Kite/Tezuka ~ fic
Title: Letting the cables sleep
Pairing: Kite/Tezuka - future timeline
Rating: Not too dirty in this chapter. :D
Summary: Kite tries to accustom himself to an empty bed after Rin has packed up and gone. A chance meeting with an old rival helps to ease the separation anxiety.
First bit
a/n ~ I knew I wouldn't be able to stop with that last one. This fricking thing has turned into an epic. I love you, buchou.
letting the cables sleep
chapter two
Atobe never stood in shadow.
Outdoors, he drew the sunlight as though he expected no less and Tezuka suspected - if the truth were to be known - that he truly didn’t. When they were younger, Tezuka had scorned Atobe’s overtures, though it hadn’t been more than a couple of years ahead that had seen Tezuka accepting and even anticipating them.
A couple of years after that, Tezuka craved them - craved Atobe. The way he smiled at Tezuka in a room full of people; the way he’d catch Tezuka’s gaze when his smile faded and the whole world just fell away. The way Tezuka felt when Atobe reached for him.
He’d wanted him, needed him. Loved him. And though he knew - in his heart - that Atobe loved him, also, there were obstacles in their path that seemed insurmountable. Cursing his romantic ideals when he should have known better, Tezuka felt as though their time had come and gone. It hurt - even now, some four months since he’d last shared space with Atobe Keigo - it hurt so badly that when he dwelled on it, he felt as though he might suffocate.
Their last exchange, not counting the many heated phone conversations and distant, unresolved emails, had hollowed out a place in Tezuka’s heart that he’d determined never to fill again. The pain that he’d experienced at the hands of such involvement was a lesson that Tezuka felt he’d learned very well, indeed.
He would never entrust his heart to someone else and he would never seek to garner the affections of another. Not ever again. And if he ever felt as though his resolve were weakening or if he ever began to forget how deeply such emotion could cut, he would recall the conversation that had been the deal-breaker. The moment Tezuka had known his silly, unspoken, romantic dream would never be reality.
Turned away from him - that fine, straight back serving as some sort of shield - Atobe’s head was bowed. Silent and pinching the bridge of his nose in a bid for patience or wisdom or any answer at all that might make his impossible situation bearable again. As it had been once when they were kids and didn’t know any better. Tezuka had known it then and - looking back - he was certain that Atobe had known it, too. He simply didn’t possess the freedom or the experience to do what Tezuka had hoped that he would.
“He still doesn’t know,” he accused, setting aside the glass of champagne that he’d yet to taste.
Atobe sighed, shoulders rising and falling in clear indication of his lack of patience on this particular topic. “’Mitsu,” he began.
Shaking his head, Tezuka had to avert his gaze - seeing Atobe search for the patience to deal with him as if he were one of his lackeys galled Tezuka to such an extent that the sight of him was entirely unwelcome.
“Save it,” he said, voice low but not at all because his chest had begun to ache. Not ever because of that.
Turning, Atobe glared at Tezuka. There was no mistaking his anguish, his helplessness. Tezuka told himself that he didn’t care - he felt no sympathy.
“What do you want me to say? What can I do to make this go away, Kunimitsu? You make it sound so simple!”
Frowning, Tezuka held his ground, kept his distance. This conversation was not a new one, but Tezuka had begun to wonder if perhaps keeping it alive was even more detrimental than simply ceasing to bring it up. “It is simple,” he said. “It’s you that makes it complicated, Keigo.”
He laughed, though Tezuka knew he found nothing amusing, and poured himself another scotch. It was the fourth he’d had in an hour. “Simple for you, I suppose.”
He paused - swallowed, winced - and resumed pinching the bridge of his nose. “God, Kunimitsu, you’re killing me. You’re draining me. You’re draining me just like he is, only you make it feel like something else because I want you so damned much.”
Want. Not Love. Tezuka had not overlooked the lack of distinction.
“There’s more to this than you and me,” he added, searching for any excuse to make his avoidance acceptable. “I have more to think about…”
Tezuka nodded, let out the breath that he’d felt he’d been holding all evening, and straightened his shoulders. It was over and he knew it. It hadn’t needed to be said aloud and he saw no reason to draw out the inevitable.
“…than me,” Tezuka finished for him, resigned. “Thank you for finally saying it.”
Tilting his head, Atobe parted his lips to protest, but Tezuka held up a hand to stall him. “I’ve never asked for more than you were capable of, Keigo. And you know that your future is as important to me as my own.”
“That’s not…,” Atobe attempted to interject, but Tezuka was already retrieving his coat.
“It is,” he corrected. “I don’t need a public acknowledgement, Keigo - you know me better than that.”
Buttoning up his coat, he cast a final glance to the champagne flute on the table. The dark reds of the walls and the suffocating heat of the fireplace seemed a perfect accompaniment to that one, untouched glass. Tezuka watched a few last bubbles drift to the surface and he was gripped with the certainty that he would never see the inside of this room again. He knew it would have hurt more if he weren’t so tired - so numb.
“What, then? What can I do to make this all right, ‘mitsu? I just can’t do what you’re suggesting I do.”
At the door, he sighed, wishing to allow himself the luxury of not looking at Atobe again. But Tezuka was not a coward - he would do as his scruples dictated that he must, for the sake of his own dignity.
“I wouldn’t suggest anything at all to you, Keigo. I want a lover- not a showpiece.”
The walk down the long hallway of the Atobe mansion had seemed infinite. He hated the carpet, he hated the color scheme, he hated the muffled sound of the orchestral piece Atobe’s father so adored. He hated the decisions that he’d made and the way Atobe had let him down.
But he didn’t hate himself. Not anymore.
+++
It was full dark when Tezuka slowly came awake. His belly was empty and his head was full of cobwebs and he felt like he hadn’t brushed his teeth in days. Faintly, even as he attempted to reacquaint himself with consciousness, he could hear the sound of running water in the next room and it wasn’t until he recognized the citrusy, sandalwood scent clinging to the pillow that the events of the day came rushing back to Tezuka.
Ohhh, shit.
Shifting to one side, he gazed at the digital clock that he could not make out and wondered why he seemed so proficient in making bad decisions. His limbs felt heavy when he moved; he felt lazy and sated and entirely, inappropriately unconcerned with the gravity of the situation.
Sitting up, he rubbed his face, considered how much time he had to make his escape before Kite emerged from the bathroom. Feeling along the nightstand blindly, he felt better when his hands closed around a pair of glasses. It wasn’t until he was preparing to balance them on the bridge of his nose that he realized they weren’t his. Having no idea where the lamp was, Tezuka eased his fingertips across the table until he came into contact with what he sought. Exchanging his glasses for Kite’s was unsettling and somewhat symbolic, but Tezuka had no desire to dwell on any possible hidden meaning in so simple a mistake.
He stood - his legs were shaky and his ass was killing him - and winced when he realized that the wetness between his buttocks had not leaked out onto the bed sheets and was, instead, trickling along the back of his thigh. He had not, as it happened, ever been ‘barebacked’ before.
Near the dresser, Tezuka bent to feel along the floor for his pants and underwear and he startled when the bathroom door opened to flood the room with light. Lifting one hand to shield his eyes from the sudden brightness, Tezuka stood quickly, holding his wrinkled pants before him in an attempt to cover his nudity. He felt wet and stretched and dirty and while he wanted a shower in the worst way, he would have been satisfied to dress quickly and make an even hastier exit. Niceties were not Tezuka’s forte and he didn’t consider this sort of situation suitable for practice.
Leaning in the doorframe - the amount of steam rolling out behind him a fair testament to the lack of hot water Tezuka would be likely to find if, in fact, he did attempt to shower here - Kite glanced around, presumably to locate his errant bedmate.
“You’re awake,” he murmured. more to himself than to Tezuka, and when he emerged from the bathroom to move around the corner of the dresser, Tezuka froze.
It occurred to him that it made little sense to feel flustered by the sight of Kite with that indecently undersized towel swathed about his hips when he’d seen him quite naked only a few hours before, but Tezuka reasoned that since none of this made much sense, he had a good excuse.
Kite moved fast - Tezuka couldn’t imagine why he hadn’t expected it of him - and had his arms around Tezuka before he’d been able to step backward. His skin was damp and his hair was wet and he smelled faintly of toothpaste and whatever body wash he’d used in the shower. When he leaned in for a kiss, Tezuka turned his head, closing his eyes when Kite’s lips grazed his cheek, instead.
“Tezuka,” he said, his tone light and difficult to interpret. Tezuka shrugged lightly, though he didn’t seek to push Kite away.
“I should brush my teeth,” he offered weakly and Kite hummed thoughtfully when he turned Tezuka’s face with two fingers at his chin. Without a word, he tilted his head, pressed his lips to Tezuka’s and drew him in with nothing more than the feel of his lips - already parting against Tezuka’s in an effort to coax a similar reaction.
With Kite’s arms snug at his back and his mouth soft and warm against his own, it was entirely without thought that Tezuka rested his hands at Kite’s hips. Letting his pants drop to the floor again, Tezuka couldn’t quite resist the feel of Kite’s hipbones under his thumbs and he moaned, fingers light along the edge of the towel, when Kite nudged his chin up with his own and tilted his head again to deepen their kiss.
Slow, so slow and so careful - Kite was very, very good at this - and when he licked at the roof of Tezuka’s mouth, swallowing the small sound he made, Tezuka’s knees weakened.
After what felt like ten full minutes, Kite pulled back, one hand cupping Tezuka’s bottom when he lifted the other to touch his mouth and Tezuka sighed, unable to help himself.
“You think I should wait until you’ve brushed your teeth before I get a kiss, hm, Tezuka?”
Tezuka blushed, grateful for the shadow in which he stood, and ducked his head. “I don’t know.”
Kite rubbed his back, reassuring, possessive, and released him finally. “There are towels on the shelf in the bathroom. Go shower - I know you want to.”
Uncertain and uncomfortable, Tezuka nodded and turned to hide as much of his nudity as he could. Something about Kite’s proximity and the intimacy that he seemed to have no issue with made Tezuka feel like a lost child. He was certain he should hate it and wasn’t eager to dwell on why he didn’t.
“It’s late,” he said, feeling as though one of them should put the situation into some sort of perspective. “I should really go.”
Dragging a hand through his wet hair and only serving to accentuate that unfortunate cowlick that Tezuka had once assumed was merely his style of choice, Kite glanced at the clock. “It’s not late. It’s early.”
Tezuka’s stomach growled - loudly - and he wrapped both arms around his middle, glancing up apologetically. “Ah…”
Kite chuckled, barely a sound, and whipped the towel away from his waist to hang it on the dresser drawer’s handle. “You’re hungry. Go shower, Tezuka - take your time - I’ll make something to eat.”
“And then what?” Tezuka asked, hesitant. He needed to know - needed to hear - exactly where this was going. Honestly, this camaraderie with Kite Eishirou was something he certainly hadn’t been expecting when he’d agreed to accompany him home that afternoon. He’d assumed - reasonably - that they’d exchange a few pleasantries, go to bed together just long enough to take the edge off and then they would part ways without any false pretense toward an extended sort of contact.
Strangely enough, Kite didn’t seem eager to be rid of him - quite the contrary, actually - and his unexpected demeanor confused Tezuka and made him unsure, uneasy. Kite wasn’t reading from the script that Tezuka had intended to follow, himself, and he found himself treading on shaky ground.
It was a territory that Tezuka had not ventured into in quite some time. Even worse was that he did not dislike it.
Kite shrugged, turning to retrieve clothing from one of the drawers behind him. “Whatever you want,” he said, shaking out a tank top and a pair of cotton pants. Tezuka did not miss the fact that he did not select any underwear. When he faced Tezuka again, mouth quirking in the barest shadow of a smile, Tezuka felt his stomach plummet only to surge forth again when he caught a glimpse of Kite’s white, even teeth. “We’ll open up a bottle of wine and talk about nothing until the sun comes up. We’ll have one hell of an early breakfast and you’ll let me feed you fresh fruit. I’ll whip your ass at chess and make it up to you with the best blow job you’ve ever had in your life.”
Sweeping him with a long, slow glance, Kite smiled when Tezuka’s blush became evident to him. “Or we’ll go back to bed and eat there and forget that we should be asleep, anyway.”
At that point, Tezuka’s blush had little to do with embarrassment and more to do with the way his heart was pounding inside his chest. Kite Eishirou took his breath. He wasn’t supposed to.
“You talk too much,” he finally groused, turning toward the bathroom with as much dignity as he could muster.
Kite smiled when Tezuka closed the door and glanced toward the mirror, to the spot in which Rin’s picture hung. He couldn’t make out the details, but he knew the picture’s exact position and the expression in his once-lover’s eyes by heart. “No one else would think so,” he murmured.
+++
Kite’s bathroom was larger than Tezuka had anticipated that it would be. The sink was bereft of any toiletries and the towels were fluffy. The corner shelves in the shower held the necessities and nothing more. Sliding the door into place behind him, Tezuka tested the temperature of the water and, when he was satisfied, stepped directly under the spray. He bowed his head, closed his eyes and exhaled slowly when the pressure of the water helped soothe the tension across his shoulders and along the back of his neck. Here, alone in Kite’s shower - even surrounded by his scent as he was - Tezuka could relax and begin to put things into perspective.
Cautioning himself against over-analyzing the situation, Tezuka straightened finally, tipping his face up into the spray and slicking his hair back with both hands. He knew that Kite would give him all the space and all the privacy he wanted - he wasn’t the clingy, demanding type - though how he knew this he couldn’t have said. Something in the way of Kite’s demeanor, the way he didn’t push and, instead, simply assumed that his quarry would follow where he led, put Tezuka at ease.
It’s just sex. That’s all. Stop thinking about it.
But he couldn’t help thinking about it - couldn’t help reliving the entire afternoon as he scrubbed himself with Kite’s shower sponge, with the plain, white soap that Kite used. As casual as he knew their interlude had been, Tezuka could admit to himself, if not to Kite, that it had been exactly what he’d needed. It had been months since he’d touched someone else. Months since someone else had touched him and though he still spoke to Atobe periodically, the emotional upheaval that each and every interaction brought did nothing to soothe the restlessness in him. He had not seen Atobe since he’d called a halt to their relationship and had berated himself for his inability to let go long enough to seek affection and friendship with anyone else. It was, to Tezuka, all too ironic that the first person to offer him solace after so many months of anguish was Kite Eishirou - an even greater rival than Atobe had ever been.
Even more curious was the proprietary manner in which Kite dealt with him. As receptive and attentive as Kite seemed to be, he was still somehow able to maintain just enough emotional distance to avoid putting Tezuka off. It occurred to Tezuka, though some part of him continued to doubt the intelligence of such a decision, that to relax and simply take things as they came was preferable to worrying himself over each minute detail. It seemed to work quite well for Atobe and, as far as Tezuka could ascertain, for Kite as well.
Turning off the shower spray, he reached for the towel slung over the door and took another deep, relaxing breath. After the mind-blowing sex and much-needed rest he’d had, he was beginning to feel completely untouchable - in the most self-sufficient, well-adjusted way imaginable. It had been a very long time since such peace of mind had been his.
He toweled off quickly, enjoying the humidity inside the room when he slid open the shower door again. There - on the counter - was a set of pajamas, pressed and folded, with a still-packaged toothbrush lying atop them.
The toothbrush was pink.
+++
Kite enjoyed cooking. He liked experimenting and trying new things and creating odd dishes out of hodgepodge ingredients. As he stood at the counter and sliced shiitake mushrooms, he allowed himself to reflect on the events of the evening - and then he wondered why he bothered to reflect on that which had already passed.
On a whim, he’d picked up Tezuka Kunimitsu, taken him home and fucked his brains out. And then he’d snuggled up close and taken a little nap with him. It still didn’t make much sense - no matter how he attempted to rationalize it - but Tezuka had felt good enough against him that Kite didn’t mind so much. Not in the habit of being avoidant, Kite didn’t mind admitting that a little afternoon delight with the finest ex-buchou in all of Japan - barring himself, naturally - had done wonders for the antsy, restless feeling that had plagued him since Rin had left. What bothered Kite - now that the sex was over - was the realization that he wanted Tezuka to stick around.
Setting the bowl of sliced mushrooms aside, Kite turned to notice Tezuka hovering in the doorway and he lifted his chin in casual greeting. Tezuka was clean and his hair was damp and messy and he looked positively delectable in Kite’s old pajamas.
“Feel better?”
Tezuka shrugged, wrapped his arms around his waist in a purely self-conscious gesture that Kite would have bet money he wasn’t aware of. If he were, he’d have done whatever necessary to curb that particular tendency.
“Better than what?”
With the faintest hint of a smile, Kite moved past him, wiping his hands on the tiny apron tied around his waist. He didn’t answer and, instead, retrieved a couple of containers from the small refrigerator and turned back toward the counter. In his peripheral vision, he watched Tezuka come into the room and glance around tentatively. Near the window was Kite’s only nod to dining room niceties - a small dining table surrounded by oversized, plush pillows. Situated snugly in the corner, lining the windows that overlooked the sidewalk and the river just beyond, the dining area was cozy and intimate, but like nothing Tezuka had ever seen before. It was eclectic and non-traditional - things that Tezuka usually did not ascribe to.
He padded over, kneeling beside the table to run a hand over one pillow, and glanced up at Kite again. “What are you making?”
“Shrimp balls,” was Kite’s immediate answer, and Tezuka frowned.
“All I see is mushrooms and tofu.”
And gouya, but Tezuka didn’t want to bring that up quite yet.
Humming thoughtfully, Kite held up a pineapple briefly before laying it down again. “You won’t know the difference, I promise.”
Frowning again, Tezuka sat down on the pillow, shifting in an attempt to lounge comfortably - or at least avoid rolling off the pillow and embarrassing himself - and failing miserably. “Hm. And gouya, too?”
“That’s not for eating,” Kite informed him evenly, breaking open the pineapple with a loud thunk. When Tezuka did not answer and, instead, seemed to retreat even further into himself, Kite glanced over, expression mild. “That was a joke.”
That Tezuka had not found it amusing was apparent and Kite felt obligated to put him at his ease, no matter that his first instinct was to continue until his guest began to fidget in earnest. Rin would have laughed and told him that he was an idiot. Tezuka wasn’t Rin.
“I caramelize the pineapple and gouya - blended, they are delicious. The mushrooms and tofu are actually much tastier than you might think.”
Tezuka nodded. “It’s rather late for so complicated a meal, I think,” and then, almost apologetically, he added, “you didn’t have to do this.”
Shrugging, Kite turned on the saucepan and wiped his hands again. Tezuka could not help noticing the way his biceps tightened when he moved and he took a firm grasp on his composure. It would not do to allow Kite to catch him ogling his bare arms. Likely he would be insufferably self-satisfied about it and would use such a weakness to his advantage. Shortly thereafter, though, Tezuka reminded himself that Kite was not Atobe and it was not fair to make assumptions or consider any conclusion foregone.
“You’re hungry. I’m hungry. It’s not a big deal.”
Parting his lips - preparing to initiate some conversation that might make their exchange a bit more familiar - Tezuka could only close them again when he realized that he nothing to say. Nothing, that is, that could not be considered rude given their acquaintance. He wondered if sex was intimacy enough that he should be able to speak of more private matters without fear of recrimination, but he realized that he would not appreciate Kite’s taking of personal liberties with him and so he imagined that he owed him that same courtesy.
“It’s 1:30 in the morning,” Tezuka reminded him quietly and Kite turned his head just enough to catch Tezuka’s gaze before turning back to the task at hand.
“Are you sleepy, then?”
Surprised to find that he was not, Tezuka shook his head, murmured, “No.”
“Neither am I. So it doesn’t matter what time of night it is if neither of us is interested in sleeping.”
After a moment of mutual silence, Kite turned, leaning against the counter and regarding Tezuka with that unsettling, direct gaze. “Tezuka.”
Tezuka glanced up, uneasy under such direct scrutiny. “Aa.”
“My previous offers still stand. We can do whatever you like.”
Coloring faintly as he remembered precisely what Kite’s previous offers had been, Tezuka nodded and turned to settle back against the wall. The pillow was soft and molded easily to his shape and his stomach growled again.
“I’m not sleepy,” he said again, as if that should be answer enough and - for Kite - it seemed that it was. He was surprisingly non-argumentative.
“Then I’m on the right track,” he answered.
Tezuka did not probe for further clarification or intent and Kite continued to work silently at the stove. Tezuka watched him unapologetically and occasionally rubbed his palms over the worn pajama pants he wore in an attempt to prevent his getting too distracted. Relaxed though Kite would have him believe their interlude to be, Tezuka couldn’t pretend he wasn’t feeling skittish and uncertain. He only hoped that Kite wasn’t as aware of it as Tezuka was, himself.
“Where do you keep the wine?” Tezuka asked, glancing around the small, neat kitchen. The five minutes spent sitting alone on the cushions was proof enough that sitting idly by while Kite worked only served to further his unsettled feeling.
Nodding in the direction of the cabinet to his left, Kite did not look at Tezuka. Glasses are just beneath.”
Rising gracefully, Tezuka crossed the floor - behind Kite - to peruse his selection. A past involvement with Atobe Keigo had brought with it a crash course in acceptable labels and how to judge which was superior without ever having to pop the cork.
Upon opening Kite’s cabinet, however, Tezuka realized that his selection would be quite easily made as Kite seemed to only have the one bottle. And the label was one that Tezuka did not recognize. He didn’t say a word about it, though, and was merely grateful that it was a white. Red wine gave Tezuka the worst sort of headache and, naturally, red had been the type Atobe preferred.
On the shelf below the bottle of wine were two plain, elegant goblets. They seemed to suit Kite, as he didn’t appear to prefer anything that was over-adorned or too obvious. Tezuka wondered if such a preference was any indication as to his taste his men. Given the events of the afternoon, Tezuka could only assume that it was.
Glancing over, he watched Kite stir the pineapple and shredded gouya and when he paused to level a spoonful of sugar, Tezuka regarded him curiously. “You’re health conscious enough to choose tofu over shrimp, but you’re going to dump half a cup of sugar into that pan?”
Arching a brow, Kite paused - spoon held suspended at such an angle that Tezuka could not imagine why the sugar did not spill into the pan, but told himself, wryly, that it probably knew better - and regarded Tezuka mildly.
“What if I said I simply liked tofu?”
Tezuka’s reply was immediate. “You’d be lying.”
Lips quirking in a smile, Kite tipped the spoon and began to stir the mixture slowly without taking his eyes off of Tezuka. “I suppose I can let you in on my little secret. It can’t hurt, after all.”
With the bottle of wine in one hand and the two glasses suspended from their fine, crystal stems in the other, Tezuka frowned. He didn’t like the sound of this. “Secret,” he repeated. It was not a question.
Kite nodded. “Aa. Secret.”
He paused, stirring again and turning the temperature down somewhat, and then continued. “I have an insatiable sweet tooth - I can’t seem to resist.”
Tezuka didn’t answer right away, certain that such a statement was bound to be a lead-in to some overtly sexual remark, but Kite fell silent again - seemingly focused on the caramelized sugar he stirred.
He had a sweet tooth. He couldn’t resist.
Tezuka moved past him again to kneel at the table. He set the goblets down and began to peel away the seal near the cork. He had no idea how to respond to Kite when he made small talk that was just this side of silly. Tezuka had never been very good at differentiating between the truth and making a joke, despite his own rather dry sense of humor.
Soon enough, Kite turned off the stovetop, arranged plates and bowls and - as an afterthought - opened a drawer nearby to retrieve a corkscrew. Laying it on the table wordlessly, he turned to fetch the dishes and a few paper napkins.
He met Tezuka’s eyes evenly when he moved around the table to lower himself onto an oversized cushion and smiled faintly when Tezuka tensed.
“I’m not going to bite, Tezuka,” he said, voice light, and Tezuka frowned, holding the bottle of wine between his side and his arm as he worked the cork loose.
“Don’t patronize me, Kite.”
His words only served to cause Kite’s smile to widen and Tezuka turned his attention to the wine, disgusted with himself for allowing Kite to bait him.
“Who’s patronizing? I just thought I should remind you, is all. You seemed not to want me sitting next to you.”
Popping the cork free and laying it on one of the napkins Kite brought to the table, Tezuka frowned. “We just had sex. It would be hypocritical of me to move away from you, now.”
Kite stretched idly, but sat at the table as attentively as Tezuka did. He was a silent for a moment, considering, before speaking again. “Some might say it would be a fairly wise decision, actually.”
Stiffening with indignation, Tezuka set the bottle of wine upon the table and fixed Kite with a hard look. “Some? Like you?” Tezuka had no problem imagining it of Kite - his method of acquiring bed partners was impromptu, to say the least. He was likely the type of man who never hung around for breakfast and never called for a second date.
Not that Tezuka cared, as he had no intention of becoming involved with anyone beyond a mutually beneficial physical arrangement. And that arrangement would not - he decided - involve Kite Eishirou in any way, shape or form.
Kite blinked, picking up the bottle to fill the goblets to about halfway before moving it out of arm’s reach. “I was referring to the people who have shared my bed before, actually.”
Tezuka’s skepticism was evident, but he hid it quickly behind his first sip of wine. It was delicious - crisp and light and not too sweet - Tezuka was surprised.
Falling silent, Kite spooned a couple of shrimp balls onto a plate before covering them with the pineapple/gouya/burnt sugar concoction. When he slid the plate toward Tezuka, his expression was serious. “This might come as something of a surprise to you, Tezuka, but I’ve been told that I can be incredibly emotionally unavailable.”
Tezuka waited for the punch line. It never came.
“Emotionally unavailable,” he repeated, waiting for Kite to pick up his own chopsticks before he began eating.
Kite nodded once. “Aa. Whatever that means.”
His tone was quite indicative of the fact that he knew precisely what it meant. It was clear to Tezuka, however, that he did not agree.
“I have also been accused as such,” he admitted, wishing that he had the words, could articulate how many times his self-preservation had been mistaken for disinterest. Kite would understand, though Tezuka doubted his ‘emotional unavailability’ stemmed from quite the same origin.
“You’ve recently ended a relationship,” Tezuka added, voice somewhat hesitant, and was surprised by Kite’s lack of outward reaction. He smiled faintly and nudged a shrimp ball with the tips of chopsticks before turning his wrist to separate the one he chose.
“I didn’t end anything.”
Tezuka didn’t answer right away, choosing instead to select a portion of the shrimp ball, even drenched with bittersweet as he knew it would be. He chewed carefully, expression giving nothing away when he met Kite’s gaze.
It was delicious.
Tezuka reflected on the last time someone had actually prepared a meal for him and he realized that it had been two full years. He’d stayed over at Oishi’s when he’d been visiting possible graduate schools and Oishi and Kikumaru had made enough food to feed ten people. Tezuka remembered eating until he’d been certain he would split at the seams in an attempt to avoid hurting his friend’s feelings. That had been the night Kikumaru had made mixed drinks and ended up drinking straight from the blender while Oishi and Tezuka shared a pot of black tea. In the end, Oishi had carried a very inebriated, incredibly outspoken Kikumaru to bed and joined Tezuka afterward for a long, much-needed reacquainting whereupon Tezuka had revealed more of himself and his relationship with Atobe than he ever had before - to anyone.
Oishi had hugged him, made him some decaffeinated tea and reminded him that Tezuka Kunimitsu was not a quitter. ‘And who would know that better than the smartest, best ex-fukubuchou in all of Tokyo?’ Oishi had asked, pretending that he didn’t notice Kikumaru snoring in the next room - and perhaps he hadn’t.
Tezuka had smiled, despite himself. He had smiled then as he was smiling now and it wasn’t until he realized Kite was sitting close - too close - and bending his head to nuzzle at Tezuka’s neck that he let the memory fade and he tensed, instinctively. Some part of him doubted that he possessed the ability to relax as completely as Kite seemed able to do.
As Atobe had always seemed able to do.
He tilted his head, though, because Kite’s lips were soft and light and because somehow, perhaps, Tezuka felt that he had something to prove to himself. He lay his chopsticks aside and kept perfectly still as he tried to anticipate Kite’s every move.
“You like it,” Kite murmured, nosing at Tezuka’s jaw and lifting his hand to offer him a bite from his own chopsticks. Tezuka wondered, briefly, as to whether Kite was referring to the dinner or to himself and though he wasn’t entirely comfortable with allowing Kite to feed him like a child, he couldn’t quite focus on the reasons why it was so unacceptable when Kite breathed against his neck as he was.
He chewed obediently, even going so far as to lick at the tips of Kite’s chopsticks and he sucked in a breath when Kite stroked the side of his neck idly. “Don’t you?” he prompted, and Tezuka could only nod. He could not speak.
“So tell me, Tezuka,” Kite began, voice a low whisper at Tezuka’s ear. “What’s it going to be?”
Tezuka shook his head once, eyelashes fluttering when Kite kissed his neck. He was probably leaving traces of sugar at Tezuka’s neck for the sole purpose of licking it off again, later.
“Be?”
“Mm,” Kite responded, laying the chopsticks aside - just over Tezuka’s - to slide the other hand into the back of his damp, tousled hair. “Talking? Chess? Or…”
Distracted as Tezuka was, he remembered well enough what the third option had been when Kite had spoken of them earlier. He blushed, but had absolutely no intention of allowing Kite Eishirou to intimidate him.
“Dinner,” he murmured, tilting his head to encourage Kite’s attentions even as he picked up his chopsticks again. The gouya really wasn’t all that bad. Not when Kite had seen fit to drown it in sugar and pineapple juice. “And then…”
He trailed off, then, assuming that to speak the obvious was highly unnecessary when Kite would undoubtedly draw the only conclusion that he felt was acceptable, in any event. He hadn’t counted on Kite’s propensity to bait him, though, of course, he should have.
“Then?” Kite prompted, voice low, intimate.
Tezuka breathed a little sigh, suppressing a shiver. Kite was warm against him - he smelled like soap and pineapple and Tezuka told himself, again, that he would not allow this man to intimidate him. “Then, perhaps a blow job.”
Kite pressed his mouth to the curve of Tezuka’s neck and let his hand slide down his back. Tezuka popped another shrimp ball into his mouth.
He could feel Kite’s smile.
Pairing: Kite/Tezuka - future timeline
Rating: Not too dirty in this chapter. :D
Summary: Kite tries to accustom himself to an empty bed after Rin has packed up and gone. A chance meeting with an old rival helps to ease the separation anxiety.
First bit
a/n ~ I knew I wouldn't be able to stop with that last one. This fricking thing has turned into an epic. I love you, buchou.
letting the cables sleep
chapter two
Atobe never stood in shadow.
Outdoors, he drew the sunlight as though he expected no less and Tezuka suspected - if the truth were to be known - that he truly didn’t. When they were younger, Tezuka had scorned Atobe’s overtures, though it hadn’t been more than a couple of years ahead that had seen Tezuka accepting and even anticipating them.
A couple of years after that, Tezuka craved them - craved Atobe. The way he smiled at Tezuka in a room full of people; the way he’d catch Tezuka’s gaze when his smile faded and the whole world just fell away. The way Tezuka felt when Atobe reached for him.
He’d wanted him, needed him. Loved him. And though he knew - in his heart - that Atobe loved him, also, there were obstacles in their path that seemed insurmountable. Cursing his romantic ideals when he should have known better, Tezuka felt as though their time had come and gone. It hurt - even now, some four months since he’d last shared space with Atobe Keigo - it hurt so badly that when he dwelled on it, he felt as though he might suffocate.
Their last exchange, not counting the many heated phone conversations and distant, unresolved emails, had hollowed out a place in Tezuka’s heart that he’d determined never to fill again. The pain that he’d experienced at the hands of such involvement was a lesson that Tezuka felt he’d learned very well, indeed.
He would never entrust his heart to someone else and he would never seek to garner the affections of another. Not ever again. And if he ever felt as though his resolve were weakening or if he ever began to forget how deeply such emotion could cut, he would recall the conversation that had been the deal-breaker. The moment Tezuka had known his silly, unspoken, romantic dream would never be reality.
Turned away from him - that fine, straight back serving as some sort of shield - Atobe’s head was bowed. Silent and pinching the bridge of his nose in a bid for patience or wisdom or any answer at all that might make his impossible situation bearable again. As it had been once when they were kids and didn’t know any better. Tezuka had known it then and - looking back - he was certain that Atobe had known it, too. He simply didn’t possess the freedom or the experience to do what Tezuka had hoped that he would.
“He still doesn’t know,” he accused, setting aside the glass of champagne that he’d yet to taste.
Atobe sighed, shoulders rising and falling in clear indication of his lack of patience on this particular topic. “’Mitsu,” he began.
Shaking his head, Tezuka had to avert his gaze - seeing Atobe search for the patience to deal with him as if he were one of his lackeys galled Tezuka to such an extent that the sight of him was entirely unwelcome.
“Save it,” he said, voice low but not at all because his chest had begun to ache. Not ever because of that.
Turning, Atobe glared at Tezuka. There was no mistaking his anguish, his helplessness. Tezuka told himself that he didn’t care - he felt no sympathy.
“What do you want me to say? What can I do to make this go away, Kunimitsu? You make it sound so simple!”
Frowning, Tezuka held his ground, kept his distance. This conversation was not a new one, but Tezuka had begun to wonder if perhaps keeping it alive was even more detrimental than simply ceasing to bring it up. “It is simple,” he said. “It’s you that makes it complicated, Keigo.”
He laughed, though Tezuka knew he found nothing amusing, and poured himself another scotch. It was the fourth he’d had in an hour. “Simple for you, I suppose.”
He paused - swallowed, winced - and resumed pinching the bridge of his nose. “God, Kunimitsu, you’re killing me. You’re draining me. You’re draining me just like he is, only you make it feel like something else because I want you so damned much.”
Want. Not Love. Tezuka had not overlooked the lack of distinction.
“There’s more to this than you and me,” he added, searching for any excuse to make his avoidance acceptable. “I have more to think about…”
Tezuka nodded, let out the breath that he’d felt he’d been holding all evening, and straightened his shoulders. It was over and he knew it. It hadn’t needed to be said aloud and he saw no reason to draw out the inevitable.
“…than me,” Tezuka finished for him, resigned. “Thank you for finally saying it.”
Tilting his head, Atobe parted his lips to protest, but Tezuka held up a hand to stall him. “I’ve never asked for more than you were capable of, Keigo. And you know that your future is as important to me as my own.”
“That’s not…,” Atobe attempted to interject, but Tezuka was already retrieving his coat.
“It is,” he corrected. “I don’t need a public acknowledgement, Keigo - you know me better than that.”
Buttoning up his coat, he cast a final glance to the champagne flute on the table. The dark reds of the walls and the suffocating heat of the fireplace seemed a perfect accompaniment to that one, untouched glass. Tezuka watched a few last bubbles drift to the surface and he was gripped with the certainty that he would never see the inside of this room again. He knew it would have hurt more if he weren’t so tired - so numb.
“What, then? What can I do to make this all right, ‘mitsu? I just can’t do what you’re suggesting I do.”
At the door, he sighed, wishing to allow himself the luxury of not looking at Atobe again. But Tezuka was not a coward - he would do as his scruples dictated that he must, for the sake of his own dignity.
“I wouldn’t suggest anything at all to you, Keigo. I want a lover- not a showpiece.”
The walk down the long hallway of the Atobe mansion had seemed infinite. He hated the carpet, he hated the color scheme, he hated the muffled sound of the orchestral piece Atobe’s father so adored. He hated the decisions that he’d made and the way Atobe had let him down.
But he didn’t hate himself. Not anymore.
+++
It was full dark when Tezuka slowly came awake. His belly was empty and his head was full of cobwebs and he felt like he hadn’t brushed his teeth in days. Faintly, even as he attempted to reacquaint himself with consciousness, he could hear the sound of running water in the next room and it wasn’t until he recognized the citrusy, sandalwood scent clinging to the pillow that the events of the day came rushing back to Tezuka.
Ohhh, shit.
Shifting to one side, he gazed at the digital clock that he could not make out and wondered why he seemed so proficient in making bad decisions. His limbs felt heavy when he moved; he felt lazy and sated and entirely, inappropriately unconcerned with the gravity of the situation.
Sitting up, he rubbed his face, considered how much time he had to make his escape before Kite emerged from the bathroom. Feeling along the nightstand blindly, he felt better when his hands closed around a pair of glasses. It wasn’t until he was preparing to balance them on the bridge of his nose that he realized they weren’t his. Having no idea where the lamp was, Tezuka eased his fingertips across the table until he came into contact with what he sought. Exchanging his glasses for Kite’s was unsettling and somewhat symbolic, but Tezuka had no desire to dwell on any possible hidden meaning in so simple a mistake.
He stood - his legs were shaky and his ass was killing him - and winced when he realized that the wetness between his buttocks had not leaked out onto the bed sheets and was, instead, trickling along the back of his thigh. He had not, as it happened, ever been ‘barebacked’ before.
Near the dresser, Tezuka bent to feel along the floor for his pants and underwear and he startled when the bathroom door opened to flood the room with light. Lifting one hand to shield his eyes from the sudden brightness, Tezuka stood quickly, holding his wrinkled pants before him in an attempt to cover his nudity. He felt wet and stretched and dirty and while he wanted a shower in the worst way, he would have been satisfied to dress quickly and make an even hastier exit. Niceties were not Tezuka’s forte and he didn’t consider this sort of situation suitable for practice.
Leaning in the doorframe - the amount of steam rolling out behind him a fair testament to the lack of hot water Tezuka would be likely to find if, in fact, he did attempt to shower here - Kite glanced around, presumably to locate his errant bedmate.
“You’re awake,” he murmured. more to himself than to Tezuka, and when he emerged from the bathroom to move around the corner of the dresser, Tezuka froze.
It occurred to him that it made little sense to feel flustered by the sight of Kite with that indecently undersized towel swathed about his hips when he’d seen him quite naked only a few hours before, but Tezuka reasoned that since none of this made much sense, he had a good excuse.
Kite moved fast - Tezuka couldn’t imagine why he hadn’t expected it of him - and had his arms around Tezuka before he’d been able to step backward. His skin was damp and his hair was wet and he smelled faintly of toothpaste and whatever body wash he’d used in the shower. When he leaned in for a kiss, Tezuka turned his head, closing his eyes when Kite’s lips grazed his cheek, instead.
“Tezuka,” he said, his tone light and difficult to interpret. Tezuka shrugged lightly, though he didn’t seek to push Kite away.
“I should brush my teeth,” he offered weakly and Kite hummed thoughtfully when he turned Tezuka’s face with two fingers at his chin. Without a word, he tilted his head, pressed his lips to Tezuka’s and drew him in with nothing more than the feel of his lips - already parting against Tezuka’s in an effort to coax a similar reaction.
With Kite’s arms snug at his back and his mouth soft and warm against his own, it was entirely without thought that Tezuka rested his hands at Kite’s hips. Letting his pants drop to the floor again, Tezuka couldn’t quite resist the feel of Kite’s hipbones under his thumbs and he moaned, fingers light along the edge of the towel, when Kite nudged his chin up with his own and tilted his head again to deepen their kiss.
Slow, so slow and so careful - Kite was very, very good at this - and when he licked at the roof of Tezuka’s mouth, swallowing the small sound he made, Tezuka’s knees weakened.
After what felt like ten full minutes, Kite pulled back, one hand cupping Tezuka’s bottom when he lifted the other to touch his mouth and Tezuka sighed, unable to help himself.
“You think I should wait until you’ve brushed your teeth before I get a kiss, hm, Tezuka?”
Tezuka blushed, grateful for the shadow in which he stood, and ducked his head. “I don’t know.”
Kite rubbed his back, reassuring, possessive, and released him finally. “There are towels on the shelf in the bathroom. Go shower - I know you want to.”
Uncertain and uncomfortable, Tezuka nodded and turned to hide as much of his nudity as he could. Something about Kite’s proximity and the intimacy that he seemed to have no issue with made Tezuka feel like a lost child. He was certain he should hate it and wasn’t eager to dwell on why he didn’t.
“It’s late,” he said, feeling as though one of them should put the situation into some sort of perspective. “I should really go.”
Dragging a hand through his wet hair and only serving to accentuate that unfortunate cowlick that Tezuka had once assumed was merely his style of choice, Kite glanced at the clock. “It’s not late. It’s early.”
Tezuka’s stomach growled - loudly - and he wrapped both arms around his middle, glancing up apologetically. “Ah…”
Kite chuckled, barely a sound, and whipped the towel away from his waist to hang it on the dresser drawer’s handle. “You’re hungry. Go shower, Tezuka - take your time - I’ll make something to eat.”
“And then what?” Tezuka asked, hesitant. He needed to know - needed to hear - exactly where this was going. Honestly, this camaraderie with Kite Eishirou was something he certainly hadn’t been expecting when he’d agreed to accompany him home that afternoon. He’d assumed - reasonably - that they’d exchange a few pleasantries, go to bed together just long enough to take the edge off and then they would part ways without any false pretense toward an extended sort of contact.
Strangely enough, Kite didn’t seem eager to be rid of him - quite the contrary, actually - and his unexpected demeanor confused Tezuka and made him unsure, uneasy. Kite wasn’t reading from the script that Tezuka had intended to follow, himself, and he found himself treading on shaky ground.
It was a territory that Tezuka had not ventured into in quite some time. Even worse was that he did not dislike it.
Kite shrugged, turning to retrieve clothing from one of the drawers behind him. “Whatever you want,” he said, shaking out a tank top and a pair of cotton pants. Tezuka did not miss the fact that he did not select any underwear. When he faced Tezuka again, mouth quirking in the barest shadow of a smile, Tezuka felt his stomach plummet only to surge forth again when he caught a glimpse of Kite’s white, even teeth. “We’ll open up a bottle of wine and talk about nothing until the sun comes up. We’ll have one hell of an early breakfast and you’ll let me feed you fresh fruit. I’ll whip your ass at chess and make it up to you with the best blow job you’ve ever had in your life.”
Sweeping him with a long, slow glance, Kite smiled when Tezuka’s blush became evident to him. “Or we’ll go back to bed and eat there and forget that we should be asleep, anyway.”
At that point, Tezuka’s blush had little to do with embarrassment and more to do with the way his heart was pounding inside his chest. Kite Eishirou took his breath. He wasn’t supposed to.
“You talk too much,” he finally groused, turning toward the bathroom with as much dignity as he could muster.
Kite smiled when Tezuka closed the door and glanced toward the mirror, to the spot in which Rin’s picture hung. He couldn’t make out the details, but he knew the picture’s exact position and the expression in his once-lover’s eyes by heart. “No one else would think so,” he murmured.
+++
Kite’s bathroom was larger than Tezuka had anticipated that it would be. The sink was bereft of any toiletries and the towels were fluffy. The corner shelves in the shower held the necessities and nothing more. Sliding the door into place behind him, Tezuka tested the temperature of the water and, when he was satisfied, stepped directly under the spray. He bowed his head, closed his eyes and exhaled slowly when the pressure of the water helped soothe the tension across his shoulders and along the back of his neck. Here, alone in Kite’s shower - even surrounded by his scent as he was - Tezuka could relax and begin to put things into perspective.
Cautioning himself against over-analyzing the situation, Tezuka straightened finally, tipping his face up into the spray and slicking his hair back with both hands. He knew that Kite would give him all the space and all the privacy he wanted - he wasn’t the clingy, demanding type - though how he knew this he couldn’t have said. Something in the way of Kite’s demeanor, the way he didn’t push and, instead, simply assumed that his quarry would follow where he led, put Tezuka at ease.
It’s just sex. That’s all. Stop thinking about it.
But he couldn’t help thinking about it - couldn’t help reliving the entire afternoon as he scrubbed himself with Kite’s shower sponge, with the plain, white soap that Kite used. As casual as he knew their interlude had been, Tezuka could admit to himself, if not to Kite, that it had been exactly what he’d needed. It had been months since he’d touched someone else. Months since someone else had touched him and though he still spoke to Atobe periodically, the emotional upheaval that each and every interaction brought did nothing to soothe the restlessness in him. He had not seen Atobe since he’d called a halt to their relationship and had berated himself for his inability to let go long enough to seek affection and friendship with anyone else. It was, to Tezuka, all too ironic that the first person to offer him solace after so many months of anguish was Kite Eishirou - an even greater rival than Atobe had ever been.
Even more curious was the proprietary manner in which Kite dealt with him. As receptive and attentive as Kite seemed to be, he was still somehow able to maintain just enough emotional distance to avoid putting Tezuka off. It occurred to Tezuka, though some part of him continued to doubt the intelligence of such a decision, that to relax and simply take things as they came was preferable to worrying himself over each minute detail. It seemed to work quite well for Atobe and, as far as Tezuka could ascertain, for Kite as well.
Turning off the shower spray, he reached for the towel slung over the door and took another deep, relaxing breath. After the mind-blowing sex and much-needed rest he’d had, he was beginning to feel completely untouchable - in the most self-sufficient, well-adjusted way imaginable. It had been a very long time since such peace of mind had been his.
He toweled off quickly, enjoying the humidity inside the room when he slid open the shower door again. There - on the counter - was a set of pajamas, pressed and folded, with a still-packaged toothbrush lying atop them.
The toothbrush was pink.
+++
Kite enjoyed cooking. He liked experimenting and trying new things and creating odd dishes out of hodgepodge ingredients. As he stood at the counter and sliced shiitake mushrooms, he allowed himself to reflect on the events of the evening - and then he wondered why he bothered to reflect on that which had already passed.
On a whim, he’d picked up Tezuka Kunimitsu, taken him home and fucked his brains out. And then he’d snuggled up close and taken a little nap with him. It still didn’t make much sense - no matter how he attempted to rationalize it - but Tezuka had felt good enough against him that Kite didn’t mind so much. Not in the habit of being avoidant, Kite didn’t mind admitting that a little afternoon delight with the finest ex-buchou in all of Japan - barring himself, naturally - had done wonders for the antsy, restless feeling that had plagued him since Rin had left. What bothered Kite - now that the sex was over - was the realization that he wanted Tezuka to stick around.
Setting the bowl of sliced mushrooms aside, Kite turned to notice Tezuka hovering in the doorway and he lifted his chin in casual greeting. Tezuka was clean and his hair was damp and messy and he looked positively delectable in Kite’s old pajamas.
“Feel better?”
Tezuka shrugged, wrapped his arms around his waist in a purely self-conscious gesture that Kite would have bet money he wasn’t aware of. If he were, he’d have done whatever necessary to curb that particular tendency.
“Better than what?”
With the faintest hint of a smile, Kite moved past him, wiping his hands on the tiny apron tied around his waist. He didn’t answer and, instead, retrieved a couple of containers from the small refrigerator and turned back toward the counter. In his peripheral vision, he watched Tezuka come into the room and glance around tentatively. Near the window was Kite’s only nod to dining room niceties - a small dining table surrounded by oversized, plush pillows. Situated snugly in the corner, lining the windows that overlooked the sidewalk and the river just beyond, the dining area was cozy and intimate, but like nothing Tezuka had ever seen before. It was eclectic and non-traditional - things that Tezuka usually did not ascribe to.
He padded over, kneeling beside the table to run a hand over one pillow, and glanced up at Kite again. “What are you making?”
“Shrimp balls,” was Kite’s immediate answer, and Tezuka frowned.
“All I see is mushrooms and tofu.”
And gouya, but Tezuka didn’t want to bring that up quite yet.
Humming thoughtfully, Kite held up a pineapple briefly before laying it down again. “You won’t know the difference, I promise.”
Frowning again, Tezuka sat down on the pillow, shifting in an attempt to lounge comfortably - or at least avoid rolling off the pillow and embarrassing himself - and failing miserably. “Hm. And gouya, too?”
“That’s not for eating,” Kite informed him evenly, breaking open the pineapple with a loud thunk. When Tezuka did not answer and, instead, seemed to retreat even further into himself, Kite glanced over, expression mild. “That was a joke.”
That Tezuka had not found it amusing was apparent and Kite felt obligated to put him at his ease, no matter that his first instinct was to continue until his guest began to fidget in earnest. Rin would have laughed and told him that he was an idiot. Tezuka wasn’t Rin.
“I caramelize the pineapple and gouya - blended, they are delicious. The mushrooms and tofu are actually much tastier than you might think.”
Tezuka nodded. “It’s rather late for so complicated a meal, I think,” and then, almost apologetically, he added, “you didn’t have to do this.”
Shrugging, Kite turned on the saucepan and wiped his hands again. Tezuka could not help noticing the way his biceps tightened when he moved and he took a firm grasp on his composure. It would not do to allow Kite to catch him ogling his bare arms. Likely he would be insufferably self-satisfied about it and would use such a weakness to his advantage. Shortly thereafter, though, Tezuka reminded himself that Kite was not Atobe and it was not fair to make assumptions or consider any conclusion foregone.
“You’re hungry. I’m hungry. It’s not a big deal.”
Parting his lips - preparing to initiate some conversation that might make their exchange a bit more familiar - Tezuka could only close them again when he realized that he nothing to say. Nothing, that is, that could not be considered rude given their acquaintance. He wondered if sex was intimacy enough that he should be able to speak of more private matters without fear of recrimination, but he realized that he would not appreciate Kite’s taking of personal liberties with him and so he imagined that he owed him that same courtesy.
“It’s 1:30 in the morning,” Tezuka reminded him quietly and Kite turned his head just enough to catch Tezuka’s gaze before turning back to the task at hand.
“Are you sleepy, then?”
Surprised to find that he was not, Tezuka shook his head, murmured, “No.”
“Neither am I. So it doesn’t matter what time of night it is if neither of us is interested in sleeping.”
After a moment of mutual silence, Kite turned, leaning against the counter and regarding Tezuka with that unsettling, direct gaze. “Tezuka.”
Tezuka glanced up, uneasy under such direct scrutiny. “Aa.”
“My previous offers still stand. We can do whatever you like.”
Coloring faintly as he remembered precisely what Kite’s previous offers had been, Tezuka nodded and turned to settle back against the wall. The pillow was soft and molded easily to his shape and his stomach growled again.
“I’m not sleepy,” he said again, as if that should be answer enough and - for Kite - it seemed that it was. He was surprisingly non-argumentative.
“Then I’m on the right track,” he answered.
Tezuka did not probe for further clarification or intent and Kite continued to work silently at the stove. Tezuka watched him unapologetically and occasionally rubbed his palms over the worn pajama pants he wore in an attempt to prevent his getting too distracted. Relaxed though Kite would have him believe their interlude to be, Tezuka couldn’t pretend he wasn’t feeling skittish and uncertain. He only hoped that Kite wasn’t as aware of it as Tezuka was, himself.
“Where do you keep the wine?” Tezuka asked, glancing around the small, neat kitchen. The five minutes spent sitting alone on the cushions was proof enough that sitting idly by while Kite worked only served to further his unsettled feeling.
Nodding in the direction of the cabinet to his left, Kite did not look at Tezuka. Glasses are just beneath.”
Rising gracefully, Tezuka crossed the floor - behind Kite - to peruse his selection. A past involvement with Atobe Keigo had brought with it a crash course in acceptable labels and how to judge which was superior without ever having to pop the cork.
Upon opening Kite’s cabinet, however, Tezuka realized that his selection would be quite easily made as Kite seemed to only have the one bottle. And the label was one that Tezuka did not recognize. He didn’t say a word about it, though, and was merely grateful that it was a white. Red wine gave Tezuka the worst sort of headache and, naturally, red had been the type Atobe preferred.
On the shelf below the bottle of wine were two plain, elegant goblets. They seemed to suit Kite, as he didn’t appear to prefer anything that was over-adorned or too obvious. Tezuka wondered if such a preference was any indication as to his taste his men. Given the events of the afternoon, Tezuka could only assume that it was.
Glancing over, he watched Kite stir the pineapple and shredded gouya and when he paused to level a spoonful of sugar, Tezuka regarded him curiously. “You’re health conscious enough to choose tofu over shrimp, but you’re going to dump half a cup of sugar into that pan?”
Arching a brow, Kite paused - spoon held suspended at such an angle that Tezuka could not imagine why the sugar did not spill into the pan, but told himself, wryly, that it probably knew better - and regarded Tezuka mildly.
“What if I said I simply liked tofu?”
Tezuka’s reply was immediate. “You’d be lying.”
Lips quirking in a smile, Kite tipped the spoon and began to stir the mixture slowly without taking his eyes off of Tezuka. “I suppose I can let you in on my little secret. It can’t hurt, after all.”
With the bottle of wine in one hand and the two glasses suspended from their fine, crystal stems in the other, Tezuka frowned. He didn’t like the sound of this. “Secret,” he repeated. It was not a question.
Kite nodded. “Aa. Secret.”
He paused, stirring again and turning the temperature down somewhat, and then continued. “I have an insatiable sweet tooth - I can’t seem to resist.”
Tezuka didn’t answer right away, certain that such a statement was bound to be a lead-in to some overtly sexual remark, but Kite fell silent again - seemingly focused on the caramelized sugar he stirred.
He had a sweet tooth. He couldn’t resist.
Tezuka moved past him again to kneel at the table. He set the goblets down and began to peel away the seal near the cork. He had no idea how to respond to Kite when he made small talk that was just this side of silly. Tezuka had never been very good at differentiating between the truth and making a joke, despite his own rather dry sense of humor.
Soon enough, Kite turned off the stovetop, arranged plates and bowls and - as an afterthought - opened a drawer nearby to retrieve a corkscrew. Laying it on the table wordlessly, he turned to fetch the dishes and a few paper napkins.
He met Tezuka’s eyes evenly when he moved around the table to lower himself onto an oversized cushion and smiled faintly when Tezuka tensed.
“I’m not going to bite, Tezuka,” he said, voice light, and Tezuka frowned, holding the bottle of wine between his side and his arm as he worked the cork loose.
“Don’t patronize me, Kite.”
His words only served to cause Kite’s smile to widen and Tezuka turned his attention to the wine, disgusted with himself for allowing Kite to bait him.
“Who’s patronizing? I just thought I should remind you, is all. You seemed not to want me sitting next to you.”
Popping the cork free and laying it on one of the napkins Kite brought to the table, Tezuka frowned. “We just had sex. It would be hypocritical of me to move away from you, now.”
Kite stretched idly, but sat at the table as attentively as Tezuka did. He was a silent for a moment, considering, before speaking again. “Some might say it would be a fairly wise decision, actually.”
Stiffening with indignation, Tezuka set the bottle of wine upon the table and fixed Kite with a hard look. “Some? Like you?” Tezuka had no problem imagining it of Kite - his method of acquiring bed partners was impromptu, to say the least. He was likely the type of man who never hung around for breakfast and never called for a second date.
Not that Tezuka cared, as he had no intention of becoming involved with anyone beyond a mutually beneficial physical arrangement. And that arrangement would not - he decided - involve Kite Eishirou in any way, shape or form.
Kite blinked, picking up the bottle to fill the goblets to about halfway before moving it out of arm’s reach. “I was referring to the people who have shared my bed before, actually.”
Tezuka’s skepticism was evident, but he hid it quickly behind his first sip of wine. It was delicious - crisp and light and not too sweet - Tezuka was surprised.
Falling silent, Kite spooned a couple of shrimp balls onto a plate before covering them with the pineapple/gouya/burnt sugar concoction. When he slid the plate toward Tezuka, his expression was serious. “This might come as something of a surprise to you, Tezuka, but I’ve been told that I can be incredibly emotionally unavailable.”
Tezuka waited for the punch line. It never came.
“Emotionally unavailable,” he repeated, waiting for Kite to pick up his own chopsticks before he began eating.
Kite nodded once. “Aa. Whatever that means.”
His tone was quite indicative of the fact that he knew precisely what it meant. It was clear to Tezuka, however, that he did not agree.
“I have also been accused as such,” he admitted, wishing that he had the words, could articulate how many times his self-preservation had been mistaken for disinterest. Kite would understand, though Tezuka doubted his ‘emotional unavailability’ stemmed from quite the same origin.
“You’ve recently ended a relationship,” Tezuka added, voice somewhat hesitant, and was surprised by Kite’s lack of outward reaction. He smiled faintly and nudged a shrimp ball with the tips of chopsticks before turning his wrist to separate the one he chose.
“I didn’t end anything.”
Tezuka didn’t answer right away, choosing instead to select a portion of the shrimp ball, even drenched with bittersweet as he knew it would be. He chewed carefully, expression giving nothing away when he met Kite’s gaze.
It was delicious.
Tezuka reflected on the last time someone had actually prepared a meal for him and he realized that it had been two full years. He’d stayed over at Oishi’s when he’d been visiting possible graduate schools and Oishi and Kikumaru had made enough food to feed ten people. Tezuka remembered eating until he’d been certain he would split at the seams in an attempt to avoid hurting his friend’s feelings. That had been the night Kikumaru had made mixed drinks and ended up drinking straight from the blender while Oishi and Tezuka shared a pot of black tea. In the end, Oishi had carried a very inebriated, incredibly outspoken Kikumaru to bed and joined Tezuka afterward for a long, much-needed reacquainting whereupon Tezuka had revealed more of himself and his relationship with Atobe than he ever had before - to anyone.
Oishi had hugged him, made him some decaffeinated tea and reminded him that Tezuka Kunimitsu was not a quitter. ‘And who would know that better than the smartest, best ex-fukubuchou in all of Tokyo?’ Oishi had asked, pretending that he didn’t notice Kikumaru snoring in the next room - and perhaps he hadn’t.
Tezuka had smiled, despite himself. He had smiled then as he was smiling now and it wasn’t until he realized Kite was sitting close - too close - and bending his head to nuzzle at Tezuka’s neck that he let the memory fade and he tensed, instinctively. Some part of him doubted that he possessed the ability to relax as completely as Kite seemed able to do.
As Atobe had always seemed able to do.
He tilted his head, though, because Kite’s lips were soft and light and because somehow, perhaps, Tezuka felt that he had something to prove to himself. He lay his chopsticks aside and kept perfectly still as he tried to anticipate Kite’s every move.
“You like it,” Kite murmured, nosing at Tezuka’s jaw and lifting his hand to offer him a bite from his own chopsticks. Tezuka wondered, briefly, as to whether Kite was referring to the dinner or to himself and though he wasn’t entirely comfortable with allowing Kite to feed him like a child, he couldn’t quite focus on the reasons why it was so unacceptable when Kite breathed against his neck as he was.
He chewed obediently, even going so far as to lick at the tips of Kite’s chopsticks and he sucked in a breath when Kite stroked the side of his neck idly. “Don’t you?” he prompted, and Tezuka could only nod. He could not speak.
“So tell me, Tezuka,” Kite began, voice a low whisper at Tezuka’s ear. “What’s it going to be?”
Tezuka shook his head once, eyelashes fluttering when Kite kissed his neck. He was probably leaving traces of sugar at Tezuka’s neck for the sole purpose of licking it off again, later.
“Be?”
“Mm,” Kite responded, laying the chopsticks aside - just over Tezuka’s - to slide the other hand into the back of his damp, tousled hair. “Talking? Chess? Or…”
Distracted as Tezuka was, he remembered well enough what the third option had been when Kite had spoken of them earlier. He blushed, but had absolutely no intention of allowing Kite Eishirou to intimidate him.
“Dinner,” he murmured, tilting his head to encourage Kite’s attentions even as he picked up his chopsticks again. The gouya really wasn’t all that bad. Not when Kite had seen fit to drown it in sugar and pineapple juice. “And then…”
He trailed off, then, assuming that to speak the obvious was highly unnecessary when Kite would undoubtedly draw the only conclusion that he felt was acceptable, in any event. He hadn’t counted on Kite’s propensity to bait him, though, of course, he should have.
“Then?” Kite prompted, voice low, intimate.
Tezuka breathed a little sigh, suppressing a shiver. Kite was warm against him - he smelled like soap and pineapple and Tezuka told himself, again, that he would not allow this man to intimidate him. “Then, perhaps a blow job.”
Kite pressed his mouth to the curve of Tezuka’s neck and let his hand slide down his back. Tezuka popped another shrimp ball into his mouth.
He could feel Kite’s smile.