FIC: Sleepover no Oujisama, Rikkai, Rish
Title: Sleepover no Oujisama
Author: Ociwen
Wordcount: 4200
Rating: Rish
Disclaimer: Konomi owns all.
Summary: Post Genius 341. Meanwhile, in Kanagawa....
Author's Notes: Written for minkyleigh for all her help. &hearts
i.
Kirihara remains firmly convinced that although Rikkai Dai is number one in the country in junior high school boy’s tennis, they completely suck in terms of fun.
He scuffs his feet on the walk home from the train station. His face hurts like hell where that dumb gaijin made him bleed. The bandaids itch. And inside his head hurts, too- Yagyuu-senpai saying that gaijin called him a stupid seaweed head, buchou telling him to pick his pace up, even Marui-senpai snickering and saying Kirihara needed to work harder.
He glares at the back of his senpais’ heads. I’ll crush you guys, he vows. Outloud, he says, “Why can’t we ever do anything fun?”
Jackal-senpai turns around, his bald head catching the last of the western sun. Sanada-fukubuchou stops walking entirely and Kirihara cringes, already backing up for the backhand. Sanada opens his mouth to say “Ta-”
But buchou grabs his hand and snaps, “Sanada!”
Kirihara beams at buchou, who just purses his lips and keeps on walking. It must be hot, to be still wearing his jacket, but buchou doesn’t seem to be sweating. His supernatural powers prevent him from doing gross things like sweating. Kirihara, on the other hand, can feel his body melting into the pavement. It’s too hot. And his own sweat makes his cuts sting.
Niou-senpai shoves his hands into his pockets. He says, “Eh, it’s true. You guys are as much fun as Yagyuu in a bookstore.”
“Yeah!” Kirihara says, loud enough to make all of his senpais stop in their tracks. “I heard Seigaku say they were going to have a party tonight! And I saw that loser hippy team follow them out of the stadium!”
“Rokkaku?” Yagyuu asks.
“Shitenhoji?” Marui asks.
“Those purple freaks?” Niou asks.
“All of them!” Kirihara insists. “I saw them all going too!”
“Well, it wouldn’t have been Hyoutei,” Jackal says. “Atobe would shrivel up dead before anyone called him a hippy.”
“Them too!”
For a split second, fukubuchou’s face goes all soft and mushy and happy, the way he gets when buchou whispers something in his ear.
“Atobe can waste his time with parties,” Sanada-fukubuchou says. “He’s a lazy ass.”
Buchou, though, chews on the inside of his lip. His round face twists up all funny and he stops fukubuchou from walking away. “Akaya could be right,” he says.
Kirihara pumps his fist, pleased with himself.
Yagyuu-senpai rubs the bridge of his nose, the part under his glasses nosepieces. “Please not another sleepover,” he says. “Yukimura-kun, please-”
“YEAH!” Kirihara shouts. Niou-senpai waggles his eyebrows and grins at Kirihara.
“Sanada- your dojo is closed on Saturday nights,” buchou says.
Fukubuchou shakes his head. “The last time we did this-”
Kirihara stands up straight. He clears his throat, then says, “I promise not to punch the paper walls again.”
Sanada-fukubuchou glares at Niou. Niou ducks his head, but after a beat adds, “I promise not to provoke the kid.”
Then, fukubuchou turns to Yagyuu, who sighs heavily. “I promise not to provoke the both of them,” Yagyuu-senpai says.
Yanagi-senpai nods. “It’s not like we have anything better to do on a Saturday night. And with Seigaku’s coach insisting the courts are unfit to play, we could use the time to bond as a group.”
Sanada closes his eyes. “Fine,” he grumbles. “I’ll call home and ask.”
ii.
As soon as Marui steps over the threshold, Sanada blocks his way, all tall and imposing with a scowl on his face and his arms folded over his chest.
Marui stops.
Somehow, Sanada looks even more imposing dressed in his hakama. Yukimura is probably checking out his ass, that’s why he doesn’t tell Sanada that Marui comes in peace.
“No food in here,” Sanada says.
“Huh?” Marui says.
“No. Food. In the dojo.”
Marui shifts his eyes left. Jackal and Niou are snickering. He looks right to see Kirihara tapping on a paper wall, testing the strength.
“I don’t have any food,” Marui lies.
Sanada grabs Marui’s duffelbag. Marui dives to save it, but Sanada unzips it first and starts to throw onto the floor every single item Marui has brought: the bag of potato chips, the bag of prawn crackers, the two packages of chocolate-covered chocolate chips, the gummies, the box of lemon cakes, the tin of strawberry wafers, the Pocky (all three flavours) and even the container of cookies his mother made two nights ago.
Marui lunges, throwing himself over the food. “No,” he says. “You can’t take this stuff!”
“Do you or do you not want to be here?” Sanada growls.
Marui sighs. If he were to say no, then he’d be shunned from future team bonding. But if he stays, then his food goes and his stomach knots up in fear and hunger even thinking about it.
When Yukimura shakes his head and warns Sanada to not spoil the ‘fun’, Sanada concedes. “You can have the food back when you leave tomorrow.”
It breaks Marui’s heart to see Sanada put everything into a box and haul it off to his kitchen, but Marui’s stomach feels the pang of loss even more. His duffelbag sits pathetically emptied at his feet.
He flops down on one of the musty-smelling futons that Sanada’s mom must have dragged out. The room looks so boring, like Sanada- sliding paper walls, a rack of swords in the corner, one tiny bonsai growing in a window. Tatami mats everywhere. Kirihara must be bored out of his skull without a videogame and a tv.
On the far side of the room, Marui can see light shining through. He knows that Sanada’s house is past there. And Sanada’s family. They probably have a tv and videogames along with Marui’s box of snacks.
Marui stretches his toes out, hitting the rack of swords. The swords jostle, just barely, in their wooden holders. Sanada still hasn’t returned. Yanagi and Yukimura are picking apart Seigaku’s brains on Yanagi’s laptop, working on the schedule for Tuesday.
No one would notice if Marui were to just grab the top-most sword.
Marui snickers to himself. It’s damn heavy, but he’s a tensai, strong and able as anyone else. Marui lifts the sword up, sliding it out of the sheath. The metal gleams from the light of the paper lanterns, all silver and samurai-like. “I am Sanada Yukimura,” Marui mutters. “I am the Last Samurai, Tom Cruise!”
Marui drags the sword across the floor, struggling to lift it up and pose in his most war-like and genius way. Kirihara happens to trip over the end of the sword.
Kirihara’s jaw drops. Then, he runs for the rack and pulls the next sword off. “Wanna duel?” he asks, licking his lips and cackling under his breath.
“You’re on kid,” Marui says, pointing the sword at Kirihara. It wavers in the air and his arms are getting tired, but then Kirihara thwaps the side of Marui’s sword with the one in his hands.
“Fukubuchou’s swords are big,” Kirihara says.
Marui hits Kirihara’s sword back, grunting through it. They clank and then the rest of the team stares at them for the instant before Sanada comes flying through the doorway, red-faced and pissed off and yelling “TARUNDORU!”
iii.
It is amusing, in some ways, to have to sit through Genichirou telling Marui and Kirihara off for playing with swords. Renji has read enough books to be able to fully appreciate each and every unintended euphemism.
“NO playing with swords,” Genichirou booms. “These swords are heirlooms and must be treated with respect! They do NOT touch the floor and you do NOT poke people with them.”
“Could lose an eye,” Jackal mutters to Renji.
“There will be NO improper behavior here,” Genichirou says. “No eating, no drinking, no swordfighting, no inappropriate touching, no playing with hair-”
“Playing with hair?” Yukimura asks.
Niou coughs discretely. His and Yagyuu’s faces both look a shade pink. Renji makes a note of this.
“-no shoes on the mats, no calling the dog inside, no pillow fights, no naked fights, no pissing on the bonsai tree-”
Jackal scratches his head. Yanagi shrugs and whispers, “Perhaps it was something Genichirou’s brother forced him to do as a child?”
“-no drinking alcohol, no drinking- except in the kitchen or the garden, no making paper planes with my calligraphy and NO vomiting, loud noises or tickling. You will RESPECT-”
“-my authority?” Kirihara asks.
“-the SANTICTY of this dojo!” Genichirou snaps. Then, he takes a big breath and puffs up his chest.
“Are you done, Sanada?” Yukimura asks. “Marui’s stomach won’t shut up and we’re all getting hungry.”
“Aa, yes,” Genichirou says. His chest deflates. He reaches up to fix the brim of his hat, but he’s not wearing it indoors, so he tries to pass it off as pushing back his hair. “My mother’s almost done with the sushi platter.”
Kirihara and Marui are the first two to stand up. Genichirou’s glower stops them mid-step, however, and they crumple to the ground. “You two can stay and polish up the floor. Your feet scuffed it.”
Renji is half-inclined to tell Genichirou that he sincerely doubts that two pairs of sock-feet would scuff the floor, but he can’t be bothered. Besides, after sneaking around all morning and messing with those foreigners, the mean streak hasn’t quite left his system.
Renji bites back a smirk when Genichirou throws a rag to each Kirihara and Marui. He starts to follow Yagyuu, to walk back into the main section of Genichirou’s house where the smells of ponzu sauce already wafting through, but as he stands up, he notices Kirihara. Kirihara bent on the floor, on his knees, with his butt wiggling in the air as he starts to wipe circles with the cloth.
Renji swallows a lump in his throat. His t-shirt collar feels like its suddenly strangling his throat.
Marui huffs and puffs and slaps the cloth against the wood, muttering, “Stupid Sanada. He always picks on you and I, just because we’re the shortest.”
Kirihara says, “Oi! My mom just measured me last week and I grew another inch. I’ll crush you guys. I’ll be the tallest!” His hips wiggle again, his butt pressed up against his shorts and shifting as he slides on his knees to a new patch of floor.
Renji’s shorts feel a bit tight, too. He closes his eyes and imagines seeing Kirihara eye to eye, so close to his own face that he can feel hot breath on his lips and-
“Yanagiiii!”
Renji opens his eyes. Niou hovers in his face, breathing on his nose with a big grin. Pushing Niou away, Renji rolls his eyes and clicks his tongue. Yagyuu frowns in the doorway, a scolding for Niou probably on the tip of his tongue.
“Am I done yet, fukubuchou?” Kirihara asks.
“Keep polishing,” Genichirou tells him.
iv.
Yukimura has absolutely no intentions of losing to Seigaku again. The first time, it had been during his operation. “We were….distracted,” was the first thing out of Sanada’s mouth when Yukimura saw him after. His body ached. He had tubes sticking out of his hands, he wanted to vomit and his head pounded and Sanada had to go and fuck up the regionals on him.
“Not this time,” he mutters to himself.
“Yukimura?” Sanada asks. Sanada, always at his side, always hanging off his elbow, asking if he’s okay, if he needs anything, if their form is getting any less awful.
It isn’t much better. The fact it took Akaya five games before he started to push himself to the max today proves Yukimura’s point. He’s been too lax as a captain. Tezuka hasn’t been careless, but Rikkai has.
“This will be good for bonding,” Yukimura says. He dunks a mackerel sushi roll in soy sauce and stirs it around to cover it completely until it’s black and dripping. “Seigaku will have nothing on our bond.”
“Tight as Sanada’s ass,” Niou says, snickering.
Sanada must not hear it, but Yukimura does. He snorts. “Would you know about that, Niou?”
“Dunno,” Niou says with a shrug, “never been able to get the stick out from it first.”
Jackal spits his sushi out straight across the table, right smack-dab into the middle of Sanada’s lap. “Sorry,” he says, his mouth still full of food.
Sanada’s mother swishes through the dining room, carrying another tray of sushi. Its store bought, nothing on the stuff that Yukimura’s mother can make, but Sanada’s mother has her heart in the right place and even managed to garnish the tray with sprigs of plants from the garden.
Marigolds, Yukimura thinks when he sniffs one of the flowers. It reeks and a little bug flies up from the petals. Yukimura tosses it back onto the tray.
“Yanagi,” Yukimura says, “are you almost finished with those permutations?”
Yanagi puts his chopstick down. “Considering we’re in the middle of eating, Seiichi, the answer is no.”
Yukimura sniffs. No wonder the team lost to Seigaku if Yanagi can’t be bothered to work out the Seigaku lineup for Tuesday and if Sanada is more concerned about making Marui and Akaya polish floors than bulking them up on protein. When Akaya and Marui finally slink into the dining room and kneel down around the table, Yukimura shoves the tray their way.
“I saved you both some roe sushi,” Yukimura says.
“Thanks, buchou,” Akaya says.
Marui shoves three pieces into his mouth at once, moaning and rubbing his stomach. He says something, but no one- not even Jackal, who can usually translate Marui’s muffled nnnffnus- understands him.
“Are we gonna watch movies tonight?” Akaya asks. He makes a grab for the piece of salmon sushi left untouched on Yagyuu’s plate. “And tell ghost stories?”
Both Sanada and Yagyuu shudder.
Yukimura looks at Yanagi, who smirks. Yanagi obviously knows something about this. Being not about tennis, though, Yukimura doesn’t particularly care.
“Dojos are not for games,” Sanada mutters.
“But are they for meditating about tennis?” Jackal asks. He must be joking. No one could be serious with two chopsticks stuck up their lip like a walrus like that.
Yukimura yanks one chopstick away. No wonder they lost to a bunch of Tokyo twits. “Of course not! They’re for meditating about that gold medal!” he says.
Yukimura can feel his eyes glaze over, imagining the weight of that shiny gold-plated medal hanging around his neck. When they take the finals on Tuesday, everything in his life will have come full circle to where it should be.
v.
Yagyuu sighs. As much as the team sleepover is a good idea- though, he would never admit that the stupid seaweed head has good idea like he does. Or Niou-kun- he’d rather be home, soaking in the bathtub with his new Kirino Natsuo novel. Full of introspection and chopped up bodies and the yakuza.
Niou-kun seems to be enjoying himself: harassing Kirihara, poking Marui behind Sanada’s back, hovering over Yanagi’s shoulder and making comments every time their data master puts his pen to paper, even chatting with Yukimura idly about the sad-looking mini bonsai tree in the window ledge.
The night is beautiful, warm and clear. Sanada’s dojo opens up onto a hidden garden, draped with potted plants and planters filled with smelly flowers and tall grasses. In the corner, Yagyuu can hear the sound of a bamboo water fountain tinkling softly.
He stares at the ceiling. For all of Sanada’s going on about the sanctity of the place, he sure as hell seems unaware of just how many cobwebs drape across the wooden rafters.
Yagyuu sighs again. Someone lurks in the corner of his glasses, right before something squashes down on his face. He makes a sound, a bit like an “Urk!” and shoves Niou-kun and the pillow off his head.
“NO pillow-fighting!” Sanada yells from somewhere in the bowels of the dojo. His shadow moves across the paper walls, sword in his hands, feet flat on the floor as he dances across, slicing the straw dummy and muttering something about stupid freshmen.
Not bitter at all, Yagyuu thinks.
“You look like you’re having a funtabulous time tonight,” Niou says. He flops down next to Yagyuu, making sure to not brush his fingers against Yagyuu’s arm because Sanada would have a fit over that too.
“You’re not still bitter that you lost Janken and had to lose in singles today are you?” Niou-asks.
“No,” Yagyuu says. He rolls over onto his other side and stares out into the garden. A mosquito buzzes near his ear. Or, it might be Niou irritating him. Yagyuu probably shouldn’t have packed his long-sleeved pajamas. It’s too hot, especially with seeing Niou prance around in nothing but a pair of boxers.
Niou touches Yagyuu’s hand. His eyebrow rises and he nods to the garden. Glancing around, Yagyuu creeps out behind him out into the dark garden and they slip around the corner into a deeper shadow.
“You’re shit at lying,” Niou says.
“You’re shit at telling the truth,” Yagyuu answers. He can’t be bothered to argue- it’s too warm, he’s too irrigated already.
Niou attacks him with hot hands under his pajama shirt.
Yagyuu hisses. “Sanada-kun said-”
Niou tugs at his pajama shirt until Yagyuu relents, lifts his arms and lets Niou slip it off his head. “No inappropriate touching in the dojo, Yagyuu.”
Niou’s grins have always been bright, and they are even more in the dark of Sanada’s garden, right within earshot of everyone else. Close enough to make it all the more enticing.
“Should I punish you for the indiscretion?” Yagyuu asks.
Niou’s fingertips touch Yagyuu’s waistband. “Maybe I’ll punish you…”
vi.
Jackal wipes himself down with the shrinky-dink towel that Sanada’s mom left in the bathroom for him. The showers in the stadium were dingy and dirty and smelled like cement and fish mixed together. How was he supposed to use them? There was a rumour circulating around- maybe started by those Higa players in purple- that Hyoutei brought their own portable showers to the grounds, but Jackal has yet to find them.
They had been hot today. On fiya, even. Jackal smirks at himself in the mirror, wiping a spot clean to see his grinning reflection better. It took effort to lose that badly. Marui’s genius could barely contain itself and his own defense, well- it had been hard to not stop all those shots from mediocre imported players.
His boxers cling to his damp body a bit too much, but then it is August and it is hot and neither Sanada’s house nor the dojo have air conditioning, unfortunately. Wistfully Jackal thinks that he could be off in Brazil, where it’s winter right now, but then he wouldn’t have tennis nationals there.
He walks into the dojo and tells Yanagi, “I’m done now, if you want it.”
Marui is curled up in a ball in the corner. Kirihara keeps waving a feather over his head. Jackal doesn’t really care how Kirihara came across the feather in here (probably swiped from Sanada’s calligraphy set) so much as the entire scene is rather amusing. Marui’s dramatics all evening over his snacks being confiscated.
“Gonna stay like that all night?” Jackal asks.
“I’m starving,” Marui moans.
Jackal looks around. No Niou in sight, so Jackal says it on behalf of Niou: “Explain your pudge, then.”
“I’m bloating up like a starving African kid!” Marui shouts. He looks out from under his elbow to glare, but as soon as he does, Marui’s scowl falls off his face. He sticks his nose up in the air, his nostrils twitching. “Jackal?” he asks.
“Yes?” Jackal says.
“What is that smell?” Marui asks. He untangles his arms and swats Kirihara and his feather away. Trailing his nose, Marui comes awfully close to Jackal, sniffing the whole way right into Jackal’s stomach.
“Oi!” Jackal shouts. “I’m not like that! Gisele Bundschen poster in my room! Remember the Gisele Bundschen poster!”
Marui lifts up the hem of Jackal’s tanktop. He runs the tip of his nose along Jackal’s abs, making him suck his stomach in and try- and fail- to shove Marui away. “You smell….you smell…”
“I’m fresh and clean!” Jackal insists.
“-like candy!”
Jackal yelps when Marui licks his skin.
“Bath salts!” he says. “Bath salts that Sanada’s family has in their bathroom. Blame them! Get off!”
“Ewww!” Kirihara says. “Marui-senpai, are you like a cannibal, or something?”
“NO IMPROPER BEHAVIOR!” Sanada bellows. Jackal doesn’t manage to turn around before a hard, painful wooden katana smacks the back of his head, arcs back, then hits Marui in the shoulder.
Jackal lands on his ass on the floor.
Marui lands on top of him, face in jackal’s armpit, still sniffing.
Without a word, Yanagi picks up the two discarded cloths and hands them to Sanada. Sanada throws them at Jackal’s head.
“You can both start polishing,” he tells them. “Now.”
Marui gets a second whack when he pretends to polish Jackal’s head. Seeing Sanada’s scowl falter for an instant earns him a smack to the ear for his own laughing, too, but Jackal doesn’t care.
vii.
If Niou wants to justify it, he would say that they’re not in the dojo per se, so the dojo rules don’t count. He can follow rules just as well as…Yagyuu can.
Yagyuu’s mouth is slimy on his neck. For someone who was a bit apprehensive at first to make out and cop a few feels out in the garden, he’s sure into it now, with one his hand down Niou’s boxers and his other hand on Niou’s back. Yagyuu’s kisses are long and sucking on Niou’s jaw. Niou jerks his head away.
“You’re gonna leave marks!” he hisses.
“You wanted it,” Yagyuu mutters, licking the side of Niou’s mouth. Yagyuu groans in the back of his throat, then says “God, do it harder, Niou-kun…”
Niou tightens his hand around Yagyuu’s dick. It’s not very comfortable, sitting on a concrete planter box in the corner of the garden, with bugs buzzing and cicadas chirping and the entire team barely a few feet away through a glowing paper door, but Yagyuu’s into it and Niou’s into Yagyuu.
He works his hand harder. His fingers feel like they’re going to cramp up soon. Just come, Niou thinks. Stop trying to hold out! He’s not going to last much longer himself, not with Yagyuu’s fingers making him squirm and pant and feel like his cock and balls are burning, that pleasant, pleasant feeling of pleasure between his legs, all numb and supersensitive at once.
“We’ll play doubles together,” Niou says, whispering in Yagyuu’s sweat-damp hair.
Yagyuu gasps, then he groans. His hand slips on Niou and Niou chokes when the thumb brushes back over and over against the end of his dick, that wonderfully sweet spot that makes him spread his legs wider, as wide as he can with his boxer shorts around his knees.
“Yeah,” Yagyuu manages. “I’m gonna…gonna…” Niou can feel Yagyuu’s thighs start to clench, then shake and he thinks Finally!
When-
From the other side of the garden, a baritone voice shouts, “Genichirou, stop fooling around in the garden with your friend! Mom says she can’t hear the tv over all your moaning.”
The paper door to the dojo opens all the way, flooding a stream of light across the garden. Sanada sticks his head out. “What are you talking about?” he yells back at his brother.
Niou yanks his boxer shorts up.
Yagyuu yanks his pajama pants up as fast as he can, just in time before Sanada swings his head around to see the two of them, standing there stiff and silent until Niou can’t stand it anymore and he bursts out.
Yagyuu isn’t far behind. And he laughs even louder.
It’s completely worth not being able to come if it means Sanada has some embarrassed explaining to do in the morning.
Besides, as soon as the big stick in the mud has gone to sleep, Niou plans to slip under Yagyuu’s futon and cop a few feels anyway.
“Get scrubbing,” Sanada snaps. He whips a rag in front of Niou’s nose.
Niou salutes him. “Yessir!”
Even Yukimura laughs at that.
viii.
There isn’t just one reason why Sanada hates sleepovers with the tennis team.
No, there are seven.
He lies awake at night, in the dark, pretending not to hear Niou sneak off into Yagyuu’s bed, pretending not to hear Marui’s stomach growling, or Jackal singing Portuguese nonsense as he nods off. Sanada pretends not to hear Kirihara whispering “I’ll crush you, Seigaku,” or Yukimura encouraging the brat with a hum of agreement.
Sanada pretends not to notice Renji’s snoring, either. It’s like a freight train. And to make things worse, Yanagi doesn’t seem to hear the constant buzzing of his cellphone. Probably that Inui from Seigaku trying to call him. The way he’s been trying to call all. bloody. Evening.
Sanada grinds his teeth. “Tezuka,” he mutters, “you win at team bonding.”
“What was that?” Yukimura’s shrill voice pierces through the darkness. “Sanada, did you say something about Tezuka winning?”
Sanada rolls onto his side and pretends to be asleep. Next year, he’ll just tell the team to go follow someone else to a post-tennis party and leave the dojo alone.
He closes his eyes and the shine of the floor reflects the full moon perfectly. For no other reason that the pristine polish, Sanada’s mouth quirks into a tiny sliver of a smile.
No manthongs mentioned, unfortunately, but I liberally dosed it with a number of pop-culture references ^___^
Author: Ociwen
Wordcount: 4200
Rating: Rish
Disclaimer: Konomi owns all.
Summary: Post Genius 341. Meanwhile, in Kanagawa....
Author's Notes: Written for minkyleigh for all her help. &hearts
i.
Kirihara remains firmly convinced that although Rikkai Dai is number one in the country in junior high school boy’s tennis, they completely suck in terms of fun.
He scuffs his feet on the walk home from the train station. His face hurts like hell where that dumb gaijin made him bleed. The bandaids itch. And inside his head hurts, too- Yagyuu-senpai saying that gaijin called him a stupid seaweed head, buchou telling him to pick his pace up, even Marui-senpai snickering and saying Kirihara needed to work harder.
He glares at the back of his senpais’ heads. I’ll crush you guys, he vows. Outloud, he says, “Why can’t we ever do anything fun?”
Jackal-senpai turns around, his bald head catching the last of the western sun. Sanada-fukubuchou stops walking entirely and Kirihara cringes, already backing up for the backhand. Sanada opens his mouth to say “Ta-”
But buchou grabs his hand and snaps, “Sanada!”
Kirihara beams at buchou, who just purses his lips and keeps on walking. It must be hot, to be still wearing his jacket, but buchou doesn’t seem to be sweating. His supernatural powers prevent him from doing gross things like sweating. Kirihara, on the other hand, can feel his body melting into the pavement. It’s too hot. And his own sweat makes his cuts sting.
Niou-senpai shoves his hands into his pockets. He says, “Eh, it’s true. You guys are as much fun as Yagyuu in a bookstore.”
“Yeah!” Kirihara says, loud enough to make all of his senpais stop in their tracks. “I heard Seigaku say they were going to have a party tonight! And I saw that loser hippy team follow them out of the stadium!”
“Rokkaku?” Yagyuu asks.
“Shitenhoji?” Marui asks.
“Those purple freaks?” Niou asks.
“All of them!” Kirihara insists. “I saw them all going too!”
“Well, it wouldn’t have been Hyoutei,” Jackal says. “Atobe would shrivel up dead before anyone called him a hippy.”
“Them too!”
For a split second, fukubuchou’s face goes all soft and mushy and happy, the way he gets when buchou whispers something in his ear.
“Atobe can waste his time with parties,” Sanada-fukubuchou says. “He’s a lazy ass.”
Buchou, though, chews on the inside of his lip. His round face twists up all funny and he stops fukubuchou from walking away. “Akaya could be right,” he says.
Kirihara pumps his fist, pleased with himself.
Yagyuu-senpai rubs the bridge of his nose, the part under his glasses nosepieces. “Please not another sleepover,” he says. “Yukimura-kun, please-”
“YEAH!” Kirihara shouts. Niou-senpai waggles his eyebrows and grins at Kirihara.
“Sanada- your dojo is closed on Saturday nights,” buchou says.
Fukubuchou shakes his head. “The last time we did this-”
Kirihara stands up straight. He clears his throat, then says, “I promise not to punch the paper walls again.”
Sanada-fukubuchou glares at Niou. Niou ducks his head, but after a beat adds, “I promise not to provoke the kid.”
Then, fukubuchou turns to Yagyuu, who sighs heavily. “I promise not to provoke the both of them,” Yagyuu-senpai says.
Yanagi-senpai nods. “It’s not like we have anything better to do on a Saturday night. And with Seigaku’s coach insisting the courts are unfit to play, we could use the time to bond as a group.”
Sanada closes his eyes. “Fine,” he grumbles. “I’ll call home and ask.”
ii.
As soon as Marui steps over the threshold, Sanada blocks his way, all tall and imposing with a scowl on his face and his arms folded over his chest.
Marui stops.
Somehow, Sanada looks even more imposing dressed in his hakama. Yukimura is probably checking out his ass, that’s why he doesn’t tell Sanada that Marui comes in peace.
“No food in here,” Sanada says.
“Huh?” Marui says.
“No. Food. In the dojo.”
Marui shifts his eyes left. Jackal and Niou are snickering. He looks right to see Kirihara tapping on a paper wall, testing the strength.
“I don’t have any food,” Marui lies.
Sanada grabs Marui’s duffelbag. Marui dives to save it, but Sanada unzips it first and starts to throw onto the floor every single item Marui has brought: the bag of potato chips, the bag of prawn crackers, the two packages of chocolate-covered chocolate chips, the gummies, the box of lemon cakes, the tin of strawberry wafers, the Pocky (all three flavours) and even the container of cookies his mother made two nights ago.
Marui lunges, throwing himself over the food. “No,” he says. “You can’t take this stuff!”
“Do you or do you not want to be here?” Sanada growls.
Marui sighs. If he were to say no, then he’d be shunned from future team bonding. But if he stays, then his food goes and his stomach knots up in fear and hunger even thinking about it.
When Yukimura shakes his head and warns Sanada to not spoil the ‘fun’, Sanada concedes. “You can have the food back when you leave tomorrow.”
It breaks Marui’s heart to see Sanada put everything into a box and haul it off to his kitchen, but Marui’s stomach feels the pang of loss even more. His duffelbag sits pathetically emptied at his feet.
He flops down on one of the musty-smelling futons that Sanada’s mom must have dragged out. The room looks so boring, like Sanada- sliding paper walls, a rack of swords in the corner, one tiny bonsai growing in a window. Tatami mats everywhere. Kirihara must be bored out of his skull without a videogame and a tv.
On the far side of the room, Marui can see light shining through. He knows that Sanada’s house is past there. And Sanada’s family. They probably have a tv and videogames along with Marui’s box of snacks.
Marui stretches his toes out, hitting the rack of swords. The swords jostle, just barely, in their wooden holders. Sanada still hasn’t returned. Yanagi and Yukimura are picking apart Seigaku’s brains on Yanagi’s laptop, working on the schedule for Tuesday.
No one would notice if Marui were to just grab the top-most sword.
Marui snickers to himself. It’s damn heavy, but he’s a tensai, strong and able as anyone else. Marui lifts the sword up, sliding it out of the sheath. The metal gleams from the light of the paper lanterns, all silver and samurai-like. “I am Sanada Yukimura,” Marui mutters. “I am the Last Samurai, Tom Cruise!”
Marui drags the sword across the floor, struggling to lift it up and pose in his most war-like and genius way. Kirihara happens to trip over the end of the sword.
Kirihara’s jaw drops. Then, he runs for the rack and pulls the next sword off. “Wanna duel?” he asks, licking his lips and cackling under his breath.
“You’re on kid,” Marui says, pointing the sword at Kirihara. It wavers in the air and his arms are getting tired, but then Kirihara thwaps the side of Marui’s sword with the one in his hands.
“Fukubuchou’s swords are big,” Kirihara says.
Marui hits Kirihara’s sword back, grunting through it. They clank and then the rest of the team stares at them for the instant before Sanada comes flying through the doorway, red-faced and pissed off and yelling “TARUNDORU!”
iii.
It is amusing, in some ways, to have to sit through Genichirou telling Marui and Kirihara off for playing with swords. Renji has read enough books to be able to fully appreciate each and every unintended euphemism.
“NO playing with swords,” Genichirou booms. “These swords are heirlooms and must be treated with respect! They do NOT touch the floor and you do NOT poke people with them.”
“Could lose an eye,” Jackal mutters to Renji.
“There will be NO improper behavior here,” Genichirou says. “No eating, no drinking, no swordfighting, no inappropriate touching, no playing with hair-”
“Playing with hair?” Yukimura asks.
Niou coughs discretely. His and Yagyuu’s faces both look a shade pink. Renji makes a note of this.
“-no shoes on the mats, no calling the dog inside, no pillow fights, no naked fights, no pissing on the bonsai tree-”
Jackal scratches his head. Yanagi shrugs and whispers, “Perhaps it was something Genichirou’s brother forced him to do as a child?”
“-no drinking alcohol, no drinking- except in the kitchen or the garden, no making paper planes with my calligraphy and NO vomiting, loud noises or tickling. You will RESPECT-”
“-my authority?” Kirihara asks.
“-the SANTICTY of this dojo!” Genichirou snaps. Then, he takes a big breath and puffs up his chest.
“Are you done, Sanada?” Yukimura asks. “Marui’s stomach won’t shut up and we’re all getting hungry.”
“Aa, yes,” Genichirou says. His chest deflates. He reaches up to fix the brim of his hat, but he’s not wearing it indoors, so he tries to pass it off as pushing back his hair. “My mother’s almost done with the sushi platter.”
Kirihara and Marui are the first two to stand up. Genichirou’s glower stops them mid-step, however, and they crumple to the ground. “You two can stay and polish up the floor. Your feet scuffed it.”
Renji is half-inclined to tell Genichirou that he sincerely doubts that two pairs of sock-feet would scuff the floor, but he can’t be bothered. Besides, after sneaking around all morning and messing with those foreigners, the mean streak hasn’t quite left his system.
Renji bites back a smirk when Genichirou throws a rag to each Kirihara and Marui. He starts to follow Yagyuu, to walk back into the main section of Genichirou’s house where the smells of ponzu sauce already wafting through, but as he stands up, he notices Kirihara. Kirihara bent on the floor, on his knees, with his butt wiggling in the air as he starts to wipe circles with the cloth.
Renji swallows a lump in his throat. His t-shirt collar feels like its suddenly strangling his throat.
Marui huffs and puffs and slaps the cloth against the wood, muttering, “Stupid Sanada. He always picks on you and I, just because we’re the shortest.”
Kirihara says, “Oi! My mom just measured me last week and I grew another inch. I’ll crush you guys. I’ll be the tallest!” His hips wiggle again, his butt pressed up against his shorts and shifting as he slides on his knees to a new patch of floor.
Renji’s shorts feel a bit tight, too. He closes his eyes and imagines seeing Kirihara eye to eye, so close to his own face that he can feel hot breath on his lips and-
“Yanagiiii!”
Renji opens his eyes. Niou hovers in his face, breathing on his nose with a big grin. Pushing Niou away, Renji rolls his eyes and clicks his tongue. Yagyuu frowns in the doorway, a scolding for Niou probably on the tip of his tongue.
“Am I done yet, fukubuchou?” Kirihara asks.
“Keep polishing,” Genichirou tells him.
iv.
Yukimura has absolutely no intentions of losing to Seigaku again. The first time, it had been during his operation. “We were….distracted,” was the first thing out of Sanada’s mouth when Yukimura saw him after. His body ached. He had tubes sticking out of his hands, he wanted to vomit and his head pounded and Sanada had to go and fuck up the regionals on him.
“Not this time,” he mutters to himself.
“Yukimura?” Sanada asks. Sanada, always at his side, always hanging off his elbow, asking if he’s okay, if he needs anything, if their form is getting any less awful.
It isn’t much better. The fact it took Akaya five games before he started to push himself to the max today proves Yukimura’s point. He’s been too lax as a captain. Tezuka hasn’t been careless, but Rikkai has.
“This will be good for bonding,” Yukimura says. He dunks a mackerel sushi roll in soy sauce and stirs it around to cover it completely until it’s black and dripping. “Seigaku will have nothing on our bond.”
“Tight as Sanada’s ass,” Niou says, snickering.
Sanada must not hear it, but Yukimura does. He snorts. “Would you know about that, Niou?”
“Dunno,” Niou says with a shrug, “never been able to get the stick out from it first.”
Jackal spits his sushi out straight across the table, right smack-dab into the middle of Sanada’s lap. “Sorry,” he says, his mouth still full of food.
Sanada’s mother swishes through the dining room, carrying another tray of sushi. Its store bought, nothing on the stuff that Yukimura’s mother can make, but Sanada’s mother has her heart in the right place and even managed to garnish the tray with sprigs of plants from the garden.
Marigolds, Yukimura thinks when he sniffs one of the flowers. It reeks and a little bug flies up from the petals. Yukimura tosses it back onto the tray.
“Yanagi,” Yukimura says, “are you almost finished with those permutations?”
Yanagi puts his chopstick down. “Considering we’re in the middle of eating, Seiichi, the answer is no.”
Yukimura sniffs. No wonder the team lost to Seigaku if Yanagi can’t be bothered to work out the Seigaku lineup for Tuesday and if Sanada is more concerned about making Marui and Akaya polish floors than bulking them up on protein. When Akaya and Marui finally slink into the dining room and kneel down around the table, Yukimura shoves the tray their way.
“I saved you both some roe sushi,” Yukimura says.
“Thanks, buchou,” Akaya says.
Marui shoves three pieces into his mouth at once, moaning and rubbing his stomach. He says something, but no one- not even Jackal, who can usually translate Marui’s muffled nnnffnus- understands him.
“Are we gonna watch movies tonight?” Akaya asks. He makes a grab for the piece of salmon sushi left untouched on Yagyuu’s plate. “And tell ghost stories?”
Both Sanada and Yagyuu shudder.
Yukimura looks at Yanagi, who smirks. Yanagi obviously knows something about this. Being not about tennis, though, Yukimura doesn’t particularly care.
“Dojos are not for games,” Sanada mutters.
“But are they for meditating about tennis?” Jackal asks. He must be joking. No one could be serious with two chopsticks stuck up their lip like a walrus like that.
Yukimura yanks one chopstick away. No wonder they lost to a bunch of Tokyo twits. “Of course not! They’re for meditating about that gold medal!” he says.
Yukimura can feel his eyes glaze over, imagining the weight of that shiny gold-plated medal hanging around his neck. When they take the finals on Tuesday, everything in his life will have come full circle to where it should be.
v.
Yagyuu sighs. As much as the team sleepover is a good idea- though, he would never admit that the stupid seaweed head has good idea like he does. Or Niou-kun- he’d rather be home, soaking in the bathtub with his new Kirino Natsuo novel. Full of introspection and chopped up bodies and the yakuza.
Niou-kun seems to be enjoying himself: harassing Kirihara, poking Marui behind Sanada’s back, hovering over Yanagi’s shoulder and making comments every time their data master puts his pen to paper, even chatting with Yukimura idly about the sad-looking mini bonsai tree in the window ledge.
The night is beautiful, warm and clear. Sanada’s dojo opens up onto a hidden garden, draped with potted plants and planters filled with smelly flowers and tall grasses. In the corner, Yagyuu can hear the sound of a bamboo water fountain tinkling softly.
He stares at the ceiling. For all of Sanada’s going on about the sanctity of the place, he sure as hell seems unaware of just how many cobwebs drape across the wooden rafters.
Yagyuu sighs again. Someone lurks in the corner of his glasses, right before something squashes down on his face. He makes a sound, a bit like an “Urk!” and shoves Niou-kun and the pillow off his head.
“NO pillow-fighting!” Sanada yells from somewhere in the bowels of the dojo. His shadow moves across the paper walls, sword in his hands, feet flat on the floor as he dances across, slicing the straw dummy and muttering something about stupid freshmen.
Not bitter at all, Yagyuu thinks.
“You look like you’re having a funtabulous time tonight,” Niou says. He flops down next to Yagyuu, making sure to not brush his fingers against Yagyuu’s arm because Sanada would have a fit over that too.
“You’re not still bitter that you lost Janken and had to lose in singles today are you?” Niou-asks.
“No,” Yagyuu says. He rolls over onto his other side and stares out into the garden. A mosquito buzzes near his ear. Or, it might be Niou irritating him. Yagyuu probably shouldn’t have packed his long-sleeved pajamas. It’s too hot, especially with seeing Niou prance around in nothing but a pair of boxers.
Niou touches Yagyuu’s hand. His eyebrow rises and he nods to the garden. Glancing around, Yagyuu creeps out behind him out into the dark garden and they slip around the corner into a deeper shadow.
“You’re shit at lying,” Niou says.
“You’re shit at telling the truth,” Yagyuu answers. He can’t be bothered to argue- it’s too warm, he’s too irrigated already.
Niou attacks him with hot hands under his pajama shirt.
Yagyuu hisses. “Sanada-kun said-”
Niou tugs at his pajama shirt until Yagyuu relents, lifts his arms and lets Niou slip it off his head. “No inappropriate touching in the dojo, Yagyuu.”
Niou’s grins have always been bright, and they are even more in the dark of Sanada’s garden, right within earshot of everyone else. Close enough to make it all the more enticing.
“Should I punish you for the indiscretion?” Yagyuu asks.
Niou’s fingertips touch Yagyuu’s waistband. “Maybe I’ll punish you…”
vi.
Jackal wipes himself down with the shrinky-dink towel that Sanada’s mom left in the bathroom for him. The showers in the stadium were dingy and dirty and smelled like cement and fish mixed together. How was he supposed to use them? There was a rumour circulating around- maybe started by those Higa players in purple- that Hyoutei brought their own portable showers to the grounds, but Jackal has yet to find them.
They had been hot today. On fiya, even. Jackal smirks at himself in the mirror, wiping a spot clean to see his grinning reflection better. It took effort to lose that badly. Marui’s genius could barely contain itself and his own defense, well- it had been hard to not stop all those shots from mediocre imported players.
His boxers cling to his damp body a bit too much, but then it is August and it is hot and neither Sanada’s house nor the dojo have air conditioning, unfortunately. Wistfully Jackal thinks that he could be off in Brazil, where it’s winter right now, but then he wouldn’t have tennis nationals there.
He walks into the dojo and tells Yanagi, “I’m done now, if you want it.”
Marui is curled up in a ball in the corner. Kirihara keeps waving a feather over his head. Jackal doesn’t really care how Kirihara came across the feather in here (probably swiped from Sanada’s calligraphy set) so much as the entire scene is rather amusing. Marui’s dramatics all evening over his snacks being confiscated.
“Gonna stay like that all night?” Jackal asks.
“I’m starving,” Marui moans.
Jackal looks around. No Niou in sight, so Jackal says it on behalf of Niou: “Explain your pudge, then.”
“I’m bloating up like a starving African kid!” Marui shouts. He looks out from under his elbow to glare, but as soon as he does, Marui’s scowl falls off his face. He sticks his nose up in the air, his nostrils twitching. “Jackal?” he asks.
“Yes?” Jackal says.
“What is that smell?” Marui asks. He untangles his arms and swats Kirihara and his feather away. Trailing his nose, Marui comes awfully close to Jackal, sniffing the whole way right into Jackal’s stomach.
“Oi!” Jackal shouts. “I’m not like that! Gisele Bundschen poster in my room! Remember the Gisele Bundschen poster!”
Marui lifts up the hem of Jackal’s tanktop. He runs the tip of his nose along Jackal’s abs, making him suck his stomach in and try- and fail- to shove Marui away. “You smell….you smell…”
“I’m fresh and clean!” Jackal insists.
“-like candy!”
Jackal yelps when Marui licks his skin.
“Bath salts!” he says. “Bath salts that Sanada’s family has in their bathroom. Blame them! Get off!”
“Ewww!” Kirihara says. “Marui-senpai, are you like a cannibal, or something?”
“NO IMPROPER BEHAVIOR!” Sanada bellows. Jackal doesn’t manage to turn around before a hard, painful wooden katana smacks the back of his head, arcs back, then hits Marui in the shoulder.
Jackal lands on his ass on the floor.
Marui lands on top of him, face in jackal’s armpit, still sniffing.
Without a word, Yanagi picks up the two discarded cloths and hands them to Sanada. Sanada throws them at Jackal’s head.
“You can both start polishing,” he tells them. “Now.”
Marui gets a second whack when he pretends to polish Jackal’s head. Seeing Sanada’s scowl falter for an instant earns him a smack to the ear for his own laughing, too, but Jackal doesn’t care.
vii.
If Niou wants to justify it, he would say that they’re not in the dojo per se, so the dojo rules don’t count. He can follow rules just as well as…Yagyuu can.
Yagyuu’s mouth is slimy on his neck. For someone who was a bit apprehensive at first to make out and cop a few feels out in the garden, he’s sure into it now, with one his hand down Niou’s boxers and his other hand on Niou’s back. Yagyuu’s kisses are long and sucking on Niou’s jaw. Niou jerks his head away.
“You’re gonna leave marks!” he hisses.
“You wanted it,” Yagyuu mutters, licking the side of Niou’s mouth. Yagyuu groans in the back of his throat, then says “God, do it harder, Niou-kun…”
Niou tightens his hand around Yagyuu’s dick. It’s not very comfortable, sitting on a concrete planter box in the corner of the garden, with bugs buzzing and cicadas chirping and the entire team barely a few feet away through a glowing paper door, but Yagyuu’s into it and Niou’s into Yagyuu.
He works his hand harder. His fingers feel like they’re going to cramp up soon. Just come, Niou thinks. Stop trying to hold out! He’s not going to last much longer himself, not with Yagyuu’s fingers making him squirm and pant and feel like his cock and balls are burning, that pleasant, pleasant feeling of pleasure between his legs, all numb and supersensitive at once.
“We’ll play doubles together,” Niou says, whispering in Yagyuu’s sweat-damp hair.
Yagyuu gasps, then he groans. His hand slips on Niou and Niou chokes when the thumb brushes back over and over against the end of his dick, that wonderfully sweet spot that makes him spread his legs wider, as wide as he can with his boxer shorts around his knees.
“Yeah,” Yagyuu manages. “I’m gonna…gonna…” Niou can feel Yagyuu’s thighs start to clench, then shake and he thinks Finally!
When-
From the other side of the garden, a baritone voice shouts, “Genichirou, stop fooling around in the garden with your friend! Mom says she can’t hear the tv over all your moaning.”
The paper door to the dojo opens all the way, flooding a stream of light across the garden. Sanada sticks his head out. “What are you talking about?” he yells back at his brother.
Niou yanks his boxer shorts up.
Yagyuu yanks his pajama pants up as fast as he can, just in time before Sanada swings his head around to see the two of them, standing there stiff and silent until Niou can’t stand it anymore and he bursts out.
Yagyuu isn’t far behind. And he laughs even louder.
It’s completely worth not being able to come if it means Sanada has some embarrassed explaining to do in the morning.
Besides, as soon as the big stick in the mud has gone to sleep, Niou plans to slip under Yagyuu’s futon and cop a few feels anyway.
“Get scrubbing,” Sanada snaps. He whips a rag in front of Niou’s nose.
Niou salutes him. “Yessir!”
Even Yukimura laughs at that.
viii.
There isn’t just one reason why Sanada hates sleepovers with the tennis team.
No, there are seven.
He lies awake at night, in the dark, pretending not to hear Niou sneak off into Yagyuu’s bed, pretending not to hear Marui’s stomach growling, or Jackal singing Portuguese nonsense as he nods off. Sanada pretends not to hear Kirihara whispering “I’ll crush you, Seigaku,” or Yukimura encouraging the brat with a hum of agreement.
Sanada pretends not to notice Renji’s snoring, either. It’s like a freight train. And to make things worse, Yanagi doesn’t seem to hear the constant buzzing of his cellphone. Probably that Inui from Seigaku trying to call him. The way he’s been trying to call all. bloody. Evening.
Sanada grinds his teeth. “Tezuka,” he mutters, “you win at team bonding.”
“What was that?” Yukimura’s shrill voice pierces through the darkness. “Sanada, did you say something about Tezuka winning?”
Sanada rolls onto his side and pretends to be asleep. Next year, he’ll just tell the team to go follow someone else to a post-tennis party and leave the dojo alone.
He closes his eyes and the shine of the floor reflects the full moon perfectly. For no other reason that the pristine polish, Sanada’s mouth quirks into a tiny sliver of a smile.
No manthongs mentioned, unfortunately, but I liberally dosed it with a number of pop-culture references ^___^