Kite/Tezuka ~ fic
Title: Letting the cables sleep
Pairing: Kite/Tezuka - future timeline
Rating: R
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.
a/n ~ Kite can't take no for an answer and Rin's travel plans are curtailed. Ryoma continues to be more fun than a bucket of sandcrabs. :D
First bit + second bit + third bit + fourth bit + fifth bit + sixth bit
letting the cables sleep
chapter seven
Tezuka didn’t have any curtains. Ryoma wasn’t at all surprised.
He opened the shades to peer out of the window and into the street. “You’re gonna be late, Buchou,” he called, letting the shade fall closed again when he turned to lean against the wall and sip his ponta.
Emerging from the bedroom, fastening the top button on his shirt, Tezuka frowned and glanced at the clock that hung over the sink in the kitchen. “If I don’t make any stops on the way, I’ll be fine.”
Ryoma sniffed, tipping his head back and draining his soda can. “But you didn’t eat, yet.”
Tezuka frowned, sparing Ryoma a wry glance and running a hand through already perfectly tousled hair. “Perhaps if you hadn’t burned the last of the bread, that wouldn’t be the case.”
Ryoma pursed his lips, took careful aim at the trashcan beside the breakfast bar and tossed the empty can in a perfect arc to land directly inside it. Offering Tezuka a cheerful little smile, he nudged his cap up with one knuckle. “Hey, it’s not my fault your oven is a hundred years old.”
Tezuka grunted and shouldered his bag. “Rather interesting that I never seem to have any problems using it.”
“Che. You’re used to it, that’s all.”
Declining to respond to Ryoma’s teasing, Tezuka swept his keys from the counter and tucked them into his pocket. “I do apologize for sleeping late. I’d intended that we go out for breakfast. As it is, I’m only just going to make it to class and I have a workshop today.”
Shouldering his own travel bag, Ryoma merely shrugged. “Meh, no biggie. I’ll grab something before I hop on the train.”
“Mm,” Tezuka hummed, standing back to allow Ryoma to step outside before locking the door behind him. “Where are you going?”
“Gonna go see the old folks for a week or so. Mom’s been nagging me.”
Tezuka nodded, hand sliding along the railing as the descended the steps together and Ryoma added, “Oh, and on the tenth I’m going to some thing that Fuji-senpai is having. Some kinda engagement party.”
Blinking, Tezuka stepped out onto the sidewalk. He held the door for Ryoma and glanced over his shoulder. “Shuusuke’s getting married?”
Ryoma shrugged again. “Beats the hell out of me. I didn’t have time to read the whole email.” Noticing the carefully blank expression on Tezuka’s face, he nudged his elbow. “What? You didn’t get an invite yet? That doesn’t sound right, does it?”
Tezuka frowned. “With Shuusuke, it’s hard to tell.”
Ryoma laughed, “Well, I wouldn’t sweat it, Buchou. There’s no way Fuji-senpai would walk down the aisle without you there to carry his bouquet.”
Barely sparing him a glance, Tezuka again declined to respond to Ryoma’s teasing and made a mental note to touch base with Fuji sometime that evening. Just past Tezuka’s apartment building, they paused. Ryoma turned to face Tezuka and - for what certainly wasn’t the first time since he’d grown tall enough to meet Tezuka’s gaze evenly - offered him that familiar, smug little half-smile. “Gonna miss me?”
Lips quirking, Tezuka checked his watch again. Ryoma’s bus was due in the next ten minutes. “Do you ask everyone those kinds of questions?”
“What do you think?” he countered, fishing a tin of cinnamon mints out of his pockets and tapping them against the palm of his hand. He motioned to Tezuka with the tin and Tezuka shook his head once to decline.
“I think you like to unnerve me,” he answered after a moment. “You never used to like it quite so much.”
Ryoma grinned, tone heavy with innuendo. “I was just a dumb kid. I didn’t know how much fun it could be.”
Tezuka blushed, in spite of himself, and frowned in quick recovery. “You used to be such a-”
“Tezuka,” someone called out and Tezuka glanced sharply over his shoulder to see Kite Eishirou striding along the sidewalk. Headed right for him. One word - just his name - and Tezuka’s heart had taken up residence somewhere in the middle of his throat.
As difficult as it was to tear his gaze away from the picture Kite made, Tezuka stole a quick, guarded glance at Ryoma, whose expression was just as impassive as it had been a moment before. And why wouldn’t it be? Tezuka reasoned. Ryoma knew nothing of Kite. At least, nothing beyond the bad news he’d been nine years ago.
Today, though - dressed in loose, tightly belted military-style pants and a white t-shirt and looking for all the world like he had a score to settle - Tezuka was hard-pressed to recall Kite in any sort of unfavorable light.
Not when his only coherent thought was that he knew how it felt wrap his legs around those whipcord hips for the ride of his life.
Tezuka rubbed his face, disgusted for the direction his thoughts had taken. One look at Kite had successfully derailed any decent train of thought he might have taken. Even more humiliating was that Ryoma was here to witness it.
“Kite,” he returned, light and casual.
Eyes as dark as his expression, Kite glanced quickly at Ryoma before settling his attention solely on Tezuka. “You’re leaving?”
“I have class. Ryoma is on his way back to Tokyo,” Tezuka offered stiffly.
Shoving his hands into his pockets, Ryoma rocked back on his heels. “Didn’t even get breakfast, first.”
The murderous look in Kite’s eyes was quite enough to quell Ryoma’s speculation as to whom Tezuka had been frolicking around with in dreamland last night. Kite Motherfucking Eishirou. If he hadn’t been so irritated, Ryoma thought he might have even laughed.
“Tezuka,” he said again, in quite a different manner than before and it wasn’t the tone of his voice that gave Ryoma pause so much as Tezuka’s response to it. Ryoma was left with the feeling that - had he not been present - Tezuka might have capitulated. He knew Tezuka - knew him better than himself, sometimes - and he knew that look, that careful way he held himself; Tezuka was in full-defensive mode. Ryoma frowned.
“I’m going to be late, Kite,” he said. “Now isn’t a good time.”
He took a step forward. “When’s a good time, then?”
Flushed, uncomfortable and as close to fidgeting as Ryoma had ever seen him, Tezuka gripped the bag’s strap and straightened his shoulders. Ryoma imagined that Kite did not miss the sudden drop in temperature.
“I can’t say. I don’t know that there is a good time.”
Kite blinked, clearly stung. Whatever he’d been expecting, it hadn’t been that. “Tezuka, I-”
Hands still in his pocket, Ryoma felt around - obvious and exaggerated. “I’m gonna… throw something away. I’ll be right back.”
Kite didn’t acknowledge him, but Ryoma could feel that hard glare at his back. He didn’t look back and, instead, lingered near a public garbage receptacle a few yards away.
With Ryoma gone, Kite stepped even closer to Tezuka, touched his arm, leaned in close. Tezuka stiffened. “Don’t.”
“Why? Why are you acting like nothing happened?” Tone hard, Kite gaze darted minutely in Ryoma’s direction. “It’s because of him, isn’t it? Are you fucking that little runt?”
It was the wrong thing to say. He’d known it before the words had left his lips but - being Kite - had been wholly unable to prevent giving voice to them.
Tezuka looked up, eyes narrowed behind his lenses. “This is not about him. Leave him out of it.”
“I’m trying,” Kite said, jaw clenched. “I’d like for you to do the same.”
“I told you once already, Kite. What happened between us was a mistake. I have no intention of making the same mistake twice.”
Snide, hurt, Kite sneered and gripped Tezuka’s elbow. “It’s a little late for that,” he said. “We made that mistake twice already. Or did you forget?”
Shaking Kite’s hand off, Tezuka gave him a look that used to be enough to silence a room. Kite was unmoved, however. And that pissed Tezuka off.
“Don’t touch me,” he growled, irritated that Kite had the power to push him to this point and angry that he was unable to control it. “Don’t presume, Kite. We had sex. Nothing else.”
“Liar,” he hissed. “You didn’t want to let me go, Tezuka. I could see it in your eyes.”
Tezuka blushed, whether from anger or embarrassment at having been so easily read, he couldn’t have said. All that mattered was that Kite Eishirou wanted to draw lines in the sand and Tezuka had been unprepared for it.
“I don’t want you, Kite,” he said, voice hard. If he hadn’t thought him incapable, he’d have sworn that Kite had actually flinched. “There’s nothing between us and nothing to pursue. Let it go.”
Kite stood, scowling and looking - impossibly - even more tempting than he’d been before. Tezuka held his ground, steeled himself. Whatever his desire for Kite Eishirou, it would never amount to anything permanent - anything real. Reciprocal love was an illusion and he’d sworn, long before Kite, that he would never allow himself to be fooled again. He took a step back.
“Don’t follow me. Don’t come here again. Just…” he shook his head, at a loss for words when he should have had plenty to say. “Just go, Kite.”
Turning, not looking back to watch Kite walk away, Tezuka headed toward Ryoma. His back was straight and his gait was sure but his heart wavered in indecision. It wasn’t fair, what he’d said, but it had been necessary. The very last thing he needed was to allow Kite Eishirou under his skin. He had a very real suspicion that - once there - Kite would not be so easily removed. Most frightening was Tezuka’s near-certainty that he would not want to remove him.
Ryoma turned, as he approached, and when he hesitated, faltering for a moment, Ryoma shook his head and glanced at his watch. “Told you.”
“What?” Tezuka blinked, still out of sorts and unable to hide it. “Told me what?”
“You’re late, Buchou.”
Tezuka sighed, shoulders rising and falling in obvious defeat and Ryoma laughed, happy to pretend that he hadn’t witnessed Tezuka’s jealous hothead of a boyfriend storming along the sidewalk to have it out like some misplaced Romeo. There would be time for recriminations later - when Tezuka didn’t have that guarded look on his face.
“That was-” he began, fingers tight at the strap of his bag. Ryoma clenched his hand, bumped Tezuka’s fist with his own.
“Some other time, Buchou. You’ll miss your class and I’ll miss my bus. And you’ll be stuck with me another night.”
Hesitant still, Tezuka looked down, brows drawn. Ryoma ducked to catch his gaze again. “Everything’s cool. Go ahead.”
When Tezuka looked up, he nodded once. “I’ll see you soon, then.”
Ryoma tugged the brim of his cap down to hide his smile. “Not if I see you first.”
Tezuka paused, looking as though he might say something else, but when Ryoma stood where he was - expression unchanged - he nodded again and took a step backward. He met Ryoma’s eyes, just for a moment, before he turned to stride away from him. Ryoma watched him go, waited until he’d disappeared from sight. Only then did he turn to hurry in the opposite direction - in pursuit of Kite.
It wasn’t difficult to spot him on the sidewalk; he was taller than most and strode along as though he expected whomever was in his path to move. “Hey you!” Ryoma called, dodging a group of old ladies and jogging along near the buildings that lined the street. When he didn’t slow, didn’t turn, Ryoma called out - louder this time, “Hey Hitman, hold up!”
He turned, expression forbidding, back and shoulders tense. He made no move to meet Ryoma half-way and he ascertained that Kite Eishirou had turned out to be as much of a tight-ass as Tezuka was.
He didn’t speak, merely stared at Ryoma impassively through his lenses when he approached.
“Thanks for waiting,” he said, sarcasm thinly veiled.
Kite stared pointedly. “As though I had a choice. You were causing a scene.”
Blinking - all innocence - Ryoma tucked his hands in his back pockets and regarded Kite casually. “You think that was a scene? You don’t get out much, do you?”
“What do you want?” Kite asked, his irritation evident. Being given the brush-off had been humiliating enough, having Echizen Ryoma present to witness the whole thing was unthinkable.
Ryoma pulled his cap back to settle it more firmly on his head and Kite watched him closely, studying him, assessing him - wanting to see what Tezuka saw in the hopes that he might begin to understand why he was not good enough where this cocky little shrimp was.
Shrugging, Ryoma tilted his head to meet Kite’s eyes. He would never be as tall as Kite, but he was a much more worthy opponent now than he’d been way back when. “Just wanting a little info, that’s all. You know how that goes, right?”
“I doubt that I know anything that you don’t,” Kite said. “And I can’t imagine that we have anything to say to one another, in any event.”
“Che. Don’t get your panties in a bunch. I’m not your competition.”
Having the decency to appear embarrassed, Kite glanced around as though to reassure himself that no one was listening in on their conversation - such as it was. “What makes you think-”
Ryoma snorted. “Spare me the runaround; I don’t have the patience for it.”
When Kite didn’t immediately respond, Ryoma went on. He didn’t have time to tiptoe around Kite’s delicate feelings - he had a bus to catch. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on between you and Tezuka, but I want you to know that he’s had a rough time of it in the past few months.”
Kite remained silent, but his interest was obvious; Ryoma had his attention. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t dick around with him just so you could settle an old score.”
Eyes narrowing, jaw tightening, Kite hesitated a moment before he spoke. “I’d appreciate it if you minded your own fucking business.”
Ryoma smiled, easy and calm, and didn’t back down the way Kite no doubt expected him to. “Tezuka is my business.”
Kite’s glasses glinted and his lips quirked in the barest imitation of a smirk. Ryoma watched him - entertained and interested - and imagined that he could understand a bit of what might attract Tezuka to the man Kite had become.
“He’s my business, also. My close, personal, recent business, if we’re going to be completely open, here.”
Ryoma shrugged. He’d known that, already. “So what? So you fucked him. That doesn’t give you any special rights and from where I was standing, it looked like he gave you the kiss-off back there.”
At Kite’s scowl, Ryoma went on smoothly. “No more business for you, I guess.”
“I hope you don’t think his little temper tantrum will deter me in the least.”
Surprisingly enough, Ryoma laughed. “Is that so?”
“Yes,” Kite said. “That’s so.”
After a moment, Ryoma sobered, shouldering his bag and nodding slowly. “Well, whatever. I won’t be around to referee, but I’ll say this.”
Kite waited, appearing as unmoved as Ryoma did, though they both knew that he was not.
“Tezuka and I have shared some impressive rivals over the years. Sanada. Atobe.” He paused, very nearly smiling. “I always hoped I’d get a shot at you, too, one day.”
Sanada. Atobe. Both very formidable opponents - strong, worthy rivals. And Ryoma had bested them both. That he did not question his ability to best Kite - and perhaps not merely where tennis was concerned - was quite clear. Kite frowned. Cocky, mouthy little bastard.
They stood - still and challenging, neither willing to look away first - and even the sudden lurch and groan of an approaching bus wasn’t enough to break the silence between them. After a moment, Kite leaned in close and smiled.
“That’s too bad,” he murmured. “I don’t play anymore.”
They were close - uncomfortably close - and Ryoma simply held his gaze. “That’s okay. It doesn’t always have to be about tennis, right?” He smiled helpfully, as though he hadn’t spent the majority of his life making everything about tennis.
Kite straightened then, cool and in control once more, and said archly, “Nice to see you again.”
Ryoma didn’t respond and, instead, watched Kite turn to mount his bike - long legs and confident grace - and he grinned. “Hey. Hitman.”
Seated on his bike, Kite paused, helmet resting on the seat between his legs.
Ryoma glanced back once - his bus was already gone. “Wanna give me a ride? I just missed my bus.”
+++
Chinen would have told him not to make a scene. He knew that. Knew it and repeated it to himself as though it were his own personal mantra and always had been, but it wasn’t helping all that much.
Rin was furious.
“Young man,” the man behind the counter began: all exaggerated patience. “If you’re not planning on purchasing a ticket, please step aside.”
Ignoring him, Rin set his bag on the counter and rummaged through it, grumbling under his breath all the while. He’d packed up all of his belongings in the apartment he’d once shared with Kite - and a few that weren’t his at all - and had somehow, stupidly, ridiculously managed to leave his wallet.
“This is unbelievable,” he groused. “I took my pictures, his favorite t-shirt, the good cd’s and his mother’s teapot and I left my wallet.”
Looking up through shaggy bangs, Rin asked, “My frigging wallet - can you believe this?”
The man leaned in, rested his chin in the palm of his hand and sighed. “If it means you’ll move aside? No, I can’t believe it.”
“Dammit! And he’ll find it and after he sees what I took, he’ll make me kiss his ass before he’ll give it back.”
He kicked the counter and zipped his bag furiously. “Shit! And I don’t have enough money on me to get back to his place.”
The man behind the counter yawned. “Sir…”
“Dammit!” Rin exclaimed again. “ I really can’t believe this!”
From the back of the line, an old woman shook her handbag and pounded the floor with her cane. “Move it or lose it, Sonny!” she yelled. “Some of us are old; we haven’t got much time left!”
Snatching his bag off the counter, Rin scowled in the old woman’s general direction and raked a hand through his hair. Just behind the old woman was the pretty girl he’d seen earlier. She was even prettier close-up and - when Rin caught her eye - she smirked at him.
Bitch.
Turning on his heel, he stalked toward the exit, bag over his shoulder and bouncing against his back. He was glad he’d taken the last bottle of water out of the fridge that morning - it was a long walk back to Kite’s.
+++
Wiping his forehead with the back of his arm and yawning widely, Ryoma looked around for a moment while he stuffed his cap into the travel bag he carried. As naked as he felt without it, the hat made him too recognizable by far and the very last thing he wanted was to be mobbed by squealing girls and aspiring young tennis players. He’d just spent the past twenty minutes hanging on tight to Kite Eishirou - which was all manner of wrong by itself - and the exhaust on the highway had given him a splitting headache. Besides that, his ass still felt as though it were vibrating. Ryoma detested motorcycles - his brother owned three.
It was early yet and since he had some time to kill, he pulled out his mobile to check his email. There was a message from his mother, two from Momo, one from Eiji and several from Kirihara Akaya. Ryoma frowned - he knew what Kirihara’s messages would entail. Likely he was restless and wanted to find some trouble to get into. Seeing no response to the email he’d sent the night before, he flipped through his messages once more, merely in the interests of being thorough.
But there was no response from Atobe.
Screw Kirihara. He could go hang out with that fat-ass, bubble-gum-popping cake decorator that he spent so much time with - Ryoma was on a mission.
While he had some time, though, he decided to fire off another love note to his favorite Monkey King. By the time he finished visiting with the parentals, Ryoma knew that he would be in need of one hell of a respite. One that didn’t involve red velvet cake or beer bongs or those cherry bombs that Niou Masaharu was still so proud of.
Just outside the men’s bathroom, he lounged against the wall and flipped through his phone menu. He knew he’d have to message Atobe through his email as it would be all too easy for him to discover Ryoma’s mobile number.
Tezuka’s riding the hobby-horse with some guy with weird hair. He’s taller than you. So how about that match? Thought about it yet?
Snickering to himself, he snapped his phone closed and tucked it back into his pocket. The game was on. It felt good to play it again.
+++
After dropping Tezuka’s runt - who wasn’t a runt any longer and that bothered the hell out of him - off at the station, Kite visited the library. He’d spent several hours at a table in the corner and while he told himself he was studying, he knew that he was really just hiding.
He read about medical socioeconomics, epidemiology, alternative medicine - he even started a chapter on geriatrics - but it was simply no good. As immersed as he’d intended on becoming in his coursework, he couldn’t seem to push Tezuka to the back of his mind. No, he was there, at the very forefront, wreaking havoc on Kite’s concentration and reminding him - again - that he was weak for letting Tezuka get under his skin this way.
With one text open before him and three more in queue besides, he’d stared at the characters on the white, smooth pages and simply let them all run together when his thoughts began to stray again. Tezuka’s expression, his words, had allowed no room for argument and Kite had somehow managed to hold his tongue in the face of such magnificent vehemence. Echizen had spoken of worthy opponents and Kite had understood immediately, though his thoughts had veered somewhat. In all his life - in all the matches he’d played - no one had been a more worthy rival than Tezuka Kunimitsu. It was merely unfortunately for Kite that he was so unable to express his admiration and wholly ironic that he’d had no interest in expressing so absent an emotion in the past.
That he would find himself so wrapped up in Tezuka and the idea of being close to him was a surprise that Kite could never have anticipated. Still - foresight or no - here he was, experiencing it, and he could admit to himself that it was not upsetting to him in the least. Frustrating, yes. Time and thought-consuming, yes. But he was not upset. What he was, he finally realized, was obsessed. Two days did not a relationship make, but Kite knew that it had been enough to discover precisely what it was that he wanted.
He wanted to possess Tezuka and be possessed in return. He wasn’t interested in winning or getting the last word or amusing himself with what would certainly be an exciting chase. He was interested in Tezuka - in knowing him and learning about him and touching him. He wanted reciprocation and he didn’t intend to settle for anything less.
Even as he continued to build himself up with his own fancy, however, he knew that such a task would not be so easily done. Tezuka did not love him. Beyond that, it was entirely possible that it was Echizen that he wanted - had always wanted - or that he still harbored feelings for Atobe Keigo. Both possibilities infuriated him. Both possibilities spurred him on.
He closed the books and left them on the table; the librarian would prefer to shelve them again rather than risk someone else possibly shelving them in the wrong place. He walked quickly along the sidewalk and wiped his cheek when a single drop of rain landed there, startling him.
Glancing up at the sky, he adjusted his glasses and wondered if he would get where he was going before the sun set and the rain fell. He knew it would hold little consequence, either way. He would not be deterred.
+++
Tezuka’s workshop had ended just before lunch. As he’d put his notebook and pen away and recognized the faint hunger stirring his belly, he’d glanced at the clock over the projection screen and sighed. The day was half over. That mean that he had the other half to reflect on that which he’d sworn he would not continue to revisit.
He felt guilty for what had transpired that morning. His too-abrupt goodbye with Ryoma, his unreasonable, unfair attack on Kite - both had not been his intention and that it was too late to change each outcome bothered him unnecessarily.
Kite had been surprised - there had been nothing of the swagger and entitlement that Tezuka had been expecting - and Ryoma had been characteristically passive about the whole scene, no matter that Tezuka felt certain there would be questions about it, later. Despite his fear that his relationship with Kite would be exposed, there had been no denying the surge of excitement he’d experienced at seeing Kite again - so soon after they’d parted ways. That he seemed as caught up in Tezuka as Tezuka felt he was, himself was nearly unthinkable. It was not his habit to actively participate in healthy relationships that made sense - indeed it seemed as though he were entirely incapable of it. That knowledge alone made it very difficult to accept that he secretly wanted Kite so badly. With his track-record and propensity for emotional disaster, Tezuka knew it could only end badly. Better for the both of them, then, that it never begin at all.
Having spent the past few hours tidying his apartment, doing laundry, making out a grocery list and opening the kitchen window in anticipation of a good, soothing rain, Tezuka felt as though his spirits - no matter that his thoughts were still so conflicted - were beginning to lift. He missed Ryoma and wished that he’d been better company for him, but the solitude he was currently enjoying made regret seem too removed from him to bother attempting to recapture. He would call Ryoma later to make certain that he’d arrived safely and then he would feel normal again.
Stretching idly, he padded into the kitchen and hummed to himself while he filled the teapot. Tonight it would be gyokuro and daifuku that his mother had sent and he would wrap himself in his favorite blanket in the chair before the window and he would read and sip tea and if thoughts of Kite Eishirou plagued him at all, he would take care not to allow them to consume him as he feared that they might.
He set the teapot aside, not ready yet to allow it to boil, and opened the small, tightly packed box his mother had wrapped so carefully. He smiled, thinking about her preparing them specifically for him while his father and grandfather attempted to steal pieces for themselves. He missed his family, but not enough to send him home. Though they meant well, they all had a tendency to hover and hovering unnerved Tezuka. He’d sometimes felt as though their expectations were such that he would be required to perform for them as long as they lived. It was good to be loved, but the pressure could be overwhelming. That they’d accepted his decision to study something other than medicine had been a bit of a shock to him, honestly. He smiled, realizing that Kite was unknowingly fulfilling Tezuka’s family’s dreams. He only wished it could have been as important to him as it had been to them. As it appeared to be to Kite.
The rain fell then, not softly as before, and Tezuka closed his eyes when the faint breeze reached him through the open window. He stood that way, before the counter and holding the box of sweets and merely enjoying the rush of rainwater and cool, soothing breeze until the familiar rumble of a motorcycle’s engine penetrated his very enjoyable, very peaceful reverie. Startled, he opened his eyes and lay the box down, reasoning that there were plenty of other people in the area who rode motorcycles and just because he couldn’t seem to push Kite out of his thoughts didn’t mean that Tezuka could conjure him from thin air.
Still and all, he moved to the window overlooking the street and felt his chest tighten and his belly lurch when Kite eased up to the curb and glanced up at the building. Tezuka moved back, startled, and experienced an immediate embarrassment for his reaction. He had no reason to hide and no reason at all to suspect that Kite knew which window would be his. That he was so afraid of catching Kite’s eye told him that it was fear alone that made him want to hide and such a revelation was not only unwelcome but insulting as well.
He moved back to the window, parting the shade to watch Kite dismount and slip off his helmet. He stood on the sidewalk, helmet pressed against his belly and face turned heavenward, as though he weren’t standing in the pouring rain.
After a moment, Tezuka raised the shade and pressed his palm to the glass and he knew the moment that Kite had spotted him. Taking off his glasses and slipping them into his jacket pocket, Kite wiped his eyes and stared up at Tezuka. From this distance, without benefit of his glasses, Tezuka knew he couldn’t see much. But still he didn’t move.
His hair was plastered to his forehead and the sides of his face. His pants were dark and soaked through and his t-shirt was transparent. Tezuka stared at him, taking the opportunity to study him when Kite could not unnerve him with those eyes - with that intensity. He’d told Kite to go away - and not to come back - but he couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t happy on some level that he hadn’t obeyed.
The sun was gone, hidden behind clouds that seemed to have settled in for the duration; there would be no true sunset today. When Kite wiped his eyes again, blinking against the rain that continued to fall, Tezuka weakened. Whatever this was - wherever it was going - he could not ignore it. He could not ignore Kite.
Quick on the stairs - not waiting for the elevator - Tezuka remembered that he was not dressed to go out. His track pants were faded and his t-shirt was oversized and worn. The sandals he’d slipped on had seen better days and his hair was a tousled mess. But there was no one in the lobby and when he pushed open one of the double doors leading out onto the front stairs, he paused. Kept dry by the awning overhead, he gripped the railing and took a step outside.
“Kite.”
Kite turned, the look in his eyes so similar to the one Tezuka recalled when he’d realized he could not best Tezuka so long ago that Tezuka was momentarily speechless. The moment stretched between them - silent, heavy - and Kite took a step forward.
It was there in his eyes, in the way he held himself; he’d never intended to stay away, despite Tezuka’s demand that he do exactly that.
“I don’t know what to say,” he said, voice rising to be heard over the rain and he shook his head, took another few, hopeful steps forward. “Don’t tell me to go.”
Tezuka stared at him, standing his ground though his heart was pounding, and searched for something suitable to say. He’d asked him to go just that morning and had meant every word. Now, though, with nothing but the rain and a just a few feet between them, he wasn’t so certain. There were no words that he could offer, however, that would salvage his pride if he admitted his uncertainty to Kite. And so he held his silence and Kite’s gaze and stepped out into the rain. It was cold against his skin and the breeze wasn’t quite so serene, standing in it as he was, and though he didn’t speak, his desire was clear enough.
Within seconds, Kite was crossing the sidewalk and climbing the stairs and when he paused, just one step below Tezuka, he looked up. His eyelashes were spiky with rainwater and his face was wet and his lips trembled from the chill.
“Don’t you know you’re supposed to come in out of the rain?” Tezuka asked, for want of anything better to say.
“I’ve never been much for doing what I’m supposed to,” he said, stepping up to stand closer to Tezuka. They were close and Kite was shivering and if they hadn’t been standing out on the front stairs of his apartment complex, Tezuka thought he might have been the one to initiate contact this time.
Instead, he took Kite’s helmet and touched his hand. “Come inside. You’re soaked through.”
Kite followed, standing back while Tezuka pushed the elevator’s call button and when he followed him inside, he wrapped his arms around himself and tried to keep his teeth from chattering. Tezuka snuck a few glances at him, not openly staring and saying nothing. Kite didn’t mind - he wasn’t certain if he should be apologizing to Tezuka or demanding that Tezuka apologize to him.
The third time he caught Tezuka’s hesitant gaze, though, he didn’t care who apologized to whom. Just as long as Tezuka intended to touch him again.
Stepping forward, slow and careful, he advanced when Tezuka retreated and when he pressed one palm flat to the elevator wall, he leaned in closer. Water ran in rivulets down his cheeks and the slope of his nose and when he stood over Tezuka, dripping water copiously, he caught his gaze.
“Why are you pushing me away?”
“Why are you pursuing me?” Tezuka returned. “Why can’t you leave it alone?”
Kite’s jaw tightened and he raised his other hand to touch Tezuka’s neck. “I don’t know,” he managed, finally. “I wish I knew why, but I don’t.”
The elevator pinged and Tezuka pushed him away, frowning at the wet carpet even as he led Kite back to his apartment. His answer hadn’t been what Tezuka had wanted to hear, but he reasoned - as he opened the door - that the correct answer probably didn’t exist.
Once inside, Tezuka slipped off his shoes and lay Kite’s helmet on the kitchen counter while he unlaced his boots and peeled off his dripping socks. Looking haplessly at Tezuka, he nudged his boots aside and tried to keep his socks from dripping on the floor.
“Come on,” Tezuka said, turning toward the bathroom. “I’ll get you a towel and some dry clothes.”
Kite followed, still shivering and glancing around quickly. Tezuka’s apartment was precisely as he’d imagined it would be and when he noticed the items lying near the stove, he suspected he’d interrupted Tezuka’s dinner.
Handing him a towel, Tezuka stood back to wait. Something in the way he regarded Kite made the situation even more awkward than it had to be and as Kite began to towel his hair, Tezuka made to slip past him.
Effectively blocking the doorway with his arm, Kite draped the towel over his shoulders and took a step forward, crowding Tezuka. He wanted to force a confrontation, wanted to demand that Tezuka tell him precisely why he wasn’t good enough to talk to - to make time with - when he’d seemed plenty good enough to fuck.
Everything he couldn’t say, however, was clearly expressed in the look that they shared and when Tezuka offered a hundred arguments without ever speaking a word, Kite realized that he’d been going about this the wrong way. Tezuka didn’t want words, he wanted feeling.
Kite found that he was more than happy to oblige. He’d never been much for small talk.
It was all too easy to back Tezuka against the door, to get one hand in that messy hair and the other at his beautiful ass and press his mouth to Tezuka’s. Almost immediately, he parted his lips and when he tilted his head and closed his eyes and twisted Kite’s sopping t-shirt around his fingers, it became suddenly, perfectly clear.
Tezuka understood this. He knew his own heart and his own desires, but he didn’t know Kite’s. He couldn’t be sure - couldn’t take the chance. It was all right; Kite didn’t mind - he wasn’t much of a risk-taker himself.
Gathering Tezuka against him, both arms around his waist now, Kite pushed his tongue into Tezuka’s mouth and moaned when Tezuka reciprocated. Tezuka was tall, he was well-built, but when Kite bent his knees to hoist him up, he went easily enough. On tiptoes, he wound his arms around Kite’s neck and hooked one ankle behind Kite’s leg.
Moving, pressing him against the opposite wall, Kite rubbed against him and breathed hard against his lips when he finally broke the kiss to speak. “Bedroom,” was all he said and Tezuka nodded to his right and curled his fingers over Kite’s shoulders.
“Behind me,” he breathed, bunching the wet fabric in his fists and pulling insistently at it.
Kite didn’t carry him to bed so much as they dragged one another there, tugging at wet clothes and sharing hot, slick kisses while Tezuka attempted to think of any number of reasons why this was not a good idea. But then Kite let him go to pull his t-shirt off one-handed even as he freed the snaps on his pants and Tezuka’s good intentions were completely, irrevocably obliterated.
Spurred into action by Kite’s quick, impatient movements, Tezuka pulled off his own shirt and, though he hesitated for a moment when he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his pants, he stripped them off quickly enough when Kite kicked his own aside.
They came together as though they’d spent years apart - kissing and sucking and clawing at one another - and when Kite gripped his ass to haul him that much closer, Tezuka rested his head on Kite’s shoulder and made some quiet, irrefutable sound of surrender and down they both went.
Over Tezuka, Kite straddled his hips, skin cold and damp, and took both his own cock and Tezuka’s in hand to stroke them in tandem. Arching, Tezuka gasped and grabbed handfuls of the blanket. “Eishirou,” he murmured, head back and forth on the pillow when Kite released his cock to grip Tezuka’s hips. He thrust against him, rubbing and humping and nudging Tezuka’s cock, his hip, his belly.
Tezuka bit his lip hard. It felt too, too good to pretend that this was anything other than what he’d truly wanted. “God.”
Bending, Kite kissed his nipples, his collarbone, his cool, damp neck. He nibbled his ear and rubbed his dick against Tezuka’s, his own breath rapid and shallow as his pulse.
“I want this,” he growled, biting Tezuka’s shoulder and thumbing his nipples. “I need this, Tezuka. Don’t push me away without giving me a chance.”
Lips parted, Tezuka gripped Kite’s biceps and writhed beneath him, seeking that perfect, elusive stimulation that Kite was experiencing and that he could not quite reach. Quick, strong, Tezuka rolled Kite to his back and mounted him. He wasted no time in stretching out over him, trapping his cock against Kite’s - slippery and snug between both their bellies - and sliding one hand beneath him to grip the back of his neck. This time - when they kissed - Tezuka controlled everything. The pace, the depth, the frenetic desperation that was just upon them.
“A chance for what?” he asked, despite his desire to maintain his cool detachment. Once inside, he knew, Kite would push and press and insist until they were wound so tightly that Tezuka would be unable to escape. A little reassurance, however, would make it all right. A little reassurance would give him clearance to let go of his control and simply trust. It had been far too long since he’d trusted.
Kite cried out, hands resting at Tezuka’s narrow hips as they moved together - soft bellies and hard, angular hips. “You and me,” was all he could manage, sliding his hands up Tezuka’s back to hold him tight when he recognized his impending release. “Ohgod, Tezuka. Just you and me.”
“Nothing else,” Tezuka said, jaw tight when he buried his face in Kite’s neck and rocked against him. He knew he should explain, knew he should clarify, but he couldn’t.
But then Kite was nodding his agreement and grunting his pleasure and Tezuka squeezed his eyes closed tightly to ride out the storm.
Kite murmured Tezuka’s name, groaning again when Tezuka followed him over and he held him so tightly that he could barely draw breath.
Tezuka knew that he didn’t have to say another word, didn’t need to clarify. Kite understood.
Additionally, tashigi posted this gorgeous piece of artwork without knowing what I'd written into this chapter. If she didn't already have my undying adoration, that would have done it. Words cannot express my joy and glee, but I'm sure most of you can guess.
I love Kite & Tezuka almost as much as I love Yamapi's shameless lack of underwear. ♥
Pairing: Kite/Tezuka - future timeline
Rating: R
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.
a/n ~ Kite can't take no for an answer and Rin's travel plans are curtailed. Ryoma continues to be more fun than a bucket of sandcrabs. :D
First bit + second bit + third bit + fourth bit + fifth bit + sixth bit
letting the cables sleep
chapter seven
Tezuka didn’t have any curtains. Ryoma wasn’t at all surprised.
He opened the shades to peer out of the window and into the street. “You’re gonna be late, Buchou,” he called, letting the shade fall closed again when he turned to lean against the wall and sip his ponta.
Emerging from the bedroom, fastening the top button on his shirt, Tezuka frowned and glanced at the clock that hung over the sink in the kitchen. “If I don’t make any stops on the way, I’ll be fine.”
Ryoma sniffed, tipping his head back and draining his soda can. “But you didn’t eat, yet.”
Tezuka frowned, sparing Ryoma a wry glance and running a hand through already perfectly tousled hair. “Perhaps if you hadn’t burned the last of the bread, that wouldn’t be the case.”
Ryoma pursed his lips, took careful aim at the trashcan beside the breakfast bar and tossed the empty can in a perfect arc to land directly inside it. Offering Tezuka a cheerful little smile, he nudged his cap up with one knuckle. “Hey, it’s not my fault your oven is a hundred years old.”
Tezuka grunted and shouldered his bag. “Rather interesting that I never seem to have any problems using it.”
“Che. You’re used to it, that’s all.”
Declining to respond to Ryoma’s teasing, Tezuka swept his keys from the counter and tucked them into his pocket. “I do apologize for sleeping late. I’d intended that we go out for breakfast. As it is, I’m only just going to make it to class and I have a workshop today.”
Shouldering his own travel bag, Ryoma merely shrugged. “Meh, no biggie. I’ll grab something before I hop on the train.”
“Mm,” Tezuka hummed, standing back to allow Ryoma to step outside before locking the door behind him. “Where are you going?”
“Gonna go see the old folks for a week or so. Mom’s been nagging me.”
Tezuka nodded, hand sliding along the railing as the descended the steps together and Ryoma added, “Oh, and on the tenth I’m going to some thing that Fuji-senpai is having. Some kinda engagement party.”
Blinking, Tezuka stepped out onto the sidewalk. He held the door for Ryoma and glanced over his shoulder. “Shuusuke’s getting married?”
Ryoma shrugged again. “Beats the hell out of me. I didn’t have time to read the whole email.” Noticing the carefully blank expression on Tezuka’s face, he nudged his elbow. “What? You didn’t get an invite yet? That doesn’t sound right, does it?”
Tezuka frowned. “With Shuusuke, it’s hard to tell.”
Ryoma laughed, “Well, I wouldn’t sweat it, Buchou. There’s no way Fuji-senpai would walk down the aisle without you there to carry his bouquet.”
Barely sparing him a glance, Tezuka again declined to respond to Ryoma’s teasing and made a mental note to touch base with Fuji sometime that evening. Just past Tezuka’s apartment building, they paused. Ryoma turned to face Tezuka and - for what certainly wasn’t the first time since he’d grown tall enough to meet Tezuka’s gaze evenly - offered him that familiar, smug little half-smile. “Gonna miss me?”
Lips quirking, Tezuka checked his watch again. Ryoma’s bus was due in the next ten minutes. “Do you ask everyone those kinds of questions?”
“What do you think?” he countered, fishing a tin of cinnamon mints out of his pockets and tapping them against the palm of his hand. He motioned to Tezuka with the tin and Tezuka shook his head once to decline.
“I think you like to unnerve me,” he answered after a moment. “You never used to like it quite so much.”
Ryoma grinned, tone heavy with innuendo. “I was just a dumb kid. I didn’t know how much fun it could be.”
Tezuka blushed, in spite of himself, and frowned in quick recovery. “You used to be such a-”
“Tezuka,” someone called out and Tezuka glanced sharply over his shoulder to see Kite Eishirou striding along the sidewalk. Headed right for him. One word - just his name - and Tezuka’s heart had taken up residence somewhere in the middle of his throat.
As difficult as it was to tear his gaze away from the picture Kite made, Tezuka stole a quick, guarded glance at Ryoma, whose expression was just as impassive as it had been a moment before. And why wouldn’t it be? Tezuka reasoned. Ryoma knew nothing of Kite. At least, nothing beyond the bad news he’d been nine years ago.
Today, though - dressed in loose, tightly belted military-style pants and a white t-shirt and looking for all the world like he had a score to settle - Tezuka was hard-pressed to recall Kite in any sort of unfavorable light.
Not when his only coherent thought was that he knew how it felt wrap his legs around those whipcord hips for the ride of his life.
Tezuka rubbed his face, disgusted for the direction his thoughts had taken. One look at Kite had successfully derailed any decent train of thought he might have taken. Even more humiliating was that Ryoma was here to witness it.
“Kite,” he returned, light and casual.
Eyes as dark as his expression, Kite glanced quickly at Ryoma before settling his attention solely on Tezuka. “You’re leaving?”
“I have class. Ryoma is on his way back to Tokyo,” Tezuka offered stiffly.
Shoving his hands into his pockets, Ryoma rocked back on his heels. “Didn’t even get breakfast, first.”
The murderous look in Kite’s eyes was quite enough to quell Ryoma’s speculation as to whom Tezuka had been frolicking around with in dreamland last night. Kite Motherfucking Eishirou. If he hadn’t been so irritated, Ryoma thought he might have even laughed.
“Tezuka,” he said again, in quite a different manner than before and it wasn’t the tone of his voice that gave Ryoma pause so much as Tezuka’s response to it. Ryoma was left with the feeling that - had he not been present - Tezuka might have capitulated. He knew Tezuka - knew him better than himself, sometimes - and he knew that look, that careful way he held himself; Tezuka was in full-defensive mode. Ryoma frowned.
“I’m going to be late, Kite,” he said. “Now isn’t a good time.”
He took a step forward. “When’s a good time, then?”
Flushed, uncomfortable and as close to fidgeting as Ryoma had ever seen him, Tezuka gripped the bag’s strap and straightened his shoulders. Ryoma imagined that Kite did not miss the sudden drop in temperature.
“I can’t say. I don’t know that there is a good time.”
Kite blinked, clearly stung. Whatever he’d been expecting, it hadn’t been that. “Tezuka, I-”
Hands still in his pocket, Ryoma felt around - obvious and exaggerated. “I’m gonna… throw something away. I’ll be right back.”
Kite didn’t acknowledge him, but Ryoma could feel that hard glare at his back. He didn’t look back and, instead, lingered near a public garbage receptacle a few yards away.
With Ryoma gone, Kite stepped even closer to Tezuka, touched his arm, leaned in close. Tezuka stiffened. “Don’t.”
“Why? Why are you acting like nothing happened?” Tone hard, Kite gaze darted minutely in Ryoma’s direction. “It’s because of him, isn’t it? Are you fucking that little runt?”
It was the wrong thing to say. He’d known it before the words had left his lips but - being Kite - had been wholly unable to prevent giving voice to them.
Tezuka looked up, eyes narrowed behind his lenses. “This is not about him. Leave him out of it.”
“I’m trying,” Kite said, jaw clenched. “I’d like for you to do the same.”
“I told you once already, Kite. What happened between us was a mistake. I have no intention of making the same mistake twice.”
Snide, hurt, Kite sneered and gripped Tezuka’s elbow. “It’s a little late for that,” he said. “We made that mistake twice already. Or did you forget?”
Shaking Kite’s hand off, Tezuka gave him a look that used to be enough to silence a room. Kite was unmoved, however. And that pissed Tezuka off.
“Don’t touch me,” he growled, irritated that Kite had the power to push him to this point and angry that he was unable to control it. “Don’t presume, Kite. We had sex. Nothing else.”
“Liar,” he hissed. “You didn’t want to let me go, Tezuka. I could see it in your eyes.”
Tezuka blushed, whether from anger or embarrassment at having been so easily read, he couldn’t have said. All that mattered was that Kite Eishirou wanted to draw lines in the sand and Tezuka had been unprepared for it.
“I don’t want you, Kite,” he said, voice hard. If he hadn’t thought him incapable, he’d have sworn that Kite had actually flinched. “There’s nothing between us and nothing to pursue. Let it go.”
Kite stood, scowling and looking - impossibly - even more tempting than he’d been before. Tezuka held his ground, steeled himself. Whatever his desire for Kite Eishirou, it would never amount to anything permanent - anything real. Reciprocal love was an illusion and he’d sworn, long before Kite, that he would never allow himself to be fooled again. He took a step back.
“Don’t follow me. Don’t come here again. Just…” he shook his head, at a loss for words when he should have had plenty to say. “Just go, Kite.”
Turning, not looking back to watch Kite walk away, Tezuka headed toward Ryoma. His back was straight and his gait was sure but his heart wavered in indecision. It wasn’t fair, what he’d said, but it had been necessary. The very last thing he needed was to allow Kite Eishirou under his skin. He had a very real suspicion that - once there - Kite would not be so easily removed. Most frightening was Tezuka’s near-certainty that he would not want to remove him.
Ryoma turned, as he approached, and when he hesitated, faltering for a moment, Ryoma shook his head and glanced at his watch. “Told you.”
“What?” Tezuka blinked, still out of sorts and unable to hide it. “Told me what?”
“You’re late, Buchou.”
Tezuka sighed, shoulders rising and falling in obvious defeat and Ryoma laughed, happy to pretend that he hadn’t witnessed Tezuka’s jealous hothead of a boyfriend storming along the sidewalk to have it out like some misplaced Romeo. There would be time for recriminations later - when Tezuka didn’t have that guarded look on his face.
“That was-” he began, fingers tight at the strap of his bag. Ryoma clenched his hand, bumped Tezuka’s fist with his own.
“Some other time, Buchou. You’ll miss your class and I’ll miss my bus. And you’ll be stuck with me another night.”
Hesitant still, Tezuka looked down, brows drawn. Ryoma ducked to catch his gaze again. “Everything’s cool. Go ahead.”
When Tezuka looked up, he nodded once. “I’ll see you soon, then.”
Ryoma tugged the brim of his cap down to hide his smile. “Not if I see you first.”
Tezuka paused, looking as though he might say something else, but when Ryoma stood where he was - expression unchanged - he nodded again and took a step backward. He met Ryoma’s eyes, just for a moment, before he turned to stride away from him. Ryoma watched him go, waited until he’d disappeared from sight. Only then did he turn to hurry in the opposite direction - in pursuit of Kite.
It wasn’t difficult to spot him on the sidewalk; he was taller than most and strode along as though he expected whomever was in his path to move. “Hey you!” Ryoma called, dodging a group of old ladies and jogging along near the buildings that lined the street. When he didn’t slow, didn’t turn, Ryoma called out - louder this time, “Hey Hitman, hold up!”
He turned, expression forbidding, back and shoulders tense. He made no move to meet Ryoma half-way and he ascertained that Kite Eishirou had turned out to be as much of a tight-ass as Tezuka was.
He didn’t speak, merely stared at Ryoma impassively through his lenses when he approached.
“Thanks for waiting,” he said, sarcasm thinly veiled.
Kite stared pointedly. “As though I had a choice. You were causing a scene.”
Blinking - all innocence - Ryoma tucked his hands in his back pockets and regarded Kite casually. “You think that was a scene? You don’t get out much, do you?”
“What do you want?” Kite asked, his irritation evident. Being given the brush-off had been humiliating enough, having Echizen Ryoma present to witness the whole thing was unthinkable.
Ryoma pulled his cap back to settle it more firmly on his head and Kite watched him closely, studying him, assessing him - wanting to see what Tezuka saw in the hopes that he might begin to understand why he was not good enough where this cocky little shrimp was.
Shrugging, Ryoma tilted his head to meet Kite’s eyes. He would never be as tall as Kite, but he was a much more worthy opponent now than he’d been way back when. “Just wanting a little info, that’s all. You know how that goes, right?”
“I doubt that I know anything that you don’t,” Kite said. “And I can’t imagine that we have anything to say to one another, in any event.”
“Che. Don’t get your panties in a bunch. I’m not your competition.”
Having the decency to appear embarrassed, Kite glanced around as though to reassure himself that no one was listening in on their conversation - such as it was. “What makes you think-”
Ryoma snorted. “Spare me the runaround; I don’t have the patience for it.”
When Kite didn’t immediately respond, Ryoma went on. He didn’t have time to tiptoe around Kite’s delicate feelings - he had a bus to catch. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on between you and Tezuka, but I want you to know that he’s had a rough time of it in the past few months.”
Kite remained silent, but his interest was obvious; Ryoma had his attention. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t dick around with him just so you could settle an old score.”
Eyes narrowing, jaw tightening, Kite hesitated a moment before he spoke. “I’d appreciate it if you minded your own fucking business.”
Ryoma smiled, easy and calm, and didn’t back down the way Kite no doubt expected him to. “Tezuka is my business.”
Kite’s glasses glinted and his lips quirked in the barest imitation of a smirk. Ryoma watched him - entertained and interested - and imagined that he could understand a bit of what might attract Tezuka to the man Kite had become.
“He’s my business, also. My close, personal, recent business, if we’re going to be completely open, here.”
Ryoma shrugged. He’d known that, already. “So what? So you fucked him. That doesn’t give you any special rights and from where I was standing, it looked like he gave you the kiss-off back there.”
At Kite’s scowl, Ryoma went on smoothly. “No more business for you, I guess.”
“I hope you don’t think his little temper tantrum will deter me in the least.”
Surprisingly enough, Ryoma laughed. “Is that so?”
“Yes,” Kite said. “That’s so.”
After a moment, Ryoma sobered, shouldering his bag and nodding slowly. “Well, whatever. I won’t be around to referee, but I’ll say this.”
Kite waited, appearing as unmoved as Ryoma did, though they both knew that he was not.
“Tezuka and I have shared some impressive rivals over the years. Sanada. Atobe.” He paused, very nearly smiling. “I always hoped I’d get a shot at you, too, one day.”
Sanada. Atobe. Both very formidable opponents - strong, worthy rivals. And Ryoma had bested them both. That he did not question his ability to best Kite - and perhaps not merely where tennis was concerned - was quite clear. Kite frowned. Cocky, mouthy little bastard.
They stood - still and challenging, neither willing to look away first - and even the sudden lurch and groan of an approaching bus wasn’t enough to break the silence between them. After a moment, Kite leaned in close and smiled.
“That’s too bad,” he murmured. “I don’t play anymore.”
They were close - uncomfortably close - and Ryoma simply held his gaze. “That’s okay. It doesn’t always have to be about tennis, right?” He smiled helpfully, as though he hadn’t spent the majority of his life making everything about tennis.
Kite straightened then, cool and in control once more, and said archly, “Nice to see you again.”
Ryoma didn’t respond and, instead, watched Kite turn to mount his bike - long legs and confident grace - and he grinned. “Hey. Hitman.”
Seated on his bike, Kite paused, helmet resting on the seat between his legs.
Ryoma glanced back once - his bus was already gone. “Wanna give me a ride? I just missed my bus.”
+++
Chinen would have told him not to make a scene. He knew that. Knew it and repeated it to himself as though it were his own personal mantra and always had been, but it wasn’t helping all that much.
Rin was furious.
“Young man,” the man behind the counter began: all exaggerated patience. “If you’re not planning on purchasing a ticket, please step aside.”
Ignoring him, Rin set his bag on the counter and rummaged through it, grumbling under his breath all the while. He’d packed up all of his belongings in the apartment he’d once shared with Kite - and a few that weren’t his at all - and had somehow, stupidly, ridiculously managed to leave his wallet.
“This is unbelievable,” he groused. “I took my pictures, his favorite t-shirt, the good cd’s and his mother’s teapot and I left my wallet.”
Looking up through shaggy bangs, Rin asked, “My frigging wallet - can you believe this?”
The man leaned in, rested his chin in the palm of his hand and sighed. “If it means you’ll move aside? No, I can’t believe it.”
“Dammit! And he’ll find it and after he sees what I took, he’ll make me kiss his ass before he’ll give it back.”
He kicked the counter and zipped his bag furiously. “Shit! And I don’t have enough money on me to get back to his place.”
The man behind the counter yawned. “Sir…”
“Dammit!” Rin exclaimed again. “ I really can’t believe this!”
From the back of the line, an old woman shook her handbag and pounded the floor with her cane. “Move it or lose it, Sonny!” she yelled. “Some of us are old; we haven’t got much time left!”
Snatching his bag off the counter, Rin scowled in the old woman’s general direction and raked a hand through his hair. Just behind the old woman was the pretty girl he’d seen earlier. She was even prettier close-up and - when Rin caught her eye - she smirked at him.
Bitch.
Turning on his heel, he stalked toward the exit, bag over his shoulder and bouncing against his back. He was glad he’d taken the last bottle of water out of the fridge that morning - it was a long walk back to Kite’s.
+++
Wiping his forehead with the back of his arm and yawning widely, Ryoma looked around for a moment while he stuffed his cap into the travel bag he carried. As naked as he felt without it, the hat made him too recognizable by far and the very last thing he wanted was to be mobbed by squealing girls and aspiring young tennis players. He’d just spent the past twenty minutes hanging on tight to Kite Eishirou - which was all manner of wrong by itself - and the exhaust on the highway had given him a splitting headache. Besides that, his ass still felt as though it were vibrating. Ryoma detested motorcycles - his brother owned three.
It was early yet and since he had some time to kill, he pulled out his mobile to check his email. There was a message from his mother, two from Momo, one from Eiji and several from Kirihara Akaya. Ryoma frowned - he knew what Kirihara’s messages would entail. Likely he was restless and wanted to find some trouble to get into. Seeing no response to the email he’d sent the night before, he flipped through his messages once more, merely in the interests of being thorough.
But there was no response from Atobe.
Screw Kirihara. He could go hang out with that fat-ass, bubble-gum-popping cake decorator that he spent so much time with - Ryoma was on a mission.
While he had some time, though, he decided to fire off another love note to his favorite Monkey King. By the time he finished visiting with the parentals, Ryoma knew that he would be in need of one hell of a respite. One that didn’t involve red velvet cake or beer bongs or those cherry bombs that Niou Masaharu was still so proud of.
Just outside the men’s bathroom, he lounged against the wall and flipped through his phone menu. He knew he’d have to message Atobe through his email as it would be all too easy for him to discover Ryoma’s mobile number.
Tezuka’s riding the hobby-horse with some guy with weird hair. He’s taller than you. So how about that match? Thought about it yet?
Snickering to himself, he snapped his phone closed and tucked it back into his pocket. The game was on. It felt good to play it again.
+++
After dropping Tezuka’s runt - who wasn’t a runt any longer and that bothered the hell out of him - off at the station, Kite visited the library. He’d spent several hours at a table in the corner and while he told himself he was studying, he knew that he was really just hiding.
He read about medical socioeconomics, epidemiology, alternative medicine - he even started a chapter on geriatrics - but it was simply no good. As immersed as he’d intended on becoming in his coursework, he couldn’t seem to push Tezuka to the back of his mind. No, he was there, at the very forefront, wreaking havoc on Kite’s concentration and reminding him - again - that he was weak for letting Tezuka get under his skin this way.
With one text open before him and three more in queue besides, he’d stared at the characters on the white, smooth pages and simply let them all run together when his thoughts began to stray again. Tezuka’s expression, his words, had allowed no room for argument and Kite had somehow managed to hold his tongue in the face of such magnificent vehemence. Echizen had spoken of worthy opponents and Kite had understood immediately, though his thoughts had veered somewhat. In all his life - in all the matches he’d played - no one had been a more worthy rival than Tezuka Kunimitsu. It was merely unfortunately for Kite that he was so unable to express his admiration and wholly ironic that he’d had no interest in expressing so absent an emotion in the past.
That he would find himself so wrapped up in Tezuka and the idea of being close to him was a surprise that Kite could never have anticipated. Still - foresight or no - here he was, experiencing it, and he could admit to himself that it was not upsetting to him in the least. Frustrating, yes. Time and thought-consuming, yes. But he was not upset. What he was, he finally realized, was obsessed. Two days did not a relationship make, but Kite knew that it had been enough to discover precisely what it was that he wanted.
He wanted to possess Tezuka and be possessed in return. He wasn’t interested in winning or getting the last word or amusing himself with what would certainly be an exciting chase. He was interested in Tezuka - in knowing him and learning about him and touching him. He wanted reciprocation and he didn’t intend to settle for anything less.
Even as he continued to build himself up with his own fancy, however, he knew that such a task would not be so easily done. Tezuka did not love him. Beyond that, it was entirely possible that it was Echizen that he wanted - had always wanted - or that he still harbored feelings for Atobe Keigo. Both possibilities infuriated him. Both possibilities spurred him on.
He closed the books and left them on the table; the librarian would prefer to shelve them again rather than risk someone else possibly shelving them in the wrong place. He walked quickly along the sidewalk and wiped his cheek when a single drop of rain landed there, startling him.
Glancing up at the sky, he adjusted his glasses and wondered if he would get where he was going before the sun set and the rain fell. He knew it would hold little consequence, either way. He would not be deterred.
+++
Tezuka’s workshop had ended just before lunch. As he’d put his notebook and pen away and recognized the faint hunger stirring his belly, he’d glanced at the clock over the projection screen and sighed. The day was half over. That mean that he had the other half to reflect on that which he’d sworn he would not continue to revisit.
He felt guilty for what had transpired that morning. His too-abrupt goodbye with Ryoma, his unreasonable, unfair attack on Kite - both had not been his intention and that it was too late to change each outcome bothered him unnecessarily.
Kite had been surprised - there had been nothing of the swagger and entitlement that Tezuka had been expecting - and Ryoma had been characteristically passive about the whole scene, no matter that Tezuka felt certain there would be questions about it, later. Despite his fear that his relationship with Kite would be exposed, there had been no denying the surge of excitement he’d experienced at seeing Kite again - so soon after they’d parted ways. That he seemed as caught up in Tezuka as Tezuka felt he was, himself was nearly unthinkable. It was not his habit to actively participate in healthy relationships that made sense - indeed it seemed as though he were entirely incapable of it. That knowledge alone made it very difficult to accept that he secretly wanted Kite so badly. With his track-record and propensity for emotional disaster, Tezuka knew it could only end badly. Better for the both of them, then, that it never begin at all.
Having spent the past few hours tidying his apartment, doing laundry, making out a grocery list and opening the kitchen window in anticipation of a good, soothing rain, Tezuka felt as though his spirits - no matter that his thoughts were still so conflicted - were beginning to lift. He missed Ryoma and wished that he’d been better company for him, but the solitude he was currently enjoying made regret seem too removed from him to bother attempting to recapture. He would call Ryoma later to make certain that he’d arrived safely and then he would feel normal again.
Stretching idly, he padded into the kitchen and hummed to himself while he filled the teapot. Tonight it would be gyokuro and daifuku that his mother had sent and he would wrap himself in his favorite blanket in the chair before the window and he would read and sip tea and if thoughts of Kite Eishirou plagued him at all, he would take care not to allow them to consume him as he feared that they might.
He set the teapot aside, not ready yet to allow it to boil, and opened the small, tightly packed box his mother had wrapped so carefully. He smiled, thinking about her preparing them specifically for him while his father and grandfather attempted to steal pieces for themselves. He missed his family, but not enough to send him home. Though they meant well, they all had a tendency to hover and hovering unnerved Tezuka. He’d sometimes felt as though their expectations were such that he would be required to perform for them as long as they lived. It was good to be loved, but the pressure could be overwhelming. That they’d accepted his decision to study something other than medicine had been a bit of a shock to him, honestly. He smiled, realizing that Kite was unknowingly fulfilling Tezuka’s family’s dreams. He only wished it could have been as important to him as it had been to them. As it appeared to be to Kite.
The rain fell then, not softly as before, and Tezuka closed his eyes when the faint breeze reached him through the open window. He stood that way, before the counter and holding the box of sweets and merely enjoying the rush of rainwater and cool, soothing breeze until the familiar rumble of a motorcycle’s engine penetrated his very enjoyable, very peaceful reverie. Startled, he opened his eyes and lay the box down, reasoning that there were plenty of other people in the area who rode motorcycles and just because he couldn’t seem to push Kite out of his thoughts didn’t mean that Tezuka could conjure him from thin air.
Still and all, he moved to the window overlooking the street and felt his chest tighten and his belly lurch when Kite eased up to the curb and glanced up at the building. Tezuka moved back, startled, and experienced an immediate embarrassment for his reaction. He had no reason to hide and no reason at all to suspect that Kite knew which window would be his. That he was so afraid of catching Kite’s eye told him that it was fear alone that made him want to hide and such a revelation was not only unwelcome but insulting as well.
He moved back to the window, parting the shade to watch Kite dismount and slip off his helmet. He stood on the sidewalk, helmet pressed against his belly and face turned heavenward, as though he weren’t standing in the pouring rain.
After a moment, Tezuka raised the shade and pressed his palm to the glass and he knew the moment that Kite had spotted him. Taking off his glasses and slipping them into his jacket pocket, Kite wiped his eyes and stared up at Tezuka. From this distance, without benefit of his glasses, Tezuka knew he couldn’t see much. But still he didn’t move.
His hair was plastered to his forehead and the sides of his face. His pants were dark and soaked through and his t-shirt was transparent. Tezuka stared at him, taking the opportunity to study him when Kite could not unnerve him with those eyes - with that intensity. He’d told Kite to go away - and not to come back - but he couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t happy on some level that he hadn’t obeyed.
The sun was gone, hidden behind clouds that seemed to have settled in for the duration; there would be no true sunset today. When Kite wiped his eyes again, blinking against the rain that continued to fall, Tezuka weakened. Whatever this was - wherever it was going - he could not ignore it. He could not ignore Kite.
Quick on the stairs - not waiting for the elevator - Tezuka remembered that he was not dressed to go out. His track pants were faded and his t-shirt was oversized and worn. The sandals he’d slipped on had seen better days and his hair was a tousled mess. But there was no one in the lobby and when he pushed open one of the double doors leading out onto the front stairs, he paused. Kept dry by the awning overhead, he gripped the railing and took a step outside.
“Kite.”
Kite turned, the look in his eyes so similar to the one Tezuka recalled when he’d realized he could not best Tezuka so long ago that Tezuka was momentarily speechless. The moment stretched between them - silent, heavy - and Kite took a step forward.
It was there in his eyes, in the way he held himself; he’d never intended to stay away, despite Tezuka’s demand that he do exactly that.
“I don’t know what to say,” he said, voice rising to be heard over the rain and he shook his head, took another few, hopeful steps forward. “Don’t tell me to go.”
Tezuka stared at him, standing his ground though his heart was pounding, and searched for something suitable to say. He’d asked him to go just that morning and had meant every word. Now, though, with nothing but the rain and a just a few feet between them, he wasn’t so certain. There were no words that he could offer, however, that would salvage his pride if he admitted his uncertainty to Kite. And so he held his silence and Kite’s gaze and stepped out into the rain. It was cold against his skin and the breeze wasn’t quite so serene, standing in it as he was, and though he didn’t speak, his desire was clear enough.
Within seconds, Kite was crossing the sidewalk and climbing the stairs and when he paused, just one step below Tezuka, he looked up. His eyelashes were spiky with rainwater and his face was wet and his lips trembled from the chill.
“Don’t you know you’re supposed to come in out of the rain?” Tezuka asked, for want of anything better to say.
“I’ve never been much for doing what I’m supposed to,” he said, stepping up to stand closer to Tezuka. They were close and Kite was shivering and if they hadn’t been standing out on the front stairs of his apartment complex, Tezuka thought he might have been the one to initiate contact this time.
Instead, he took Kite’s helmet and touched his hand. “Come inside. You’re soaked through.”
Kite followed, standing back while Tezuka pushed the elevator’s call button and when he followed him inside, he wrapped his arms around himself and tried to keep his teeth from chattering. Tezuka snuck a few glances at him, not openly staring and saying nothing. Kite didn’t mind - he wasn’t certain if he should be apologizing to Tezuka or demanding that Tezuka apologize to him.
The third time he caught Tezuka’s hesitant gaze, though, he didn’t care who apologized to whom. Just as long as Tezuka intended to touch him again.
Stepping forward, slow and careful, he advanced when Tezuka retreated and when he pressed one palm flat to the elevator wall, he leaned in closer. Water ran in rivulets down his cheeks and the slope of his nose and when he stood over Tezuka, dripping water copiously, he caught his gaze.
“Why are you pushing me away?”
“Why are you pursuing me?” Tezuka returned. “Why can’t you leave it alone?”
Kite’s jaw tightened and he raised his other hand to touch Tezuka’s neck. “I don’t know,” he managed, finally. “I wish I knew why, but I don’t.”
The elevator pinged and Tezuka pushed him away, frowning at the wet carpet even as he led Kite back to his apartment. His answer hadn’t been what Tezuka had wanted to hear, but he reasoned - as he opened the door - that the correct answer probably didn’t exist.
Once inside, Tezuka slipped off his shoes and lay Kite’s helmet on the kitchen counter while he unlaced his boots and peeled off his dripping socks. Looking haplessly at Tezuka, he nudged his boots aside and tried to keep his socks from dripping on the floor.
“Come on,” Tezuka said, turning toward the bathroom. “I’ll get you a towel and some dry clothes.”
Kite followed, still shivering and glancing around quickly. Tezuka’s apartment was precisely as he’d imagined it would be and when he noticed the items lying near the stove, he suspected he’d interrupted Tezuka’s dinner.
Handing him a towel, Tezuka stood back to wait. Something in the way he regarded Kite made the situation even more awkward than it had to be and as Kite began to towel his hair, Tezuka made to slip past him.
Effectively blocking the doorway with his arm, Kite draped the towel over his shoulders and took a step forward, crowding Tezuka. He wanted to force a confrontation, wanted to demand that Tezuka tell him precisely why he wasn’t good enough to talk to - to make time with - when he’d seemed plenty good enough to fuck.
Everything he couldn’t say, however, was clearly expressed in the look that they shared and when Tezuka offered a hundred arguments without ever speaking a word, Kite realized that he’d been going about this the wrong way. Tezuka didn’t want words, he wanted feeling.
Kite found that he was more than happy to oblige. He’d never been much for small talk.
It was all too easy to back Tezuka against the door, to get one hand in that messy hair and the other at his beautiful ass and press his mouth to Tezuka’s. Almost immediately, he parted his lips and when he tilted his head and closed his eyes and twisted Kite’s sopping t-shirt around his fingers, it became suddenly, perfectly clear.
Tezuka understood this. He knew his own heart and his own desires, but he didn’t know Kite’s. He couldn’t be sure - couldn’t take the chance. It was all right; Kite didn’t mind - he wasn’t much of a risk-taker himself.
Gathering Tezuka against him, both arms around his waist now, Kite pushed his tongue into Tezuka’s mouth and moaned when Tezuka reciprocated. Tezuka was tall, he was well-built, but when Kite bent his knees to hoist him up, he went easily enough. On tiptoes, he wound his arms around Kite’s neck and hooked one ankle behind Kite’s leg.
Moving, pressing him against the opposite wall, Kite rubbed against him and breathed hard against his lips when he finally broke the kiss to speak. “Bedroom,” was all he said and Tezuka nodded to his right and curled his fingers over Kite’s shoulders.
“Behind me,” he breathed, bunching the wet fabric in his fists and pulling insistently at it.
Kite didn’t carry him to bed so much as they dragged one another there, tugging at wet clothes and sharing hot, slick kisses while Tezuka attempted to think of any number of reasons why this was not a good idea. But then Kite let him go to pull his t-shirt off one-handed even as he freed the snaps on his pants and Tezuka’s good intentions were completely, irrevocably obliterated.
Spurred into action by Kite’s quick, impatient movements, Tezuka pulled off his own shirt and, though he hesitated for a moment when he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his pants, he stripped them off quickly enough when Kite kicked his own aside.
They came together as though they’d spent years apart - kissing and sucking and clawing at one another - and when Kite gripped his ass to haul him that much closer, Tezuka rested his head on Kite’s shoulder and made some quiet, irrefutable sound of surrender and down they both went.
Over Tezuka, Kite straddled his hips, skin cold and damp, and took both his own cock and Tezuka’s in hand to stroke them in tandem. Arching, Tezuka gasped and grabbed handfuls of the blanket. “Eishirou,” he murmured, head back and forth on the pillow when Kite released his cock to grip Tezuka’s hips. He thrust against him, rubbing and humping and nudging Tezuka’s cock, his hip, his belly.
Tezuka bit his lip hard. It felt too, too good to pretend that this was anything other than what he’d truly wanted. “God.”
Bending, Kite kissed his nipples, his collarbone, his cool, damp neck. He nibbled his ear and rubbed his dick against Tezuka’s, his own breath rapid and shallow as his pulse.
“I want this,” he growled, biting Tezuka’s shoulder and thumbing his nipples. “I need this, Tezuka. Don’t push me away without giving me a chance.”
Lips parted, Tezuka gripped Kite’s biceps and writhed beneath him, seeking that perfect, elusive stimulation that Kite was experiencing and that he could not quite reach. Quick, strong, Tezuka rolled Kite to his back and mounted him. He wasted no time in stretching out over him, trapping his cock against Kite’s - slippery and snug between both their bellies - and sliding one hand beneath him to grip the back of his neck. This time - when they kissed - Tezuka controlled everything. The pace, the depth, the frenetic desperation that was just upon them.
“A chance for what?” he asked, despite his desire to maintain his cool detachment. Once inside, he knew, Kite would push and press and insist until they were wound so tightly that Tezuka would be unable to escape. A little reassurance, however, would make it all right. A little reassurance would give him clearance to let go of his control and simply trust. It had been far too long since he’d trusted.
Kite cried out, hands resting at Tezuka’s narrow hips as they moved together - soft bellies and hard, angular hips. “You and me,” was all he could manage, sliding his hands up Tezuka’s back to hold him tight when he recognized his impending release. “Ohgod, Tezuka. Just you and me.”
“Nothing else,” Tezuka said, jaw tight when he buried his face in Kite’s neck and rocked against him. He knew he should explain, knew he should clarify, but he couldn’t.
But then Kite was nodding his agreement and grunting his pleasure and Tezuka squeezed his eyes closed tightly to ride out the storm.
Kite murmured Tezuka’s name, groaning again when Tezuka followed him over and he held him so tightly that he could barely draw breath.
Tezuka knew that he didn’t have to say another word, didn’t need to clarify. Kite understood.
Additionally, tashigi posted this gorgeous piece of artwork without knowing what I'd written into this chapter. If she didn't already have my undying adoration, that would have done it. Words cannot express my joy and glee, but I'm sure most of you can guess.
I love Kite & Tezuka almost as much as I love Yamapi's shameless lack of underwear. ♥