release into the waistband of his pants.
And it’s more than Niou can take. He gasps, and yanks the front of his shorts down with one hand, and takes his sticky hand and wraps it around his own cock. Because Yagyuu just…. He gulps. And god, those two Seigaku jerks didn’t even look around before they started getting off, what kind of stupid is that, and then Niou is giving a breathy and infinitely relieved giggle because it couldn’t have been a real Switch, Yagyuu and Kaidoh, not if Kaidoh is this unobservant, and Yagyuu, thinks Niou, his thoughts swinging back to him once again, Yagyuu didn’t want to know Kaidoh, didn’t want to share himself that way with Kaidoh.
And it strikes Niou that the Switch, that all the observation and all the imitation, is a form of communication. It’s like their own special language that says the things they can’t say to each other with words. The realization makes him breathless, as breathless as Yagyuu panting as quietly as he can beside him, his waistband sticky and wet. Ohgod, Yagyuu just came in his hand….
Fingers scramble at the waistband of his pants, ghost over the tip of his cock next to his own; there’s warm breath on his cheeks and then lips on his, opening his own, and then Niou’s ass is clenching and the muscles in his stomach are involuntarily fluttering as he pulses a warm, sticky trail up the skin of his belly.
They both slump sideways, and fall to the ground facing each other, panting, breathing each other’s breaths. After awhile, the noises from the other side of the path crescendo into soft keening, drowning out the sound of Yagyuu’s breathing, and how annoying is that? So Niou resolves, “Let’s play them.”
He sees the wicked gleam of Yagyuu’s smile in the dark, and it’s his own.
::------------------------------------------------::
They’re on the court rallying the ball back and forth when Seigaku doubles two walk out of the trees with their racquets over their shoulders, looking flushed and possibly a little wobbly. No one else is around; it’s getting late.
“Inui-kun -- would you and Kaidoh-kun like to play a game?” asks Niou, as they approach the court. He’s good enough at this now that he barely has the urge to snigger at himself.
Inui and Kaidoh look at each other, and geez, how obvious, they’re blushing, and Inui says, “It won’t go well for you.”
“Yo, we were thinking the same thing,” says Yagyuu, smirking, bouncing the corner of his racquet off the toe of his shoe. Niou stares at him for a moment, pushes the glasses up his nose and blinks.
Kaidoh looks at Niou and says, “I’d like to play against you once, Yagyuu-kun.”
“And I, you,” says Niou with Yagyuu’s voice, and he wonders if even Yagyuu’s mother could tell them apart.
And then they play, grunting and yelling and slouching and running and blazing across the court, balls lasering off raquets and zooming around poles, and smashing perfect scuffs in the dirt of the court. 1-0, 2-2, 5-4, 5-5, and finally, 7-5, Inui laying face first in the dirt where his last, failed smash left him, panting little dust clouds into the air, with Kaidoh sitting next to him looking stunned. Niou walks up to the net, extends his hand. Kaidoh rises, takes it, and says, “Good game Yagyuu-kun.”
Inui gets up and dusts himself off, then shakes his hand, too. “You realize that we have your data. If we meet you in the finals, you won’t win.” His eyes gleam behind his glasses.
Inside, Niou is gleeful, but he smiles Yagyuu’s brief smile and says, “Don’t be too certain of that,” in Yagyuu’s voice.
Later, as he’s walking back to his house with Yagyuu, finally free to scratch at the itchy skin where the come in Yagyuu’s waistband had gone sticky and dried (and Niou thinks that that should gross him out a little more but he’s half Yagyuu anyway, isn’t he?), Yagyuu says, “They never even realized, did they?”
Niou’s still feeling gleeful about that. He snorts. “Some data man. Tennis is observation,” he says, and looks over at Yagyuu, looks at his skin, glazed with sweat in the hot, steamy night, shining orange in the streetlights. He thinks about the sticky slide of Yagyuu’s skin against his, and the way Yagyuu’s soft lips and wet tongue brush and suck and consume his own, and realizes he has so much more to observe. So much more to learn. He thinks of Yagyuu saying his name, strained and still in orgasm, and wonders if he could ever sound that tight and desperate, if he could ever be that still, coming in his pants. He knows Yagyuu will practice with him, practice until they get each other right, because they still have so much to learn about one another. They still have so much to say, and this beautiful, perfect, wordless language to say it with.
“They’ll never win against us,” says Yagyuu, and when he smiles, Niou floats. It’s like looking in a mirror.