FIC: Rewind Forward (D1) 55/63
Title: Rewind Forward (55/63)
Author: Ociwen
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: Konomi owns all.
Summary: Niou, meet Yagyuu.
Author's Notes: Spoilers for everything.
[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9] [Part 10] [Part 11] [Part 12] [Part 13] [Part 14] [Part 15] [Part 16] [Part 17] [Part 18] [Part 19] [Part 20] [Part 21] [Part 22] [Part 23] [Part 24] [Part 25] [Part 26] [Part 27] [Part 28] [Part 29] [Part 30] [Part 31] [Part 32] [Part 33] [Part 34] [Part 35] [Part 36] [Part 37] [Part 38] [Part 39] [Part 40] [Part 41] [Part 42] [Part 43] [Part 44] [Part 45] [Part 46] [Part 47] [Part 48] [Part 49] [Part 50] [Part 51] [Part 52] [Part 53] [Part 54] [Part 55]
It goes to figure that he doesn't sleep well that night. Morning is sticky, damp, and it greets Niou with messed up sheets between his legs. The A/C seems to have warmed up, not cooled down. His hair is a rat's nest and his neck aches.
Lovely.
That, and there's practice this morning. For real.
It's melting hot. Niou pants at the train station. The cooling room on the platform is broken, just on the day Niou could use it most. Sweat pools at the back of his neck. His armpits are soaked and the air conditioning on the train does nothing to hide his rank stink.
At the stop closest to school, Niou peels himself off the seat. There is a gust of warm, stale air from the platform as the train doors open, and then a second gust of hot air when Niou climbs the stairs onto the street level. The sun is blinding. The cicadas are deafening. His skin is boiling off his body and it's so much effort to walk. At best, his is the sluggish gait of a man with a death wish. Niou's head hangs just as low, too. The trees seem to drip with moisture. It splashes onto Niou's arms. But then again, that might be his own sweat-drenched hair, he can't tell for sure.
How the hell they'll practice much today, Niou has no idea.
He manages to stumble onto the courts. Niou gasps for air in the thick, muggy humidity; it's too hot to breathe in. His lungs burn and he collapses onto the bench next to Marui. Yukimura runs a lap around the courts. He's wearing his tracksuit pants and jacket.
Niou's body slithers into the bench slats. He holds a hand over his eyes and peers through the cracks of his fingers. Beside him, Marui sounds like a dying fish between bubble gum pops. The chorus of cicadas seems to intensify around them, pulsing with the ripples of heat on the courts. Sanada and Yanagi practice serves at the far end of the main courts, but even Sanada pauses to fan his face off with his cap.
"How long have you been here?" Niou asks.
Marui grunts. "Dunno. Yukimura's been here since before me, though."
Niou flops his other arm over the back of the bench. Marui's sticky leg has glued itself to Niou's knee, but it's just too much work to move. Niou has to fight to think. "Laps?"
Marui grunts again. "Yeah."
Niou opens his mouth to ask about Yagyuu, but he catches himself. His face flushes hotter-if that's even possible. Luckily, the heat hides his pink cheeks under a film of sweat. His temple throbs, and so does the rest of his body. Yukimura runs up to him and Marui and narrows his eyes. His sweat band falls down.
"Uh, what do you think you guys are doing?" he asks. His voice is stronger than it was a few days ago, but the weak, breathy pauses remain and punctuate his words. Something akin to a lump of pity solidifies in Niou's belly, twisting and turning over along with his breakfast.
Niou wishes he could say something half-intelligent right now. Instead, about all he can manage is an eloquent, drawn-out, "Puri" that means nothing to anyone, including himself. The weather drains his energy to move. The energy drains his will to live. Marui rolls off the bench and tries to bounce to his feet. The fatty trips on someone's dirty sweat towel that had been lying around.
Yukimura picks it up. "That's where that went!" he says. Yukimura pats the back of his neck. He's peaky, but he's not sweating. The paleness-and the green tinge-haven't left his face yet.
"Singles, against each other," Yukimura says. He nods to Marui and Niou, right as Yagyuu walks out from the clubhouse with a towel draped around the back of his neck.
Niou sits up. His head spins.
It's really one of those days that Niou would be most content to lounge around in his dim, air-conditioned bedroom and do nothing. Maybe just think about Yagyuu and masturbate a bit. Maybe masturbate a bit with Yagyuu.
But playing tennis…?
The cicadas are so loud that they deafen Niou when he walks past a row of hedges behind the courts. Sweat splashes the dusty courts. Every sound and motion is magnified and drawn out into the thick, wet air.
Yagyuu gets stuck playing with the wonderchibi. Kirihara sniffles and snorts up wads of mucus. He spits them onto the ground and grinds them into the court with his sneaker.
"Are you all right, Kirihara-kun?" Yagyuu asks. "Do you want the first serve?"
Somehow, Niou doesn't really think that a summer cold will keep the chibi down. Niou's lips curl into a smirk, in the generic sort of way. He looks at Marui, who looks from Niou to Yagyuu and Kirihara.
"Quick game?" Niou asks.
Marui nods. Over his shoulder, he glances again. Kirihara skips, then he starts to cough and sniffle. His eyes are already pink. Niou squints against the light. Yagyuu's tall form casts almost no shadow in the noon sun, but Niou can make out the ghost of a cold little smile on Yagyuu's lips.
Neither Kirihara nor Yagyuu will play a clean game.
A shiver runs down Niou's back. It prickles across his arms as goosepimples, and his dick twitches. He's hot and cold and feverish at the thought of Yagyuu whipping lasers into the chibi's legs and using that voice, that Adieu!
God, that would be hot.
"You serve, Genius!" Niou calls out.
Marui grabs the ball mid-bounce. He narrows his eyes into beady little black spots. The heat seems to make his face look rounder than ever. Niou wiggles in the middle of the court-he's picking up on Yagyuu's habits and he knows it. He tosses his racket from hand to hand and waits for Marui.
"Come on, Fatty," he whispers.
Marui puffs up his cheeks and blows a large bubble. The apple smell that permeates the court makes Niou's stomach turn. He fakes a gag, although it's real enough that the stink of the gum and the heat are making him dizzier and dizzier, standing, waiting…
"Oh yeah?" Marui yells. "How about this piece of brilliance!"
Marui serves with a volley. It's nothing special. Niou yawns and returns with a lob. The courts echo with the grunts and pongs of other games. Beyond that, the cicadas and locusts melt into one continuous humming buzz that pulsates in the waves of heat. And beyond that, the traffic rushing, cats yowling for sex, crows fluttering on the roofline of the school…
All the sounds of the summer.
It's beautiful, in some ways.
Niou hits Marui's backhand with a fast, short flick of his racket. Not quite a snake, but not too far off. The motions are a bit boring-if Niou is honest with himself. In this heat, he's not very creative, though. Marui hits a long, angled shot and Niou returns it. Niou hits a high, short shot and Marui uses a rising to fling it back. Watching the chubster dive and strain his muscles gives Niou fleeting satisfaction. Marui pants. He spits his gum out and digs his shoes into the clay. Niou serves, but his posture is all wrong for lasers today.
It's just too damn hot to use the laser.
The courts ripple and buckle, doused with liquid heat around the perimeters. The air is still and stagnant, filled with the sour smell of sweating teenage boys and scorched rubber. Niou flicks his eyes to Kirihara and Yagyuu's game. He can't tell the score with just a glance, but Yagyuu leans low and steps forward, hitting a drop shot that the chibi runs for, screams for and his hair is a mess of wet curls like snakes. Yagyuu, though, is already made of stone on court.
Cold heart. Calculating. Yagyuu sweats, but other than that, he can be nasty.
Niou is certain that Yagyuu teases Kirihara. That Yagyuu asks in a silken voice, "Is that all you have, you stupid seaweed head?"
Kirihara's frustrated growl drowns Yagyuu out. As does the sharp plinking sound of Marui's ball hitting the post.
"Fuck," Niou hisses.
"Yeah!" Marui pumps his fist. "Catch that, moron!"
Niou hates these balls. They can't be analyzed because they fly around, change direction depending on too many variables. He can't read the ball's direction when it hits the post and flies up, over the net and into the gleam of sunlight. Niou clenches his jaw.
Damn you, he thinks.
But he's played Marui enough times before to know generally where to run. Mid-court and swing back, swing low. The ball's trajectory will be nearly vertical and although Niou can't see, he guesses and hopes that this'll do. He shifts his weight and moves his feet. There. To the right. No need to even run for it.
Niou rocks back. His sneakers scuff the ground. He doesn't need to step to the side, he can just swing and-
The feeling of the ball's weight on his racket sends little thrills up his arm. The tense coil in his belly releases as Niou slugs the ball back to Marui. Mauri runs. He huffs and puffs and blows out a low whistle. He hits a volley: perfect.
The ball comes straight back to Niou, curving over the net and making a perfect motion, straight to his racket. There's still no need to move from the spot.
Niou takes a deep breath. His arms tingle. His fingertips are on fire in a good way. Each growl and snappy little comment from the fatty only give Niou more and more confidence that this is working.
"What the hell!" Marui snaps.
The ball comes back to Niou again. He taps it with the edge of his racket. Up and over the net, Marui runs and dives and scrapes the court lines up. His face is as red as his hair and his motions are more and more sluggish and off.
"The fuck?!" he yells. "What are you doing, some sort of Tezuka Zone over there?"
It hits Niou like a laser beam. That flash of insight when he realizes Yes, I am doing a Tezuka Zone.
Each and every ball Marui hits, lobs, volleys, smashes all seems to be sucked into Niou's little radius of his body and his racket.
He could win a game like this.
Niou smiles.
***
An hour in this weather leaves Niou dripping with sweat. Game with the fatty, cool down run, game with Jackal, cool down run-the repetition drips with monotony. Two hours in this weather leaves Niou barely functioning. His limbs lock up and he's gasping for air. His uniform is soaked through and there seem to be invisible clouds of stench surrounding each and every one of them.
The weight room is heaven. Or shady, at the very least. No air circulation bakes them, but there's no sun to fry the edges. Niou lies on the rubbery flooring. If it was cool, it might not be half bad. As it is, his skin sticks to the floor and whenever Jackal moves, Niou has to peel himself away to avoid a sticky collision of limbs.
Marui snacks on a bag of onigiri crisps on the bench press. So much for Sanada's grand idea that they up their bicep strength and endurance. Jackal's idea was nothing but an excuse.
"After all," Jackal says, "even if Seigaku does make it to the finals with us, it's not like they'd win again."
Yagyuu hums. It's the first noise he's made in ten minutes. Niou feels the same way. Too much effort to move now, or to even speak. There's nothing in the weight room but the sound of Marui's munching and Jackal speaking to himself.
Jackal fiddles with the sweat towel tied around his neck.
"I think Yukimura is going to switch up the rosters," Jackal says.
Niou cracks an eye open. Dust motes dance over Jackal's head. Little sparks of crisps fly from Marui's mouth as he eats. Yagyuu stretches his arms out in front of himself. His joints crack. Niou half-wonders if Yagyuu's elbows crack in bed, too.
His mind drifts a little, but never too far. Their quiet is punctuated by the rhythmic, even thwacks from outside and Yukimura's voice. "Faster, Sanada!" he shouts. His voice varies from a gasp to a trill. "Harder, I said! How the hell can I practice at that speed?!?"
Mostly, Niou manages to catch snippets: "Faster!...Harder!...Ngh! More!"
There are some things in the world that even Niou Masaharu does not need to know.
Or hear.
Niou gags. Across the room, Yagyuu blinks. He raises an eyebrow. A ball smashes into the side wall of the weight room. All four of them cringe in unison at the crash that shakes the peeling posters from the walls.
Yukimura shouts again. Sanada shouts back, but his words are muffled. The door flings open and Niou peels himself off the floor to sit up and see. Kirihara is pushed in, by Yanagi, who slams the door closed. Sanada and Yukimura are alone on the court. The air inside blows around for a moment, stinky teenage boys mixing with overripe, overgrown flowers that drip from tree and hedges and the drain pipes of the tennis clubhouse.
Yanagi looks at them. Kirihara pouts and scratches the back of his neck. Niou looks at him, half-asking without words what the hell they were doing.
Yanagi half-asks without words what the hell the four of them were doing, too.
"Crisp?" Marui offers.
***
"We need to be more serious," Yukimura snaps.
Kirihara nods.
"No more of this laying about," Yukimura says. He waves his right hand. Sanada's lips thin even more. He's scowling so deeply now that his chin has gone purple from the effort.
Niou fakes a yawn. He stands up. Sanada whips his head around and glares.
"Gotta piss," Niou says.
"Sit back down!" Sanada growls.
Niou glares right back at Sanada. Yukimura doesn't notice either of them.
"I expect everyone to be here at eight sharp tomorrow," Yukimura says. "Yanagi?"
Yanagi hands Yukimura a long sheet of paper. Yukimura unfolds it. It's a list. Niou can make out a dozen different drills, all written in neat little columns and rows. Serve practice and shuttle runs. Swing drills and hopping on one foot.
Yukimura unfolds the sheet a second time. Another dozen drills. And then a third fold yields more.
Niou can feel his body lolling in anticipation. He falls to the left, onto Yagyuu's lap. Yagyuu stiffens. He shifts his thighs under Niou's cheek. His skin is hot and clammy. His t-shirt is damp and so is the hot inside of his knee. Niou's heart patters against his ribs. Doki doki, doki doki, in perfect tune with Yukimura's pacing around the trophy cases. Yukimura drums his fingers on the glass.
Yagyuu's thighs flex again. He wiggles. He doesn't want Niou on his lap right now, Niou's not an idiot, but he's not moving either. The way he's sitting right now, hunched over and onto Yagyuu, no one is able to see his erection, swollen under his shorts as Yagyuu wriggles and huffs and frowns.
"Even if it's hot, I want to see laps," Yukimura says. Yagyuu shifts to his side. Niou can smell the sweat of Yagyuu's body. He turns his face into Yagyuu's knee and breathes it in, slow and steady and deep. It doesn't matter if the others see-everyone knows that Niou is a little weird.
"Even if you're dying, I want to see work," Yukimura says. "Nothing can be won without effort and hard work."
Sanada grunts in agreement. Yanagi probably moves an eyebrow and looks down his narrow nose. Niou can hear his motions without needing to look. Those three are as predictable as anything…
Until they play tennis.
Niou moves off of Yagyuu. He throws his head back and sticks out his tongue. Marui rolls his eyes. The wonderchibi has curled into a ball in the corner of the room, behind the leg press, and he's asleep, mouth hanging wide open. A fly hums in Niou's ear. With his hands cupped, he directs the fly towards Kirihara. It buzzes. Kirihara's cheek twitches. It zips around the kid's mouth.
The smacking sound Kirihara's lips make is beautiful.
Niou snickers.
And then Yukimura finishes his speech. "…fifty, now!"
Niou stops snickering. The crunching from Marui's direction stops. Yagyuu's glasses slip down his nose and Jackal says "…eh?"
"You heard me," Yukimura says. "Endurance training. Fifty laps. Now." He claps his hands. Sanada is already stomping out the door. A blast of baked air pushes Niou back to the floor. He melts in this heat. He falls over like stalks of rice, unable to stand up because the temperature sucks the life from him.
Every summer it seems to get worse. But then, maybe it's because last year he didn't have to deal with Yagyuu and erections and constant thoughts about rather make out with Yagyuu in his bedroom with A/C than be here…
But, there is tennis.
And Niou enjoys tennis.
And Niou enjoys winning, particularly with Yagyuu.
He lets Yagyuu hold the door for him as they shuffle outside. For a moment, Niou closes his eyes. He can imagine the two of them, standing under the same August sun in the middle of the courts in Tokyo, by the bay, with the smell of fish and victory in the air. The medals would be heavy around their necks and Yagyuu would be the first person Niou would grab, hold, hug, scream their success with.
Later, they would come back home and Niou would try to buy beer from the convenience store near Yagyuu's. Yagyuu would frown and say nothing. Behind his bedroom door, it would be different. He'd start to scold Niou, but falter and Niou would set his beer down on Yagyuu's floor and they would kiss. And kiss and kiss and Yagyuu would lick Niou's neck and Niou wouldn't be confused and passive, he'd be peeling Yagyuu's t-shirt off and it would tangle with their medals (still worn, still warm, still heavy) and he'd accidentally kick the beer can over, but it wouldn't matter once Yagyuu stuffed his hand down-
It would be perfect, basically.
Unlike the laps they're running now.
Niou's feet are sweaty and damp inside his sneakers. His socks rub and the back of his calves start to ooze with sweat that creeps out of every orifice and crevice. Yukimura runs the laps, too. He's got his jacket on over his shoulders. Partway through the first lap, it slides off. His arms are bony and white. Niou can't tell if it's sinew that defines his arms, or muscle.
There's no way it can be muscle. Not yet.
Sanada sends Yukimura looks constantly: when he rounds a corner, when the slapping pace of their feet fall off beat, when the sun cicadas pause for a breath. They run together in a pack, a team, the eight of them. Slap slap slap of their shoes and the heavy, heavy breathing that picks up. Niou flicks his hair back. His head is wet. His back is wet. His boner is forgotten as all will to do anything fades, replaced by a blank determination in his mind.
He can't feel his feet.
It doesn't matter.
His ribs are burning.
It doesn't matter.
He's gasping as hard as Marui.
It really doesn't matter.
Yukimura stops at the net post. Five of them dodge a pathway, nearly plowing into each other like dominos (lead by Kirihara, of course). Sanada and Yanagi are faster than the wind and stinkier, too.
"Rackets!" Yukimura yells.
Sanada swings his. He cuts the air like he's using a sword, then he starts to run again, swinging and dashing, zig-zagging across the court.
Niou leans on his knees, hands flat to the skin. His racket pokes his leg. With his left hand, Yagyuu hands Niou his racket. His motions are perfect, ambidextrous in a way that Niou has yet to really master.
He nods.
Yagyuu nods.
Then they go.
Swing left, three steps, swing right, three steps. Seeing Sanada dance and dash, followed by Yanagi, with his awkward, jagged long strides and Niou feels utterly ridiculous. In a group, it’s not so bad. No one else can see. And as much as the thought of Marui jiggling and prancing amuses Niou, it's too much effort to laugh. Just moving eats up all his energy. His stomach doesn't have time to growl. His throat has dried up but he doesn't have time to gasp.
The sooner he's done these drills, the sooner he can be back in the cool of air conditioning. Somewhere.
Yukimura is the last in their line. His motions are jerkier than Yanagi. He doesn't have rhythm like Jackal. Yukimura starts late and finishes later. He stumbles and Niou can see his wrist twisting too much.
That ball would be out, Niou thinks.
No one says a word to Yukimura.
Until Sanada steps up. His lips are tight and he's frowning. Sanada's cap sits on top of his tennisbag. Hair hangs in his eyes, plastered to his face. He walks up to Yukimura, who is bent over and panting by himself. Sanada takes Yukimura's hand, racket, everything and wraps a big meaty paw over top. Niou holds his breath. Weird teenage gay romance is not what he wants to see today…
Unless it's Yagyuu and him and half-naked making out.
But Sanada doesn't do anything less than noble. He turns Yukimura's wrist over and then leaves it alone. Yukimura holds his racket out with a statue's pose. He exhales his words. "Ah…I see…" His eyes lift to Sanada and the edges seem to melt a little. It might be the sunlight. It might be the heat. But Niou isn't dumb-he knows it's something else that flickers between Sanada and Yukimura.
Silent thanks.
Understanding.
Help.
Lo-
Ew, Niou thinks.
Although he knows it's true.
Niou can feel his eyes drifting toward Yagyuu. Yagyuu's face is covered by his sweat towel, his glasses dangle by the arm from his fingers. Niou twists his wrist, twists his racket around. He pauses and waits.
It's gotta be at least mid-afternoon. Niou isn't wearing his watch. He peeled it off before laps. Sweat made it stick and slide on his wrist anyway, uncomfortable above his wristweight. There is a distinct white band against his darker tan. Niou wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. It's too hot to be outside. The clubhouse with its rattling, weak A/C glows like a beacon on the other side of the flames of summer heat licking the edges of the courts. The cicadas hum so loud Niou can't hear whatever Sanada says. Yanagi's on the bench with his head in his hands.
Cicada headache? Niou wonders.
Even the wonderchibi looks too overheated to catch bugs for his senpais. Kirihara has a deathgrip on his racket. He's bent low and looks ready to spring into play, but his eyes have that glazed-over look of exhaustion.
Yukimura flops down onto the bench next to Yanagi. He spreads his legs and folds his arms. Then he unfolds his arms. He's panting as hard-maybe harder, Niou can't hear for all the bugs buzzing-than the fatty.
"You can all go," Yukimura says.
One by one, they shuffle to the change rooms. It's never as cool inside as Niou hopes from the outside. Sweat still slides down his face and back. He yanks his clothes off. The patch of dark backsweat on his t-shirt makes him curl his lip up in a sneer.
It's as dark and gross as the fatty's. Yuck. Niou narrows his eyes at Marui. Marui never notices.
His eyes move across the room, skimming over Sanada's flat ass in his y-fronts to pause at Yagyuu. Yagyuu, even though his hair is wet with sweat and he's pink-faced from the sun, unties his sneakers. He folds his socks up, and his t-shirt too. Niou's mouth goes dry at the sight of Yagyuu's naked chest, from his tan nipples to the sparse line of hair under his navel.
Before Niou gets any harder, he rushes for the showers. He breezes past Marui and fights Jackal for the best shower in the back corner.
Jackal wins the arm-wrestle.
He has better balance on the slippery floor and more weight. Niou isn't going to push it. He slinks into the opposite shower, hunches his back, and suffers with the pathetic, weak spray of water. When Jackal's back is turned, Niou sticks his tongue out. Puri!
At the beach yesterday, at the bus stop last night, there was something between him and Yagyuu. Now, Yagyuu chooses the shower on the other side of Sanada, who soaps up his hair next to Niou. Niou tells himself this is a good thing-if he were to come in the showers now, it'd be mortifying. Remembering the look of shock on Yagyuu's face yesterday makes his face burn now. His dick twitches. His dick swells and Niou cups his balls with his hand, hiding them and pretending to wash himself as best as he can. It's a damn good thing the showers are steamier than usual.
And maybe it's a good thing Sanada is standing beside him. Sanada might have a big dick and balls, but Niou isn't into them. His eyes flit over to check Sanada out. Yeah, he's got the broad shoulders and muscles, but it's not the right proportions. And he's got weird little hairs growing around his nipples.
Niou snorts.
He looks at his own chest.
Damn.
There's a weird little hair around his right nipple too. Niou tugs at it with wet fingers, but it does nothing but hurt and stay in the exact same place. The follicle looks a bit red. Niou gives up. Besides, his chest feels warm and pleased with the idea of being more grown-up than someone like Marui, with his farmer's tan and hairless, childish body.
Does Yagyuu like this? Niou thinks. Or does Yagyuu like someone a little more…feminine…?
Niou stares in the mirror of his locker. He looks at his face and touches the side of his jaw. It's not very girly, at least to him. He doesn't feel girly-and he doesn't want to, either, but he keeps looking back to Yagyuu, subconsciously unable to stop himself.
Inside, Niou sighs. He pulls his clothes on. He adjusts his dick in his underpants. He glances over his shoulder, but Yagyuu doesn't look at him. In some ways, it bothers Niou than Yagyuu can be so blasé and nonchalant about things. And at the same time, if Yagyuu were to sling his arm over Niou's shoulder and say, "Hey partner!", Niou would wonder what drugs Yagyuu was on.
It bothers Niou to not know what he wants.
He clenches his jaw and breathes between pursed lips. Puri indeed.
The walk to the bus stop is endless. The shrubs seem to multiply. The insects seem to breed. Yukimura is nowhere in sight and Sanada disappears back into the weight room, wet hair pushed back under his cap. Niou's skin melts in this baking heat. The shade is minimal. The sun blazes and burns his arms, his face, his hair.
Yanagi touches Niou's arm with a hard poke. He's as bad as those other two when he wants to be. "Here," he says. He fishes a DVD case out of his bag. Niou doesn't take it. Yanagi starts to stuff the DVD into Niou's bag when Niou grabs it instead. Not that Niou can remember having anything bad in his bag, but Yanagi doesn't need to know regardless.
Niou flips the case over. The label says, 'Tezuka Kunimitsu.' He raises an eyebrow.
"Isn't this for Sanada?" Niou asks.
Yanagi's lips twitch. "He may have already looked at it," he says. "No, it's for you."
Niou keeps looking at Yanagi. Ahead of them, Yagyuu has finally stopped. He doesn't turn around, but he is listening.
"Enjoy," Yanagi says.
***
He's home alone because Yagyuu sucks.
At the bus stop, Niou wasn't going to be obvious and say, "Let's go and make out at your house" but that didn't mean he didn't want to. And Yagyuu is obviously too dense to catch on when Niou asks, "What are you going to do right now, megane dorkus?"
Yagyuu bristled. He frowned. He narrowed his eyes and fixed his glasses, as if Niou had done something awful. "I'm going home to work on my English project," he said.
No invite for Niou.
In fact, Yagyuu purposely sat by the fatty on the bus. He and Marui had a nice friendly chat and shared Marui's pack of apple-flavoured gum.
Niou stood by the entrance doors and glared. Fine!
And now, he's home alone with nothing to do for ages before dinner except the dumb Tezuka DVD in his bag.
If Yagyuu gets offended by being called a dorkus, he's way too sensitive. He never seemed to care before. Niou flops on his floor. "Weirdo," he mutters.
Darts require too much effort. Besides, his board is still broken on the floor. The arcade is too far to walk to. He'd have to get up, put some shoes on, ask him mom for money, and then walk ten minutes. Ugh.
Niou flops onto his other side.
Reading? Lame. Tv? Nothing on. Video games? Not in the mood.
Nothing nothing nothing to do.
He sighs. Life is tough at fourteen. Life is even tougher at fourteen when he's half-hard and wanting nothing more than to lick Yagyuu's neck and have Yagyuu's hands on his stomach. Niou wouldn't be afraid and nervous this time. He knows what to do. He knows that it's okay to touch Yagyuu back, maybe even to touch Yagyuu first.
Except when Yagyuu goes home by himself and leaves Niou alone.
With another heavy sigh, Niou finally unzips his tennisbag. A cloud of sour stink fills the air. Niou coughs. Niou gags. He tosses his dirty uniform across the room. The DVD case is slippery with damp stench. Niou wipes it with the hem of his t-shirt. He crawls over to his DVD player and pops it in.
The first shot on screen, taken with Yanagi's videocamera and a little wavering, makes Niou yawn. Tezuka stands on the court stiff and frigid and frowning. He looks like he has the personality of Sanada mixed with Yagyuu, only a lot less interesting.
And he has his racket in his left hand.
Right, Niou thinks, supposed to watch for tennis!
Tezuka walks back to the baseline and bounces a ball. Niou leans forward and falls asleep.
***
The first thing he is aware of-in a general sort of way-is that he isn’t Niou Masaharu. He pushes his glasses up his nose. He fixes his socks-Niou might not mind, but he hates the feeling of loose socks around his ankles.
So I'm Yagyuu, Niou thinks. Got lots of practice with that.
The second thing that he is aware of is that he is playing tennis. There's a park around him, nothing specific, except for the tall cryptomeria trees. Pine needles litter the ground. He bounces the ball. It comes up half as high as it should. He frowns.
The third thing that he is aware of is that he isn't Yagyuu either. There is a puddle on the ground in the clay earth. He looks down, but there is no reflection. Of course there wouldn't be, it's a dream. Those sorts of details that Niou might pick up in waking hours are lost in the black nothing outside this moment. Still, Niou strains. His eyes are weaker. The racket in his left hand feels heavy and like the wind at once.
But in this form, he doesn't feel like Yagyuu. There is something pulsing through his body, through his left side. His body swells with the desire to win more than it ever has before. He shifts his feet and turns sideways. He steps forward, and back, like a dance, moving with his racket. The ball is sucked into his racket strings.
Niou looks down. The yellow ball disappears. The leaves stir and the clay whips up in dusty tendrils whirling around him. But he is still. His hair doesn't move. His shirt doesn't ripple. Even his glasses don't slide down his face.
He's at the center of a vortex.
Weird, he thinks.
Niou's arm twitches. He stiffens.
And then he opens his eyes. The tv screen glows as Tezuka leans back and slices the ball. His hair doesn't move. His t-shirt and shorts don't ripple, but everything around him is the chaotic game.
His Tezuka Zone.
Niou looks across the room at his racket, propped up beside his desk. He rubs his mole, then he stands up.
***
There's a pleasant sort of ache in his shoulder when Niou shows up at practice. He rolls his arms at the side of the courts. Yukimura looks at him. He walks up. His face looks better today, fuller. Niou says, "Yo."
"Have you been working on something?" Yukimura asks.
This piques the interest of Marui, too. He waddles over and leans on his racket. "You aren't stealing my genius moves, are you?" he asks.
Niou rolls his eyes. "As if."
Yukimura purses his thin lips. Sanada and Yanagi show up and start stretching. The sight of Sanada's pasty ribs as he touches his toes is not really what Niou wants to see at this hour. Yukimura, though, watches for a long moment before he turns back to Marui and Niou.
"Was the video helpful?" he asks.
"What video?" Marui asks. He snaps a bubble into his mouth. Niou hates the sound. He glares.
"None of your business," he tells Marui. To Yukimura, he shrugs his shoulders. "You think I can just pretend to be anyone?"
Yukimura smiles. "Of course."
Niou snorts. Huh.
Yukimura laughs. It's a good sound, one that Niou doesn't hear enough. It sends contagious flutters to his own stomach. Niou's lips twitch. So do Marui's. Yukimura slaps Niou on the shoulder-still, he's weak and his touch is light. "I know you'd think it was funny," he says, "to throw the other teams off guard by pretending to be their ace players."
"Puri."
"And just who's he supposed to be?" Marui asks. "Do we need to bring a case of wigs and uniforms for him to cosplay?" Marui chews a wad of gum. It smacks between his teeth like a cow. He rolls his jaw and spits. Jackal walks past and says, "Good morning."
"It depends on who we play," Yukimura says. "The most likeliest scenario according to Yanagi is either Shitenhoji or Seigaku."
"In the finals?"
"Mn." Yukimura nods.
Niou picks his racket up. He spins it around, then passes it off onto his index. It wobbles. He reaches out and catches it by the handle. Marui tosses his racket into the air, spinning it around his wrist.
"So if Niou learned the play styles of players like Shitenhoji's Shiraishi or Seigaku's Tezuka, it could be funny," Yukimura says.
Sanada strides past them, head hung low and cap pulled over his eyes. The shadows might be against his face, but Niou can make out the smile playing over his lips. "Tennis isn't about tricking people," he mutters.
"Of course not, Sanada," Yukimura says. Sanada walks further past them, and Yukimura cups his hands around his mouth, "It's about winning!"
That is something they can all agree on, from Sanada to the freshman with the swirly hair on the top of his head rolling out the baskets of balls for practice.
Because it's a morning practice, Yagyuu shows up with that familiar haze to his eyes. His hair is combed smooth, but little cowlicks of sleep creep and curl up at the back of his head. Niou's belly is hot, his shorts are tight and this morning's shower, hand on dick, Yagyuu on mind, is fresh in his memory. Niou ducks his head and stuffs his hands in his pocket. He walks up behind Yagyuu and elbows him in the side.
"Ah, good morning," Yagyuu says. Behind his hand, he yawns.
Niou opens his mouth to ask Yagyuu to play with him, doubles, against whoever, it doesn't matter. Let's play, partner…I missed you, yesterday…
Not that Niou would ever admit to missing Yagyuu, but he did-he does-it's not the same playing by himself. The court is twice as wide, twice as long and twice as empty as it should be.
"Yagyuu!" Yukimura shouts. "Singles with Yanagi!"
Yagyuu looks up, fixes his glasses and says, "Yes, Yukimura-kun."
Niou's shoulder throbs with a dull ache. He can hear his name even before Yukimura yells at him.
"Singles with Sanada!"
Niou's shoulder pulses again; it's a tense, twisted soreness that spreads from arm to back. Pummeling balls into the cement retaining wall near the park in a failed attempt to get some sort of a Zone going, in retrospect, was stupid. Even more because it was dark and as much as Niou wants to believe he's as sharp with his other senses in tennis, without much light, it was hard to see and hard to play.
And now, his favourite player of all.
Sanada waits at the net for him. He looks about as thrilled as Niou is-all sour-faced and constipated. Niou can't resist a dig.
"Yukimura not like you anymore?" he asks. "Or is he pissed because you lost-"
"Shut up!" Sanada growls.
Niou grins.
Author: Ociwen
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: Konomi owns all.
Summary: Niou, meet Yagyuu.
Author's Notes: Spoilers for everything.
[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9] [Part 10] [Part 11] [Part 12] [Part 13] [Part 14] [Part 15] [Part 16] [Part 17] [Part 18] [Part 19] [Part 20] [Part 21] [Part 22] [Part 23] [Part 24] [Part 25] [Part 26] [Part 27] [Part 28] [Part 29] [Part 30] [Part 31] [Part 32] [Part 33] [Part 34] [Part 35] [Part 36] [Part 37] [Part 38] [Part 39] [Part 40] [Part 41] [Part 42] [Part 43] [Part 44] [Part 45] [Part 46] [Part 47] [Part 48] [Part 49] [Part 50] [Part 51] [Part 52] [Part 53] [Part 54] [Part 55]
It goes to figure that he doesn't sleep well that night. Morning is sticky, damp, and it greets Niou with messed up sheets between his legs. The A/C seems to have warmed up, not cooled down. His hair is a rat's nest and his neck aches.
Lovely.
That, and there's practice this morning. For real.
It's melting hot. Niou pants at the train station. The cooling room on the platform is broken, just on the day Niou could use it most. Sweat pools at the back of his neck. His armpits are soaked and the air conditioning on the train does nothing to hide his rank stink.
At the stop closest to school, Niou peels himself off the seat. There is a gust of warm, stale air from the platform as the train doors open, and then a second gust of hot air when Niou climbs the stairs onto the street level. The sun is blinding. The cicadas are deafening. His skin is boiling off his body and it's so much effort to walk. At best, his is the sluggish gait of a man with a death wish. Niou's head hangs just as low, too. The trees seem to drip with moisture. It splashes onto Niou's arms. But then again, that might be his own sweat-drenched hair, he can't tell for sure.
How the hell they'll practice much today, Niou has no idea.
He manages to stumble onto the courts. Niou gasps for air in the thick, muggy humidity; it's too hot to breathe in. His lungs burn and he collapses onto the bench next to Marui. Yukimura runs a lap around the courts. He's wearing his tracksuit pants and jacket.
Niou's body slithers into the bench slats. He holds a hand over his eyes and peers through the cracks of his fingers. Beside him, Marui sounds like a dying fish between bubble gum pops. The chorus of cicadas seems to intensify around them, pulsing with the ripples of heat on the courts. Sanada and Yanagi practice serves at the far end of the main courts, but even Sanada pauses to fan his face off with his cap.
"How long have you been here?" Niou asks.
Marui grunts. "Dunno. Yukimura's been here since before me, though."
Niou flops his other arm over the back of the bench. Marui's sticky leg has glued itself to Niou's knee, but it's just too much work to move. Niou has to fight to think. "Laps?"
Marui grunts again. "Yeah."
Niou opens his mouth to ask about Yagyuu, but he catches himself. His face flushes hotter-if that's even possible. Luckily, the heat hides his pink cheeks under a film of sweat. His temple throbs, and so does the rest of his body. Yukimura runs up to him and Marui and narrows his eyes. His sweat band falls down.
"Uh, what do you think you guys are doing?" he asks. His voice is stronger than it was a few days ago, but the weak, breathy pauses remain and punctuate his words. Something akin to a lump of pity solidifies in Niou's belly, twisting and turning over along with his breakfast.
Niou wishes he could say something half-intelligent right now. Instead, about all he can manage is an eloquent, drawn-out, "Puri" that means nothing to anyone, including himself. The weather drains his energy to move. The energy drains his will to live. Marui rolls off the bench and tries to bounce to his feet. The fatty trips on someone's dirty sweat towel that had been lying around.
Yukimura picks it up. "That's where that went!" he says. Yukimura pats the back of his neck. He's peaky, but he's not sweating. The paleness-and the green tinge-haven't left his face yet.
"Singles, against each other," Yukimura says. He nods to Marui and Niou, right as Yagyuu walks out from the clubhouse with a towel draped around the back of his neck.
Niou sits up. His head spins.
It's really one of those days that Niou would be most content to lounge around in his dim, air-conditioned bedroom and do nothing. Maybe just think about Yagyuu and masturbate a bit. Maybe masturbate a bit with Yagyuu.
But playing tennis…?
The cicadas are so loud that they deafen Niou when he walks past a row of hedges behind the courts. Sweat splashes the dusty courts. Every sound and motion is magnified and drawn out into the thick, wet air.
Yagyuu gets stuck playing with the wonderchibi. Kirihara sniffles and snorts up wads of mucus. He spits them onto the ground and grinds them into the court with his sneaker.
"Are you all right, Kirihara-kun?" Yagyuu asks. "Do you want the first serve?"
Somehow, Niou doesn't really think that a summer cold will keep the chibi down. Niou's lips curl into a smirk, in the generic sort of way. He looks at Marui, who looks from Niou to Yagyuu and Kirihara.
"Quick game?" Niou asks.
Marui nods. Over his shoulder, he glances again. Kirihara skips, then he starts to cough and sniffle. His eyes are already pink. Niou squints against the light. Yagyuu's tall form casts almost no shadow in the noon sun, but Niou can make out the ghost of a cold little smile on Yagyuu's lips.
Neither Kirihara nor Yagyuu will play a clean game.
A shiver runs down Niou's back. It prickles across his arms as goosepimples, and his dick twitches. He's hot and cold and feverish at the thought of Yagyuu whipping lasers into the chibi's legs and using that voice, that Adieu!
God, that would be hot.
"You serve, Genius!" Niou calls out.
Marui grabs the ball mid-bounce. He narrows his eyes into beady little black spots. The heat seems to make his face look rounder than ever. Niou wiggles in the middle of the court-he's picking up on Yagyuu's habits and he knows it. He tosses his racket from hand to hand and waits for Marui.
"Come on, Fatty," he whispers.
Marui puffs up his cheeks and blows a large bubble. The apple smell that permeates the court makes Niou's stomach turn. He fakes a gag, although it's real enough that the stink of the gum and the heat are making him dizzier and dizzier, standing, waiting…
"Oh yeah?" Marui yells. "How about this piece of brilliance!"
Marui serves with a volley. It's nothing special. Niou yawns and returns with a lob. The courts echo with the grunts and pongs of other games. Beyond that, the cicadas and locusts melt into one continuous humming buzz that pulsates in the waves of heat. And beyond that, the traffic rushing, cats yowling for sex, crows fluttering on the roofline of the school…
All the sounds of the summer.
It's beautiful, in some ways.
Niou hits Marui's backhand with a fast, short flick of his racket. Not quite a snake, but not too far off. The motions are a bit boring-if Niou is honest with himself. In this heat, he's not very creative, though. Marui hits a long, angled shot and Niou returns it. Niou hits a high, short shot and Marui uses a rising to fling it back. Watching the chubster dive and strain his muscles gives Niou fleeting satisfaction. Marui pants. He spits his gum out and digs his shoes into the clay. Niou serves, but his posture is all wrong for lasers today.
It's just too damn hot to use the laser.
The courts ripple and buckle, doused with liquid heat around the perimeters. The air is still and stagnant, filled with the sour smell of sweating teenage boys and scorched rubber. Niou flicks his eyes to Kirihara and Yagyuu's game. He can't tell the score with just a glance, but Yagyuu leans low and steps forward, hitting a drop shot that the chibi runs for, screams for and his hair is a mess of wet curls like snakes. Yagyuu, though, is already made of stone on court.
Cold heart. Calculating. Yagyuu sweats, but other than that, he can be nasty.
Niou is certain that Yagyuu teases Kirihara. That Yagyuu asks in a silken voice, "Is that all you have, you stupid seaweed head?"
Kirihara's frustrated growl drowns Yagyuu out. As does the sharp plinking sound of Marui's ball hitting the post.
"Fuck," Niou hisses.
"Yeah!" Marui pumps his fist. "Catch that, moron!"
Niou hates these balls. They can't be analyzed because they fly around, change direction depending on too many variables. He can't read the ball's direction when it hits the post and flies up, over the net and into the gleam of sunlight. Niou clenches his jaw.
Damn you, he thinks.
But he's played Marui enough times before to know generally where to run. Mid-court and swing back, swing low. The ball's trajectory will be nearly vertical and although Niou can't see, he guesses and hopes that this'll do. He shifts his weight and moves his feet. There. To the right. No need to even run for it.
Niou rocks back. His sneakers scuff the ground. He doesn't need to step to the side, he can just swing and-
The feeling of the ball's weight on his racket sends little thrills up his arm. The tense coil in his belly releases as Niou slugs the ball back to Marui. Mauri runs. He huffs and puffs and blows out a low whistle. He hits a volley: perfect.
The ball comes straight back to Niou, curving over the net and making a perfect motion, straight to his racket. There's still no need to move from the spot.
Niou takes a deep breath. His arms tingle. His fingertips are on fire in a good way. Each growl and snappy little comment from the fatty only give Niou more and more confidence that this is working.
"What the hell!" Marui snaps.
The ball comes back to Niou again. He taps it with the edge of his racket. Up and over the net, Marui runs and dives and scrapes the court lines up. His face is as red as his hair and his motions are more and more sluggish and off.
"The fuck?!" he yells. "What are you doing, some sort of Tezuka Zone over there?"
It hits Niou like a laser beam. That flash of insight when he realizes Yes, I am doing a Tezuka Zone.
Each and every ball Marui hits, lobs, volleys, smashes all seems to be sucked into Niou's little radius of his body and his racket.
He could win a game like this.
Niou smiles.
***
An hour in this weather leaves Niou dripping with sweat. Game with the fatty, cool down run, game with Jackal, cool down run-the repetition drips with monotony. Two hours in this weather leaves Niou barely functioning. His limbs lock up and he's gasping for air. His uniform is soaked through and there seem to be invisible clouds of stench surrounding each and every one of them.
The weight room is heaven. Or shady, at the very least. No air circulation bakes them, but there's no sun to fry the edges. Niou lies on the rubbery flooring. If it was cool, it might not be half bad. As it is, his skin sticks to the floor and whenever Jackal moves, Niou has to peel himself away to avoid a sticky collision of limbs.
Marui snacks on a bag of onigiri crisps on the bench press. So much for Sanada's grand idea that they up their bicep strength and endurance. Jackal's idea was nothing but an excuse.
"After all," Jackal says, "even if Seigaku does make it to the finals with us, it's not like they'd win again."
Yagyuu hums. It's the first noise he's made in ten minutes. Niou feels the same way. Too much effort to move now, or to even speak. There's nothing in the weight room but the sound of Marui's munching and Jackal speaking to himself.
Jackal fiddles with the sweat towel tied around his neck.
"I think Yukimura is going to switch up the rosters," Jackal says.
Niou cracks an eye open. Dust motes dance over Jackal's head. Little sparks of crisps fly from Marui's mouth as he eats. Yagyuu stretches his arms out in front of himself. His joints crack. Niou half-wonders if Yagyuu's elbows crack in bed, too.
His mind drifts a little, but never too far. Their quiet is punctuated by the rhythmic, even thwacks from outside and Yukimura's voice. "Faster, Sanada!" he shouts. His voice varies from a gasp to a trill. "Harder, I said! How the hell can I practice at that speed?!?"
Mostly, Niou manages to catch snippets: "Faster!...Harder!...Ngh! More!"
There are some things in the world that even Niou Masaharu does not need to know.
Or hear.
Niou gags. Across the room, Yagyuu blinks. He raises an eyebrow. A ball smashes into the side wall of the weight room. All four of them cringe in unison at the crash that shakes the peeling posters from the walls.
Yukimura shouts again. Sanada shouts back, but his words are muffled. The door flings open and Niou peels himself off the floor to sit up and see. Kirihara is pushed in, by Yanagi, who slams the door closed. Sanada and Yukimura are alone on the court. The air inside blows around for a moment, stinky teenage boys mixing with overripe, overgrown flowers that drip from tree and hedges and the drain pipes of the tennis clubhouse.
Yanagi looks at them. Kirihara pouts and scratches the back of his neck. Niou looks at him, half-asking without words what the hell they were doing.
Yanagi half-asks without words what the hell the four of them were doing, too.
"Crisp?" Marui offers.
***
"We need to be more serious," Yukimura snaps.
Kirihara nods.
"No more of this laying about," Yukimura says. He waves his right hand. Sanada's lips thin even more. He's scowling so deeply now that his chin has gone purple from the effort.
Niou fakes a yawn. He stands up. Sanada whips his head around and glares.
"Gotta piss," Niou says.
"Sit back down!" Sanada growls.
Niou glares right back at Sanada. Yukimura doesn't notice either of them.
"I expect everyone to be here at eight sharp tomorrow," Yukimura says. "Yanagi?"
Yanagi hands Yukimura a long sheet of paper. Yukimura unfolds it. It's a list. Niou can make out a dozen different drills, all written in neat little columns and rows. Serve practice and shuttle runs. Swing drills and hopping on one foot.
Yukimura unfolds the sheet a second time. Another dozen drills. And then a third fold yields more.
Niou can feel his body lolling in anticipation. He falls to the left, onto Yagyuu's lap. Yagyuu stiffens. He shifts his thighs under Niou's cheek. His skin is hot and clammy. His t-shirt is damp and so is the hot inside of his knee. Niou's heart patters against his ribs. Doki doki, doki doki, in perfect tune with Yukimura's pacing around the trophy cases. Yukimura drums his fingers on the glass.
Yagyuu's thighs flex again. He wiggles. He doesn't want Niou on his lap right now, Niou's not an idiot, but he's not moving either. The way he's sitting right now, hunched over and onto Yagyuu, no one is able to see his erection, swollen under his shorts as Yagyuu wriggles and huffs and frowns.
"Even if it's hot, I want to see laps," Yukimura says. Yagyuu shifts to his side. Niou can smell the sweat of Yagyuu's body. He turns his face into Yagyuu's knee and breathes it in, slow and steady and deep. It doesn't matter if the others see-everyone knows that Niou is a little weird.
"Even if you're dying, I want to see work," Yukimura says. "Nothing can be won without effort and hard work."
Sanada grunts in agreement. Yanagi probably moves an eyebrow and looks down his narrow nose. Niou can hear his motions without needing to look. Those three are as predictable as anything…
Until they play tennis.
Niou moves off of Yagyuu. He throws his head back and sticks out his tongue. Marui rolls his eyes. The wonderchibi has curled into a ball in the corner of the room, behind the leg press, and he's asleep, mouth hanging wide open. A fly hums in Niou's ear. With his hands cupped, he directs the fly towards Kirihara. It buzzes. Kirihara's cheek twitches. It zips around the kid's mouth.
The smacking sound Kirihara's lips make is beautiful.
Niou snickers.
And then Yukimura finishes his speech. "…fifty, now!"
Niou stops snickering. The crunching from Marui's direction stops. Yagyuu's glasses slip down his nose and Jackal says "…eh?"
"You heard me," Yukimura says. "Endurance training. Fifty laps. Now." He claps his hands. Sanada is already stomping out the door. A blast of baked air pushes Niou back to the floor. He melts in this heat. He falls over like stalks of rice, unable to stand up because the temperature sucks the life from him.
Every summer it seems to get worse. But then, maybe it's because last year he didn't have to deal with Yagyuu and erections and constant thoughts about rather make out with Yagyuu in his bedroom with A/C than be here…
But, there is tennis.
And Niou enjoys tennis.
And Niou enjoys winning, particularly with Yagyuu.
He lets Yagyuu hold the door for him as they shuffle outside. For a moment, Niou closes his eyes. He can imagine the two of them, standing under the same August sun in the middle of the courts in Tokyo, by the bay, with the smell of fish and victory in the air. The medals would be heavy around their necks and Yagyuu would be the first person Niou would grab, hold, hug, scream their success with.
Later, they would come back home and Niou would try to buy beer from the convenience store near Yagyuu's. Yagyuu would frown and say nothing. Behind his bedroom door, it would be different. He'd start to scold Niou, but falter and Niou would set his beer down on Yagyuu's floor and they would kiss. And kiss and kiss and Yagyuu would lick Niou's neck and Niou wouldn't be confused and passive, he'd be peeling Yagyuu's t-shirt off and it would tangle with their medals (still worn, still warm, still heavy) and he'd accidentally kick the beer can over, but it wouldn't matter once Yagyuu stuffed his hand down-
It would be perfect, basically.
Unlike the laps they're running now.
Niou's feet are sweaty and damp inside his sneakers. His socks rub and the back of his calves start to ooze with sweat that creeps out of every orifice and crevice. Yukimura runs the laps, too. He's got his jacket on over his shoulders. Partway through the first lap, it slides off. His arms are bony and white. Niou can't tell if it's sinew that defines his arms, or muscle.
There's no way it can be muscle. Not yet.
Sanada sends Yukimura looks constantly: when he rounds a corner, when the slapping pace of their feet fall off beat, when the sun cicadas pause for a breath. They run together in a pack, a team, the eight of them. Slap slap slap of their shoes and the heavy, heavy breathing that picks up. Niou flicks his hair back. His head is wet. His back is wet. His boner is forgotten as all will to do anything fades, replaced by a blank determination in his mind.
He can't feel his feet.
It doesn't matter.
His ribs are burning.
It doesn't matter.
He's gasping as hard as Marui.
It really doesn't matter.
Yukimura stops at the net post. Five of them dodge a pathway, nearly plowing into each other like dominos (lead by Kirihara, of course). Sanada and Yanagi are faster than the wind and stinkier, too.
"Rackets!" Yukimura yells.
Sanada swings his. He cuts the air like he's using a sword, then he starts to run again, swinging and dashing, zig-zagging across the court.
Niou leans on his knees, hands flat to the skin. His racket pokes his leg. With his left hand, Yagyuu hands Niou his racket. His motions are perfect, ambidextrous in a way that Niou has yet to really master.
He nods.
Yagyuu nods.
Then they go.
Swing left, three steps, swing right, three steps. Seeing Sanada dance and dash, followed by Yanagi, with his awkward, jagged long strides and Niou feels utterly ridiculous. In a group, it’s not so bad. No one else can see. And as much as the thought of Marui jiggling and prancing amuses Niou, it's too much effort to laugh. Just moving eats up all his energy. His stomach doesn't have time to growl. His throat has dried up but he doesn't have time to gasp.
The sooner he's done these drills, the sooner he can be back in the cool of air conditioning. Somewhere.
Yukimura is the last in their line. His motions are jerkier than Yanagi. He doesn't have rhythm like Jackal. Yukimura starts late and finishes later. He stumbles and Niou can see his wrist twisting too much.
That ball would be out, Niou thinks.
No one says a word to Yukimura.
Until Sanada steps up. His lips are tight and he's frowning. Sanada's cap sits on top of his tennisbag. Hair hangs in his eyes, plastered to his face. He walks up to Yukimura, who is bent over and panting by himself. Sanada takes Yukimura's hand, racket, everything and wraps a big meaty paw over top. Niou holds his breath. Weird teenage gay romance is not what he wants to see today…
Unless it's Yagyuu and him and half-naked making out.
But Sanada doesn't do anything less than noble. He turns Yukimura's wrist over and then leaves it alone. Yukimura holds his racket out with a statue's pose. He exhales his words. "Ah…I see…" His eyes lift to Sanada and the edges seem to melt a little. It might be the sunlight. It might be the heat. But Niou isn't dumb-he knows it's something else that flickers between Sanada and Yukimura.
Silent thanks.
Understanding.
Help.
Lo-
Ew, Niou thinks.
Although he knows it's true.
Niou can feel his eyes drifting toward Yagyuu. Yagyuu's face is covered by his sweat towel, his glasses dangle by the arm from his fingers. Niou twists his wrist, twists his racket around. He pauses and waits.
It's gotta be at least mid-afternoon. Niou isn't wearing his watch. He peeled it off before laps. Sweat made it stick and slide on his wrist anyway, uncomfortable above his wristweight. There is a distinct white band against his darker tan. Niou wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. It's too hot to be outside. The clubhouse with its rattling, weak A/C glows like a beacon on the other side of the flames of summer heat licking the edges of the courts. The cicadas hum so loud Niou can't hear whatever Sanada says. Yanagi's on the bench with his head in his hands.
Cicada headache? Niou wonders.
Even the wonderchibi looks too overheated to catch bugs for his senpais. Kirihara has a deathgrip on his racket. He's bent low and looks ready to spring into play, but his eyes have that glazed-over look of exhaustion.
Yukimura flops down onto the bench next to Yanagi. He spreads his legs and folds his arms. Then he unfolds his arms. He's panting as hard-maybe harder, Niou can't hear for all the bugs buzzing-than the fatty.
"You can all go," Yukimura says.
One by one, they shuffle to the change rooms. It's never as cool inside as Niou hopes from the outside. Sweat still slides down his face and back. He yanks his clothes off. The patch of dark backsweat on his t-shirt makes him curl his lip up in a sneer.
It's as dark and gross as the fatty's. Yuck. Niou narrows his eyes at Marui. Marui never notices.
His eyes move across the room, skimming over Sanada's flat ass in his y-fronts to pause at Yagyuu. Yagyuu, even though his hair is wet with sweat and he's pink-faced from the sun, unties his sneakers. He folds his socks up, and his t-shirt too. Niou's mouth goes dry at the sight of Yagyuu's naked chest, from his tan nipples to the sparse line of hair under his navel.
Before Niou gets any harder, he rushes for the showers. He breezes past Marui and fights Jackal for the best shower in the back corner.
Jackal wins the arm-wrestle.
He has better balance on the slippery floor and more weight. Niou isn't going to push it. He slinks into the opposite shower, hunches his back, and suffers with the pathetic, weak spray of water. When Jackal's back is turned, Niou sticks his tongue out. Puri!
At the beach yesterday, at the bus stop last night, there was something between him and Yagyuu. Now, Yagyuu chooses the shower on the other side of Sanada, who soaps up his hair next to Niou. Niou tells himself this is a good thing-if he were to come in the showers now, it'd be mortifying. Remembering the look of shock on Yagyuu's face yesterday makes his face burn now. His dick twitches. His dick swells and Niou cups his balls with his hand, hiding them and pretending to wash himself as best as he can. It's a damn good thing the showers are steamier than usual.
And maybe it's a good thing Sanada is standing beside him. Sanada might have a big dick and balls, but Niou isn't into them. His eyes flit over to check Sanada out. Yeah, he's got the broad shoulders and muscles, but it's not the right proportions. And he's got weird little hairs growing around his nipples.
Niou snorts.
He looks at his own chest.
Damn.
There's a weird little hair around his right nipple too. Niou tugs at it with wet fingers, but it does nothing but hurt and stay in the exact same place. The follicle looks a bit red. Niou gives up. Besides, his chest feels warm and pleased with the idea of being more grown-up than someone like Marui, with his farmer's tan and hairless, childish body.
Does Yagyuu like this? Niou thinks. Or does Yagyuu like someone a little more…feminine…?
Niou stares in the mirror of his locker. He looks at his face and touches the side of his jaw. It's not very girly, at least to him. He doesn't feel girly-and he doesn't want to, either, but he keeps looking back to Yagyuu, subconsciously unable to stop himself.
Inside, Niou sighs. He pulls his clothes on. He adjusts his dick in his underpants. He glances over his shoulder, but Yagyuu doesn't look at him. In some ways, it bothers Niou than Yagyuu can be so blasé and nonchalant about things. And at the same time, if Yagyuu were to sling his arm over Niou's shoulder and say, "Hey partner!", Niou would wonder what drugs Yagyuu was on.
It bothers Niou to not know what he wants.
He clenches his jaw and breathes between pursed lips. Puri indeed.
The walk to the bus stop is endless. The shrubs seem to multiply. The insects seem to breed. Yukimura is nowhere in sight and Sanada disappears back into the weight room, wet hair pushed back under his cap. Niou's skin melts in this baking heat. The shade is minimal. The sun blazes and burns his arms, his face, his hair.
Yanagi touches Niou's arm with a hard poke. He's as bad as those other two when he wants to be. "Here," he says. He fishes a DVD case out of his bag. Niou doesn't take it. Yanagi starts to stuff the DVD into Niou's bag when Niou grabs it instead. Not that Niou can remember having anything bad in his bag, but Yanagi doesn't need to know regardless.
Niou flips the case over. The label says, 'Tezuka Kunimitsu.' He raises an eyebrow.
"Isn't this for Sanada?" Niou asks.
Yanagi's lips twitch. "He may have already looked at it," he says. "No, it's for you."
Niou keeps looking at Yanagi. Ahead of them, Yagyuu has finally stopped. He doesn't turn around, but he is listening.
"Enjoy," Yanagi says.
***
He's home alone because Yagyuu sucks.
At the bus stop, Niou wasn't going to be obvious and say, "Let's go and make out at your house" but that didn't mean he didn't want to. And Yagyuu is obviously too dense to catch on when Niou asks, "What are you going to do right now, megane dorkus?"
Yagyuu bristled. He frowned. He narrowed his eyes and fixed his glasses, as if Niou had done something awful. "I'm going home to work on my English project," he said.
No invite for Niou.
In fact, Yagyuu purposely sat by the fatty on the bus. He and Marui had a nice friendly chat and shared Marui's pack of apple-flavoured gum.
Niou stood by the entrance doors and glared. Fine!
And now, he's home alone with nothing to do for ages before dinner except the dumb Tezuka DVD in his bag.
If Yagyuu gets offended by being called a dorkus, he's way too sensitive. He never seemed to care before. Niou flops on his floor. "Weirdo," he mutters.
Darts require too much effort. Besides, his board is still broken on the floor. The arcade is too far to walk to. He'd have to get up, put some shoes on, ask him mom for money, and then walk ten minutes. Ugh.
Niou flops onto his other side.
Reading? Lame. Tv? Nothing on. Video games? Not in the mood.
Nothing nothing nothing to do.
He sighs. Life is tough at fourteen. Life is even tougher at fourteen when he's half-hard and wanting nothing more than to lick Yagyuu's neck and have Yagyuu's hands on his stomach. Niou wouldn't be afraid and nervous this time. He knows what to do. He knows that it's okay to touch Yagyuu back, maybe even to touch Yagyuu first.
Except when Yagyuu goes home by himself and leaves Niou alone.
With another heavy sigh, Niou finally unzips his tennisbag. A cloud of sour stink fills the air. Niou coughs. Niou gags. He tosses his dirty uniform across the room. The DVD case is slippery with damp stench. Niou wipes it with the hem of his t-shirt. He crawls over to his DVD player and pops it in.
The first shot on screen, taken with Yanagi's videocamera and a little wavering, makes Niou yawn. Tezuka stands on the court stiff and frigid and frowning. He looks like he has the personality of Sanada mixed with Yagyuu, only a lot less interesting.
And he has his racket in his left hand.
Right, Niou thinks, supposed to watch for tennis!
Tezuka walks back to the baseline and bounces a ball. Niou leans forward and falls asleep.
***
The first thing he is aware of-in a general sort of way-is that he isn’t Niou Masaharu. He pushes his glasses up his nose. He fixes his socks-Niou might not mind, but he hates the feeling of loose socks around his ankles.
So I'm Yagyuu, Niou thinks. Got lots of practice with that.
The second thing that he is aware of is that he is playing tennis. There's a park around him, nothing specific, except for the tall cryptomeria trees. Pine needles litter the ground. He bounces the ball. It comes up half as high as it should. He frowns.
The third thing that he is aware of is that he isn't Yagyuu either. There is a puddle on the ground in the clay earth. He looks down, but there is no reflection. Of course there wouldn't be, it's a dream. Those sorts of details that Niou might pick up in waking hours are lost in the black nothing outside this moment. Still, Niou strains. His eyes are weaker. The racket in his left hand feels heavy and like the wind at once.
But in this form, he doesn't feel like Yagyuu. There is something pulsing through his body, through his left side. His body swells with the desire to win more than it ever has before. He shifts his feet and turns sideways. He steps forward, and back, like a dance, moving with his racket. The ball is sucked into his racket strings.
Niou looks down. The yellow ball disappears. The leaves stir and the clay whips up in dusty tendrils whirling around him. But he is still. His hair doesn't move. His shirt doesn't ripple. Even his glasses don't slide down his face.
He's at the center of a vortex.
Weird, he thinks.
Niou's arm twitches. He stiffens.
And then he opens his eyes. The tv screen glows as Tezuka leans back and slices the ball. His hair doesn't move. His t-shirt and shorts don't ripple, but everything around him is the chaotic game.
His Tezuka Zone.
Niou looks across the room at his racket, propped up beside his desk. He rubs his mole, then he stands up.
***
There's a pleasant sort of ache in his shoulder when Niou shows up at practice. He rolls his arms at the side of the courts. Yukimura looks at him. He walks up. His face looks better today, fuller. Niou says, "Yo."
"Have you been working on something?" Yukimura asks.
This piques the interest of Marui, too. He waddles over and leans on his racket. "You aren't stealing my genius moves, are you?" he asks.
Niou rolls his eyes. "As if."
Yukimura purses his thin lips. Sanada and Yanagi show up and start stretching. The sight of Sanada's pasty ribs as he touches his toes is not really what Niou wants to see at this hour. Yukimura, though, watches for a long moment before he turns back to Marui and Niou.
"Was the video helpful?" he asks.
"What video?" Marui asks. He snaps a bubble into his mouth. Niou hates the sound. He glares.
"None of your business," he tells Marui. To Yukimura, he shrugs his shoulders. "You think I can just pretend to be anyone?"
Yukimura smiles. "Of course."
Niou snorts. Huh.
Yukimura laughs. It's a good sound, one that Niou doesn't hear enough. It sends contagious flutters to his own stomach. Niou's lips twitch. So do Marui's. Yukimura slaps Niou on the shoulder-still, he's weak and his touch is light. "I know you'd think it was funny," he says, "to throw the other teams off guard by pretending to be their ace players."
"Puri."
"And just who's he supposed to be?" Marui asks. "Do we need to bring a case of wigs and uniforms for him to cosplay?" Marui chews a wad of gum. It smacks between his teeth like a cow. He rolls his jaw and spits. Jackal walks past and says, "Good morning."
"It depends on who we play," Yukimura says. "The most likeliest scenario according to Yanagi is either Shitenhoji or Seigaku."
"In the finals?"
"Mn." Yukimura nods.
Niou picks his racket up. He spins it around, then passes it off onto his index. It wobbles. He reaches out and catches it by the handle. Marui tosses his racket into the air, spinning it around his wrist.
"So if Niou learned the play styles of players like Shitenhoji's Shiraishi or Seigaku's Tezuka, it could be funny," Yukimura says.
Sanada strides past them, head hung low and cap pulled over his eyes. The shadows might be against his face, but Niou can make out the smile playing over his lips. "Tennis isn't about tricking people," he mutters.
"Of course not, Sanada," Yukimura says. Sanada walks further past them, and Yukimura cups his hands around his mouth, "It's about winning!"
That is something they can all agree on, from Sanada to the freshman with the swirly hair on the top of his head rolling out the baskets of balls for practice.
Because it's a morning practice, Yagyuu shows up with that familiar haze to his eyes. His hair is combed smooth, but little cowlicks of sleep creep and curl up at the back of his head. Niou's belly is hot, his shorts are tight and this morning's shower, hand on dick, Yagyuu on mind, is fresh in his memory. Niou ducks his head and stuffs his hands in his pocket. He walks up behind Yagyuu and elbows him in the side.
"Ah, good morning," Yagyuu says. Behind his hand, he yawns.
Niou opens his mouth to ask Yagyuu to play with him, doubles, against whoever, it doesn't matter. Let's play, partner…I missed you, yesterday…
Not that Niou would ever admit to missing Yagyuu, but he did-he does-it's not the same playing by himself. The court is twice as wide, twice as long and twice as empty as it should be.
"Yagyuu!" Yukimura shouts. "Singles with Yanagi!"
Yagyuu looks up, fixes his glasses and says, "Yes, Yukimura-kun."
Niou's shoulder throbs with a dull ache. He can hear his name even before Yukimura yells at him.
"Singles with Sanada!"
Niou's shoulder pulses again; it's a tense, twisted soreness that spreads from arm to back. Pummeling balls into the cement retaining wall near the park in a failed attempt to get some sort of a Zone going, in retrospect, was stupid. Even more because it was dark and as much as Niou wants to believe he's as sharp with his other senses in tennis, without much light, it was hard to see and hard to play.
And now, his favourite player of all.
Sanada waits at the net for him. He looks about as thrilled as Niou is-all sour-faced and constipated. Niou can't resist a dig.
"Yukimura not like you anymore?" he asks. "Or is he pissed because you lost-"
"Shut up!" Sanada growls.
Niou grins.