FIC: Rewind Forward (D1) 56/63
Title: Rewind Forward (56/63)
Author: Ociwen
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: Konomi owns all.
Summary: Niou, meet Yagyuu.
Author's Notes: Spoilers for everything.
He loses, 6-1.
He pants at the baseline. Wet patches fall to the clay, sweat splattering the dust. "Stupid Sanada…" he gasps. "Stupid Ka…"
His court was invaded. His space was invaded. The ball burned Niou's court and left a scorched stench in the air. His racket is somewhere across the baseline, blown back by an attempt to return Sanada's smash.
Niou's zone didn't work. He purses his lips. He licks his lips. The sun has crawled behind a cloud, leaving the earth a sandwiched, overcast oven of humming insects and longer shadows. It's still as hot as ever.
He catches his breath for a long moment. Niou's body droops from effort, from the weather, from yet another loss to Sanada. He rolls onto his back and sucks in the heavy, humid air. A shadow creeps over him, long and black and Sanada.
"What were you trying to do?" Sanada asks. He tucks his racket under his arm as if it were a sword.
Lame, Niou thinks.
Sanada starts to laugh, deep and mocking, and it makes Niou grind his teeth listening to that ass mock him. "Was that a Tezuka Zone, Niou?"
"Shut up!" Niou mutters. His face burns.
Niou hangs around the benches. His game with Sanada was quick-and, okay, maybe that's all right, in hind sight, because dragging out this bitter, sour loss that creeps through his body like heart burn in his throat, well…that would suck even more. Sanada stalks off to the weight rooms. Yukimura runs through swing drills with the freshmen-token training, since their job is to pick up balls today and not much else.
Marui and Kirihara dick around, volleying and laughing and teasing each other.
"Oh yeah, senpai?"
"Oh yeah, Akaya?"
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah!"
From underneath the towel draped over his head, Niou watches them a bit. They're the closest court and admittedly, the fatty's little tricks are interesting, if dumb. The kid chases them. The kid nearly creams himself into the net trying to catch the post ball before it hits the post. Niou sucks in a breath. Kirihara dives and makes quick work with his feet. He's inches from a concussion.
The ball arcs on the return. Marui's too gobsmacked to move until it's too late.
Jackal calls the game in Kirihara's favour.
Niou wipes the sweat from the back of his neck. He rolls the towel up and leans back, rolling his shoulders. They ache, still. The muscles of his back and now his forearms pulse, too warm and strained a bit. He glances down at his hands. They throb. Veins push on the surface of his skin, pumping hard after the game with Sanada had his blood rushing to his ears.
Niou shuffles along the baselines toward Yagyuu's game. It's still on. Yagyuu's court is on the inside. Niou hangs back under the relative shade of zelkovas and willows. Insects hum deep within limp hydrangea bushes. They lost their flowers ages ago, but the smell still lingers in the air.
His senses tingle. Niou shivers. His dick throbs, too, as he drags his eyes up to see Yagyuu take that tell-tale step backward. Yagyuu is red-faced and drenched with sweat. His chest rises and falls, heavy under his t-shirt. His shorts are stained with grimy clay dust and his muscles shift. His eyes are utterly and completely focused on the ball.
Niou is completely and utterly focused on Yagyuu. His mouth goes dry. Yagyuu's laser cuts across the court, too fast to make out properly, beyond the beam of yellow. Yagyuu, though, is pleased. His mouth curls up into a fraction of a smile as Yanagi struggles. Two-handed return, forehand, his foot dug into the ground and Yanagi still strains and grunts his way to his racket clattering to his feet.
Niou whistles.
Yagyuu whips his head around. His eyes are hard, his jaw set, but as he realizes it's Niou…
Nothing changes. His lips thin even more. And he calls out to the nearest freshman, "Ball!"
Niou sniffs. Well then.
He hangs around for another game or two. Despite Yagyuu having the service, his laser only works with the ideal set up and Yanagi's more than a match for his play. Two serve and volley players, each trying to drag out the volley and fumble the other with a fast slice. It's not endurance, but it sure as hell feels like it watching. Niou's closes his eyes, then he wanders off. He tosses his towel on the ground and curls his lip up when he's turned his back to Yagyuu.
Inside, though, there is a gnawing worry. The other day was too much. He scared Yagyuu off. Or Yagyuu's liking this singles thing a bit too much. Or…
There are a hundred and two things it could be.
It doesn't really matter which.
***
Yagyuu and Yanagi's game goes on for ages. With Sanada off doing weights and Yukimura playing with Jackal, no one notices Niou slink off. He sends Yagyuu one last look from the other side of the chain link. Niou weaves his hands through the fence links, pulling the fence toward himself and pressing his nose through a gap.
Look at me! he thinks. Look at me, you blind megane retard!
He stares until his eyes go dry. He stares until the joints of his fingers go numb.
Yagyuu volleys. Yagyuu rallies.
Yagyuu never glances over at Niou.
***
Wednesday and Thursday are the same, and Friday too. Niou runs extra laps.
"No more skipping until I say so!" Yukimura snaps. His voice gets louder by the day. And stronger. Sanada stands on his right, arms crossed over his chest and scowl ever-present. He's stopped asking Yukimura if he's okay every two seconds. Now, Yukimura stalks the courts longer each day as practices bleed through the hours and days. Niou's sneakers pound on the clay court. Dust clouds up. Seeing is hard-the muggy atmosphere, the ripples of heat seeping over everything, the sluggishness of his legs as he rounds the corner again…
But his endurance is building.
Their endurance is building.
Practices start in the morning, last through to early afternoon when the sun becomes unbearable. Break when they collapse, chests concave and gasping for air. Niou peels his t-shirt off-they all do-and they lean back under the dappled shade of the swarming bushes on the sides of the court. Marui brings a cooler one day, it doesn't matter which.
There isn't much time left.
The time crunch is a burden on all their shoulders.
Niou only has to take one look at the purple rings under Yukimura's eyes and the frequent yawns he tries to hide behind his hand or his racket and he knows Yukimura's working hardest of all. If a not-quite-dead-yet kid can do it, than so can he. Niou balls his fist. He gulps his Pocari Sweat until the PET bottle crumples and cracks, then he chucks it into the bushes behind them.
Marui passes out bentos. "Specialty chez Bunta," he says.
"Your accent's off," Niou says.
Marui huffs. He shoves a bento into Niou's hands. The plastic container is wet with condensation. Hand on his hips, Marui snorts. "And who made you the expert on French, dickbrains?"
"Duh," Niou says. He nods in Yagyuu's direction. "Adieu et cetera, dumb ass." Niou does his best impression of a French accent, rolled rs, lilting romantic tongue. Yukimura looks up, chopsticks still for a moment, and Niou remembers Yukimura talking about Godard films, ages ago. Frenchy frog stuff that Niou didn't care about then and still doesn't now.
Yukimura smiles to himself and Sanada leans over to ask what. Niou rolls his eyes. The fatty goes on about something, Iron Chef Sakai Hiroyuki blah blah favourite cooking show and hey, are you listening, asshole? I made you that lunch now you show my culinary genius some respect!
But it's hard to eat. Niou chews on the rice. It sticks to the roof of his mouth. It clogs his throat. It's chalky and tasteless to him and the katsu cutlet with French mustard is a hard, oily lump in his belly.
Yagyuu is distant.
It feels that way to Niou. They practice until their sweat dries out and their arms are pink with sunburn. Niou hates this heat. He hates this sun, these endless days of hard, hot weather. No matter how often he showers, he stinks like sweat. No matter how many PET bottles he downs, he's thirsty. His appetite shrivels up at practice. His socks are brown with clay dust and his t-shirts and shorts are wet from perspiration.
There isn't much talk in the change rooms. The showers, for once, are devoid of Marui and Jackal's singing, or Kirihara pestering Sanada. Shampoo bottles squirt. Soap squelches, and so do bare feet on the wet tiles. In the bathroom, more bottles squirt and little jars are screwed open. Niou's hair wax makes stringy, feathery noises as he rubs it in his palms, then ruffles it into his hair. Kirihara's gel makes gooping sounds. Marui mutters, "Let me borrow some," but that's it.
Yagyuu's comb is silent. So are Sanada and Yanagi's.
Maybe Niou isn't dead tired on Thursday. He's done in the showers first. Yagyuu's clothes are folded neatly in a basket on the bench. His comb sits on top, next to his glasses. Niou pockets the comb.
Yagyuu doesn't notice.
He doesn't say a word when he pads out from the showers. He dresses and puts on his glasses. He blinks, then takes a spare comb from his bag.
Niou's stomach sinks. His chest feels a little emptier. At one time, seeing Yagyuu's naked chest and his long, lean body in the mists of the shower spray was enough to sustain him. Now, he craves more. He misses the taste of Yagyuu's mouth-green tea, sometimes, coke at others. He misses the warm, wet, living feeling of Yagyuu's lips on his, on his chin, on his neck. He misses Yagyuu's heavy body on top of his, and his legs, his knee wedged between Niou's thighs. He misses Yagyuu's long fingers curling around the back of his neck, pushing away the hair ties Niou leaves loose in the faint hope…
Mostly, Niou shuffles home on the train if he's got the energy, or the bus when he's dead. The bus is closer, but above ground, where the sun is hottest. The afternoon sun hits the bus stop with an unrelenting glare. Niou melts into the pavement cracks. Niou bakes along with the dried locust shells. They crunch under his sneakers, the ones that Kirihara doesn't stomp on first.
He collapses at home in the coolness of the A/C in his bedroom. Curtains drawn for darkness, iPod earbuds sometimes popped into his ears to block the sounds of his family, sometimes nothing more than flopping back onto his mattress. His mom wakes him from the sticky naps.
"Supper time, Masaharu," she says. She knocks on the door harder, louder. Niou rubs his eyes. He rubs his hair, too, moving the sweaty patches around. "Come and set the table."
Niou grunts.
It takes the last of his effort to keep his eyes open during supper. Niou chews on the rice and the eel, alternating the bites. On prime numbers-his favourite-he crunches on daikon pickles and vinegary tokoroten noodles. His throat feels thick as the noodles slide down.
Yagyuu… he thinks. His eyes feel sharp, little pricks at the sides, but that could also be from the smells of food in the kitchen. His stomach growls. Niou takes another piece of eel from the dish.
"We could have had leftovers, Masaharu," his sister says. She picks at her eel like a bird.
Niou cocks his head. "Don't hold back a growing boy," he says.
And this time, his mother doesn't even frown at him.
The bath tub is the final frontier. Niou slides into the steaming water as soon as his mother shuts off the tap.
"Why don't you let your brother go first?" she asks.
Niou locks the door behind himself. He showers the nap-induced sweat off his body. The film of grime runs down his skin, pooling at his feet before swirling down the train. Half-hearted, he rubs his balls and curls his hand around his dick, squeezing and pumping until his heart pounds against his ribs. His knees shake. Niou braces a palm on the wall. In this condition, he'll smash his head into the side of the tub otherwise.
"Yagyuu…" he whispers. His breathing is heavier. The shower temperature drops. His body temperature rises. "Yagyuu…Hiroshi…" He bites his lip. He moans. His dick's on fire and his balls are so tight, so close to exploding that all Niou has to do is rub his thumb over that sweet, numb spot under his-
"Ah!"
The shower sprays until the come drains-long enough for Niou to catch his breath. His stomach muscles ache from the position, of crouching over like this and masturbating. His calves ache from practice. His left arm shakes from everything.
Niou slides into the tub with a heavy sigh. It's hot outside, but the water is even hotter. It scalds his back. He hisses, but his skin adjusts. Niou hugs his legs and rests his chin on the surface of the water. Then, he faceplants into it and shakes his face, staring down the blurry depths at the soles of his feet, white against the brown of his tan everywhere else. Water laps at the edges of the tub as he moves around-it's the only way to keep awake.
His eyelids continually drag down, weighed by exhaustion. Niou yawns, then he yawns again. His body sinks. His head lolls. It's getting harder and harder to resist the pull, but he drags himself out of the tub. The air is a shock to his skin-cold on feverish, wet warmth. He grabs a towel, fights another yawn in a losing battle, and shuffles to his bedroom.
The last thing Niou manages to do is to check his cellphone.
No messages from Yagyuu.
And he's asleep before he remembers to send one of his own.
***
So maybe it's a vicious circle:
Yukimura works them to the bone. Niou doesn't get a chance to speak with Yagyuu. Yagyuu doesn't speak with him.
They heave their carcasses home. Too tired to communicate.
Wake up, rinse, repeat.
Still…
Maybe it's like the Tezuka Zone. Everything gets sucked in, worse and worse, and it takes something hot and burning like Sanada's Ka to cut through the cycle and slice it up.
There are only two people on the team who can douse those flames. Maybe three, if Niou adds Jackal to the mix. But Jackal is tight with Marui and Niou hates him.
So…
Niou sighs. He pulls a coin from his pocket, change from the bus this morning. Cicadas and locusts hum. There is a family of crows perched on the roof of the clubhouse. Yanagi and Kirihara carry a water cooler out to a cement bench by the fountain and set it down. As long as it's not Orange Gatorade, Niou's cool with whatever.
Heads, Yanagi. Tails, Yukimura.
"I said I wanted to see two hundred swings!"
Niou's mole twitches. Yukimura's voice pierces the air. If he's not quick, he'll have extra laps.
Niou throws the coin up. It's lost in the sun's rays for a moment, then it arcs, and falls straight back down. Niou reaches out with his right hand. The tendons in his wrist strain as he balls his fist around the warm metal.
He takes a deep breath, and looks down.
***
The best way to approach is the most direct. After all, Yukimura's been lying on his back half-paralyzed for the better part of a year. Nurses probably snuck up to jab IVs and needles into his sides, so Niou takes the frontal route.
Yukimura wipes sweat from his forehead. His hair hangs in limp strands. He switches his sweat band with a fresh one from his tennisbag. He's got his track pants on-with them, he doesn't seem as scrawny. Yukimura peels his jacket off and tosses it onto the top of his bag. The back of his t-shirt is as wet and dark as Niou's. Sanada must not have pussy-footed around him as much in today's game.
"Yukimura," Niou says in a loud voice.
Yukimura lifts his chin.
"I wanna practice with Yagyuu," Niou says. His voice rings in his ears, almost too loud and too echoing across the courts. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Yagyuu look up from his game. The back of Niou's neck tingles.
Yukimura raises his eyebrows. "Niou," he says.
Niou's heart does stupid pitter-patter doki doki type things against his ribs. Yagyuu's looking at him. Yukimura's looking at him. Niou is the one who should be doing this subtle watching of others, not the opposite way around. His collar starts to feel tight and his face starts to feel pink. Niou ducks his head to hide his blush and play it off with a cool, "Puri."
"Niou," Yukimura says again, "since when have I-or anyone else-stopped you from playing with Yagyuu?"
Niou's mouth hangs open, just a little.
"If you really want to do something, it'll happen." Yukimura laughs to himself in a breathy, high-pitched, self-satisfied way. "I really want to win the Nationals and it's going to happen."
There's no way for Niou to answer. He stands there and feels stupid as Yukimura walks off. "Kirihara!" he shouts. Kirihara looks up and forces a laugh from the other side of the net across from Yagyuu.
"Game. Me. Now."
Kirihara scratches the back of his hair. His hair curls with sweat, but he's got a toothy grin plastered across his face. "Buchou…but….Yagyuu-senpai and I-"
"Are done, so play with me," Yukimura says.
Kirihara blinks. Then he nods his head furiously and pumps his fist. "All right!"
Yukimura keeps walking. Nothing stands in his way. The oceans part. The cicadas shut up. Sanada turns the other way and doesn't ask Yukimura some asinine question about the tightness of the nets. "Urayama! Balls!" Yukimura calls. He pulls his racket out from the cover and tosses it aside. One of the freshmen picks it up and runs off. Another freshman frantically runs out, pushing a cart of balls behind Yukimura.
Everyone focuses on the other end of the courts. At Niou's end, the cicadas and locusts remember their buzzing. The crows remember to flutter and caw in the trees and the sun bakes the ground, making the dew from this morning start to steam.
"You wanted to play with me, Niou-kun?"
Yagyuu.
Niou touches his mole. Habit, he can't help it-even the best of people can't avoid their subconscious twitches. Blood rushes to his face, rushes in his ears. Niou has a hard time hearing whatever else-if anything-Yagyuu might be saying. Niou looks at Yagyuu's mouth. It moves. Words don't reach Niou's ears.
It's hard to breathe as the thoughts, fantasies, memories come back. Yagyuu's lips shouldn't be talking, they should be on Niou's mouth. His tongue shrivels up. His mouth parts. He licks his licks, feeling the cracked, uneven surface, begging to be kissed. Niou can't even look at Yagyuu straight in the eye right now and the racket in his hand is becoming lighter and lighter….
It clacks on the clay ground.
The sound breaks the moment.
Niou's eyes snap wide open.
The noise is infinitely loud. Time slows to forever. Niou can feel every part of his body freeze, and then kick back into gear, refusing this desire that sinks his stomach and makes him desperately want to slink into the clubhouse and hide in his locker. It shouldn't matter, but he feels stupid and uncool and retarded like Sanada always is because Yagyuu is the only person who can do this to Niou.
"Here," Yagyuu says. He holds Niou's racket out with his left hand. Niou grabs it as fast as he can.
"Do you want to serve?" Yagyuu asks. "I've been working on my serve with Kirihara-kun and Jackal-kun…"
It's not tennis I want, megane idiot, Niou thinks. He takes a deep breath and nods. "Whatever," he mutters. He stuffs his hand in his pocket and hunches his shoulders up. His face doesn't feel nearly as hot as he focuses on his breathing, numbering his exhales. One…two…three…
Niou grabs the nearest ball rolling around the ground by the net. He pockets it, walks five feet over with a little jump at the end, and grabs a second ball. Yagyuu stands by the net post. His brow furrows and he pushes his glasses up his nose.
New move you're going to try on me, partner?
The smile that comes to Niou's lips is bitter.
He's got nothing new for Yagyuu. The Zone attempts haven't worked. What bits he's seen of Shitenhoji's Shiraishi's video haven't been that exciting and Niou doesn't particularly feel very ecstatic at the moment.
"Niou-kun," Yagyuu says. His voice drags a bit, almost a whining request. Niou tightens his lips. "Would you come and help me get a basket of balls from the shed?"
Niou raises his head. He slings his racket over his shoulder and rolls his eyes. Are you blind, Yagyuu? A freshman runs behind him, nearly bumping Niou's elbow in a dash to get some out of bounds lob that Marui shot.
"Have the freshmen get some!" Niou snaps. He narrows his eyes. How dumb can Yagyuu get? Yagyuu isn't getting short with him, but damned if Niou's going to go do the work of a kouhai whose job it is to get them balls. Waste of their practice time, if you ask him.
The heat seems to be thicker than ever. Niou's temple throbs behind his skull. He rubs his neck, but it does nothing to stop the low, pulsing ache that starts. His brain starts to liquefy and melt, slithering down his back with the constant sweat.
Yagyuu isn't bothered by this. He seems to be in no hurry to play. He seems to show no expression, no emotion whatsoever to reflect the fact that he's been ignoring Niou for the better part of the week. Inside, Niou knows he's not helping, but he doesn't know what to do, either.
Wasn't Yagyuu supposed to be the gamemaker on this other court?
Niou's throat feels thick and closed up and so dry it's sticking to itself. Horking mucus makes his sinuses tickle. Niou coughs on the wad and ends up spitting it out.
"Please come help me," Yagyuu says.
Thereis something underlying his words: sharp, staccato pauses between his syllables that add just enough edge to his voice for Niou to pick up.
Niou grunts. "Fine," he mutters. "Megane loser."
The blank mask Yagyuu's got plastered on his face hardens. So you can hear after all…Niou thinks. Yagyuu's gait becomes tighter, his shoulders tenser. They walk behind the clubhouse and Niou can see Yagyuu balling his fist, too, like he's gonna smack Niou.
The shed is at the back of the clubhouse. The door is swung wide open from the freshmen constantly coming in and out for ball baskets and new equipment for practice. The view of the courts is blocked and the grunts and groans and yells are muffled here. It's quiet enough that Niou can hear Yagyuu's sneakers grinding into the pavement floor inside.
Niou breaks the silence. He sniffs. "You gonna hit me?" he asks. He looks inside the shed, egging Yagyuu on with a sneer and his chin raised, ready for Yagyuu to snap.
Yagyuu whips his head around. His lip is curled too. His eyes are glowing and huge behind his glasses. His nostrils flare as he breathes. He's too in-control right now. Niou's stomach twists with anticipation. Each beat that passes, his insides twist tighter and tighter.
And then Yagyuu narrows his eyes. Flashpoint. Niou's reacting before Yagyuu shoves him against the tin wall. It bangs and echoes, metallic ringing in his ears as Yagyuu grabs one of Niou's hands and squeezes his wrist hard. Niou hisses.
It's the first time in days that Yagyuu has touched him.
"Don't tempt me," Yagyuu says. His breath is hot and damp on Niou's face. The tension rises in Niou, but not with the recoil fear of a hand slapped across his face. Instead, it's tightening his belly, deep down, in his balls and dick, straining them as he hardens under Yagyuu's hard glare.
Niou's mouth opens. He doesn't mean for it to, it just does. He's breathing heavy and blinking. Yagyuu blocks the light from the doorway. The shed stinks like stale sweat and rubbery balls. Yagyuu's grip hurts enough for Niou's eyes to sting, but he won't give in to that.
His body is already giving into Yagyuu's presence. His legs shift, part, open to Yagyuu's knee. His dick throbs in his shorts, harder and harder until it hurts to stand here, so close and yet the inches between them still a barrier…
"Yagyuu…" Niou says. His eyes widen even more when he realizes he's spoken. Yagyuu's name was a breathy pant, desperate and wanting. Yagyuu…please…
Yagyuu's pupils start to swim. The pointed focus they had is lost as Yagyuu swallows. Niou closes his eyes. He leans his head back into the wall. His legs widen more, creaking the wall as his weight settles against it.
Then, there is a leg between his.
Niou whimpers.
Then, there is something breathing across his lips.
Niou moans.
Yagyuu's nose bumps his. Yagyuu's lips are light and feathery, barely brushing Niou's mouth, over and over. He teases. Niou groans. Yagyuu's grip loosens on his wrist. Niou doesn't care anymore. His body arches up into Yagyuu's and he pushes his mouth closer, refusing these half-kisses.
Niou touches Yagyuu's hip. He curls his fingers into Yagyuu's t-shirt hem.
Don't say you don't want this anymore…
Yagyuu's hands are on his face. Yagyuu's tongue slides into Niou's mouth. Yagyuu's kissing him hard, so hard that Niou forgets to breathe as their teeth clack and noses smash and that hurts too, but it doesn't matter because Yagyuu keeps kissing him, harder and harder, over and over and Niou can't keep up and he doesn't want to keep up and he just leans back and lets Yagyuu suck his lips and drag his teeth over them and between them and take and take until Niou's knees give out entirely.
It takes Niou a little while to catch his breath. His mouth prickles, over-used and abused by Yagyuu, but the numb sensation makes Niou's insides melt and hotter than ever. Yagyuu licks his lips, then he kneels down beside Niou. He avoids Niou's gaze-not that Niou has enough brain power to look back at Yagyuu right now-and Yagyuu sits down beside him. Yagyuu places his hand on Niou's thigh, right at the hem of his shorts. His fingers crawl underneath, making tiny circles on the bare skin.
Niou clenches his jaw. "Don't," he says. His dick jumps. His balls tighten. Niou shakes his head and squeezes his eyes closed. It won't happen again. He grinds his teeth to keep himself in check. His body shakes with effort and sweat beads at his hairline.
Yagyuu takes his hand away. "Okay," he says. Yagyuu tilts his head to the side. Niou's mind is dizzy. It spins around. He's going to kiss me again…
Niou leans forward first. Yagyuu kisses him one last, hard, deep time, then he stands up and brushes his shorts off.
"Let's play a good game," he says.
There aren't any more baskets of balls in the shed anyway.
***
Niou tells himself it doesn't matter who wins. And that it's too hot to care.
A good game for Yagyuu isn't a gentlemanly, 'well-played sport!'-type game. No, a good game for Yagyuu is a game he wins. Even just barely.
They don't need to shake hands at the net. Niou wipes his sweaty palm on his shorts. Grime cakes under his fingernails. He starts to walk toward the water fountain when Yagyuu calls his name. He's standing at the net with his hand stretched out. Yagyuu is being polite.
Niou snorts. Of course Yagyuu is being polite. His laser was sharper than any of Niou's volleys. Yagyuu's serves were better, stronger-he's been working hard with Yanagi and Jackal to improve his style. All Niou's done is dick around with some videos and lose to Sanada.
Niou keeps walking.
"Your footwork looked very good!" Yagyuu shouts.
It doesn't matter, either. Niou still lost.
Okay, so they took it to a tie-break. And okay, so Yagyuu had the service play so the chances of him winning were that much higher.
Still.
Niou runs the faucet. Cold water pours out, splashing over the edge. He dunks his face underneath it. The temperature shock makes him gasp. Water gets up his nose and he sputters and coughs as he wipes his face with a damp sweat towel.
His mouth still tingles. His body still hums from Yagyuu's kisses, Yagyuu's hand on the back of his neck and the sides of his face. That's the real reason Niou lost. He's off balance, just enough to lose his focus on the game. It's his own fault; he can't be Kirihara and switch off parts of himself. There is no tennis Niou separated from other Niou right now. There is just Niou, who bleeds the same colour into all the parts of his life.
And somehow Yagyuu infects every part of Niou's life. Real life. Tennis life. Everything revolves around Yagyuu.
They wait at the bus stop together. A slight weight has been lifted from their shoulders with the weekend encroaching, so close that Niou can almost taste the lie-ins and breakfasts at noon.
"I'll see you Monday," Yukimura told them. Only Sanada looked vaguely disappointed that they had the weekend free from training. Now, Sanada and Yukimura stand close enough to Niou and Yagyuu at the bus stop that Niou can eavesdrop on Sanada's mumbling and Yukimura's soft words.
"Will you be here tomorrow?"
"Mn."
"Let's practice."
"You just want to beat me."
"…no! Yukimura-"
"If we play at the courts near your place, we can have a picnic after."
Barf, Niou thinks.
"The grass isn't as good…"
"I looked up the info on the Tokyo courts. Same turf."
"Oh."
"Ne, Sanada?"
"Hn?"
"What are you doing tonight? I have to go home so my mom can fix my yukata for the festival next week, but after supper we can…"
Niou stops listening right about when he wants to start gagging. That, and Yagyuu says, "Ah, there's the bus!"
They get on it. Yukimura and Sanada are left waiting together in the hot, steaming sun for the bus to Sanada's place, way out in the boonies. Niou follows Yagyuu to the seat at the back of the bus. They spread their bags out over the extra space, taking up the full length.
"Doubles tomorrow?" Niou asks.
If Sanada and Yukimura can have a gross tennis date, then Niou sure as hell can play doubles with Yagyuu, too. There are dozens of courts nearby and dozens of kids willing to play against them, even more if Yagyuu brings a couple wigs and dorky polo shirts to dress up with and play dumb.
Or, there's that cosplay convention near the local shrine. Niou strokes his mole and smiles to himself.
Yagyuu touches the side of his glasses. In the raking light peaking in from the sides of the window blinds, Niou can see tiny dust specks covering Yagyuu's lenses. Yagyuu's eyes shift away from him.
"Ah, Niou-kun, I'm sorry, I can't play tomorrow."
Niou's stomach flip-flops. The mayonnaise from the noodle salad at lunch starts to churn. His face flushes cold, then hot.
"I'm going to the ABC Open with my father this weekend," Yagyuu says. "You'll have to play with someone else."
Niou's insides wither up into a cold mess. He wishes he could say something a little better than, "Yeah, whatever," but his mouth doesn't work. He turns to the window and stares blankly at the blinds. Indeterminate buildings pass by on the other side, dulled and blurred by the window shade. His pupils start to sting, dried out from a hard stare.
"Niou-kun," Yagyuu says. "We can play Monday-"
"Whatever," Niou says. He presses the button and the bus lurches to a stop. It's probably close enough to his neighbourhood. Niou grabs his tennisbag and shoves past Yagyuu. He bumps into Yagyuu's knee. Niou's throat is too tight to breath and he swallows. His saliva forms a hard lump in his chest.
"Niou-kun!"
"See ya," Niou mutters.
Talking with Yagyuu is about the last thing Niou wants to do right now.
Author: Ociwen
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: Konomi owns all.
Summary: Niou, meet Yagyuu.
Author's Notes: Spoilers for everything.
He loses, 6-1.
He pants at the baseline. Wet patches fall to the clay, sweat splattering the dust. "Stupid Sanada…" he gasps. "Stupid Ka…"
His court was invaded. His space was invaded. The ball burned Niou's court and left a scorched stench in the air. His racket is somewhere across the baseline, blown back by an attempt to return Sanada's smash.
Niou's zone didn't work. He purses his lips. He licks his lips. The sun has crawled behind a cloud, leaving the earth a sandwiched, overcast oven of humming insects and longer shadows. It's still as hot as ever.
He catches his breath for a long moment. Niou's body droops from effort, from the weather, from yet another loss to Sanada. He rolls onto his back and sucks in the heavy, humid air. A shadow creeps over him, long and black and Sanada.
"What were you trying to do?" Sanada asks. He tucks his racket under his arm as if it were a sword.
Lame, Niou thinks.
Sanada starts to laugh, deep and mocking, and it makes Niou grind his teeth listening to that ass mock him. "Was that a Tezuka Zone, Niou?"
"Shut up!" Niou mutters. His face burns.
Niou hangs around the benches. His game with Sanada was quick-and, okay, maybe that's all right, in hind sight, because dragging out this bitter, sour loss that creeps through his body like heart burn in his throat, well…that would suck even more. Sanada stalks off to the weight rooms. Yukimura runs through swing drills with the freshmen-token training, since their job is to pick up balls today and not much else.
Marui and Kirihara dick around, volleying and laughing and teasing each other.
"Oh yeah, senpai?"
"Oh yeah, Akaya?"
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah!"
From underneath the towel draped over his head, Niou watches them a bit. They're the closest court and admittedly, the fatty's little tricks are interesting, if dumb. The kid chases them. The kid nearly creams himself into the net trying to catch the post ball before it hits the post. Niou sucks in a breath. Kirihara dives and makes quick work with his feet. He's inches from a concussion.
The ball arcs on the return. Marui's too gobsmacked to move until it's too late.
Jackal calls the game in Kirihara's favour.
Niou wipes the sweat from the back of his neck. He rolls the towel up and leans back, rolling his shoulders. They ache, still. The muscles of his back and now his forearms pulse, too warm and strained a bit. He glances down at his hands. They throb. Veins push on the surface of his skin, pumping hard after the game with Sanada had his blood rushing to his ears.
Niou shuffles along the baselines toward Yagyuu's game. It's still on. Yagyuu's court is on the inside. Niou hangs back under the relative shade of zelkovas and willows. Insects hum deep within limp hydrangea bushes. They lost their flowers ages ago, but the smell still lingers in the air.
His senses tingle. Niou shivers. His dick throbs, too, as he drags his eyes up to see Yagyuu take that tell-tale step backward. Yagyuu is red-faced and drenched with sweat. His chest rises and falls, heavy under his t-shirt. His shorts are stained with grimy clay dust and his muscles shift. His eyes are utterly and completely focused on the ball.
Niou is completely and utterly focused on Yagyuu. His mouth goes dry. Yagyuu's laser cuts across the court, too fast to make out properly, beyond the beam of yellow. Yagyuu, though, is pleased. His mouth curls up into a fraction of a smile as Yanagi struggles. Two-handed return, forehand, his foot dug into the ground and Yanagi still strains and grunts his way to his racket clattering to his feet.
Niou whistles.
Yagyuu whips his head around. His eyes are hard, his jaw set, but as he realizes it's Niou…
Nothing changes. His lips thin even more. And he calls out to the nearest freshman, "Ball!"
Niou sniffs. Well then.
He hangs around for another game or two. Despite Yagyuu having the service, his laser only works with the ideal set up and Yanagi's more than a match for his play. Two serve and volley players, each trying to drag out the volley and fumble the other with a fast slice. It's not endurance, but it sure as hell feels like it watching. Niou's closes his eyes, then he wanders off. He tosses his towel on the ground and curls his lip up when he's turned his back to Yagyuu.
Inside, though, there is a gnawing worry. The other day was too much. He scared Yagyuu off. Or Yagyuu's liking this singles thing a bit too much. Or…
There are a hundred and two things it could be.
It doesn't really matter which.
***
Yagyuu and Yanagi's game goes on for ages. With Sanada off doing weights and Yukimura playing with Jackal, no one notices Niou slink off. He sends Yagyuu one last look from the other side of the chain link. Niou weaves his hands through the fence links, pulling the fence toward himself and pressing his nose through a gap.
Look at me! he thinks. Look at me, you blind megane retard!
He stares until his eyes go dry. He stares until the joints of his fingers go numb.
Yagyuu volleys. Yagyuu rallies.
Yagyuu never glances over at Niou.
***
Wednesday and Thursday are the same, and Friday too. Niou runs extra laps.
"No more skipping until I say so!" Yukimura snaps. His voice gets louder by the day. And stronger. Sanada stands on his right, arms crossed over his chest and scowl ever-present. He's stopped asking Yukimura if he's okay every two seconds. Now, Yukimura stalks the courts longer each day as practices bleed through the hours and days. Niou's sneakers pound on the clay court. Dust clouds up. Seeing is hard-the muggy atmosphere, the ripples of heat seeping over everything, the sluggishness of his legs as he rounds the corner again…
But his endurance is building.
Their endurance is building.
Practices start in the morning, last through to early afternoon when the sun becomes unbearable. Break when they collapse, chests concave and gasping for air. Niou peels his t-shirt off-they all do-and they lean back under the dappled shade of the swarming bushes on the sides of the court. Marui brings a cooler one day, it doesn't matter which.
There isn't much time left.
The time crunch is a burden on all their shoulders.
Niou only has to take one look at the purple rings under Yukimura's eyes and the frequent yawns he tries to hide behind his hand or his racket and he knows Yukimura's working hardest of all. If a not-quite-dead-yet kid can do it, than so can he. Niou balls his fist. He gulps his Pocari Sweat until the PET bottle crumples and cracks, then he chucks it into the bushes behind them.
Marui passes out bentos. "Specialty chez Bunta," he says.
"Your accent's off," Niou says.
Marui huffs. He shoves a bento into Niou's hands. The plastic container is wet with condensation. Hand on his hips, Marui snorts. "And who made you the expert on French, dickbrains?"
"Duh," Niou says. He nods in Yagyuu's direction. "Adieu et cetera, dumb ass." Niou does his best impression of a French accent, rolled rs, lilting romantic tongue. Yukimura looks up, chopsticks still for a moment, and Niou remembers Yukimura talking about Godard films, ages ago. Frenchy frog stuff that Niou didn't care about then and still doesn't now.
Yukimura smiles to himself and Sanada leans over to ask what. Niou rolls his eyes. The fatty goes on about something, Iron Chef Sakai Hiroyuki blah blah favourite cooking show and hey, are you listening, asshole? I made you that lunch now you show my culinary genius some respect!
But it's hard to eat. Niou chews on the rice. It sticks to the roof of his mouth. It clogs his throat. It's chalky and tasteless to him and the katsu cutlet with French mustard is a hard, oily lump in his belly.
Yagyuu is distant.
It feels that way to Niou. They practice until their sweat dries out and their arms are pink with sunburn. Niou hates this heat. He hates this sun, these endless days of hard, hot weather. No matter how often he showers, he stinks like sweat. No matter how many PET bottles he downs, he's thirsty. His appetite shrivels up at practice. His socks are brown with clay dust and his t-shirts and shorts are wet from perspiration.
There isn't much talk in the change rooms. The showers, for once, are devoid of Marui and Jackal's singing, or Kirihara pestering Sanada. Shampoo bottles squirt. Soap squelches, and so do bare feet on the wet tiles. In the bathroom, more bottles squirt and little jars are screwed open. Niou's hair wax makes stringy, feathery noises as he rubs it in his palms, then ruffles it into his hair. Kirihara's gel makes gooping sounds. Marui mutters, "Let me borrow some," but that's it.
Yagyuu's comb is silent. So are Sanada and Yanagi's.
Maybe Niou isn't dead tired on Thursday. He's done in the showers first. Yagyuu's clothes are folded neatly in a basket on the bench. His comb sits on top, next to his glasses. Niou pockets the comb.
Yagyuu doesn't notice.
He doesn't say a word when he pads out from the showers. He dresses and puts on his glasses. He blinks, then takes a spare comb from his bag.
Niou's stomach sinks. His chest feels a little emptier. At one time, seeing Yagyuu's naked chest and his long, lean body in the mists of the shower spray was enough to sustain him. Now, he craves more. He misses the taste of Yagyuu's mouth-green tea, sometimes, coke at others. He misses the warm, wet, living feeling of Yagyuu's lips on his, on his chin, on his neck. He misses Yagyuu's heavy body on top of his, and his legs, his knee wedged between Niou's thighs. He misses Yagyuu's long fingers curling around the back of his neck, pushing away the hair ties Niou leaves loose in the faint hope…
Mostly, Niou shuffles home on the train if he's got the energy, or the bus when he's dead. The bus is closer, but above ground, where the sun is hottest. The afternoon sun hits the bus stop with an unrelenting glare. Niou melts into the pavement cracks. Niou bakes along with the dried locust shells. They crunch under his sneakers, the ones that Kirihara doesn't stomp on first.
He collapses at home in the coolness of the A/C in his bedroom. Curtains drawn for darkness, iPod earbuds sometimes popped into his ears to block the sounds of his family, sometimes nothing more than flopping back onto his mattress. His mom wakes him from the sticky naps.
"Supper time, Masaharu," she says. She knocks on the door harder, louder. Niou rubs his eyes. He rubs his hair, too, moving the sweaty patches around. "Come and set the table."
Niou grunts.
It takes the last of his effort to keep his eyes open during supper. Niou chews on the rice and the eel, alternating the bites. On prime numbers-his favourite-he crunches on daikon pickles and vinegary tokoroten noodles. His throat feels thick as the noodles slide down.
Yagyuu… he thinks. His eyes feel sharp, little pricks at the sides, but that could also be from the smells of food in the kitchen. His stomach growls. Niou takes another piece of eel from the dish.
"We could have had leftovers, Masaharu," his sister says. She picks at her eel like a bird.
Niou cocks his head. "Don't hold back a growing boy," he says.
And this time, his mother doesn't even frown at him.
The bath tub is the final frontier. Niou slides into the steaming water as soon as his mother shuts off the tap.
"Why don't you let your brother go first?" she asks.
Niou locks the door behind himself. He showers the nap-induced sweat off his body. The film of grime runs down his skin, pooling at his feet before swirling down the train. Half-hearted, he rubs his balls and curls his hand around his dick, squeezing and pumping until his heart pounds against his ribs. His knees shake. Niou braces a palm on the wall. In this condition, he'll smash his head into the side of the tub otherwise.
"Yagyuu…" he whispers. His breathing is heavier. The shower temperature drops. His body temperature rises. "Yagyuu…Hiroshi…" He bites his lip. He moans. His dick's on fire and his balls are so tight, so close to exploding that all Niou has to do is rub his thumb over that sweet, numb spot under his-
"Ah!"
The shower sprays until the come drains-long enough for Niou to catch his breath. His stomach muscles ache from the position, of crouching over like this and masturbating. His calves ache from practice. His left arm shakes from everything.
Niou slides into the tub with a heavy sigh. It's hot outside, but the water is even hotter. It scalds his back. He hisses, but his skin adjusts. Niou hugs his legs and rests his chin on the surface of the water. Then, he faceplants into it and shakes his face, staring down the blurry depths at the soles of his feet, white against the brown of his tan everywhere else. Water laps at the edges of the tub as he moves around-it's the only way to keep awake.
His eyelids continually drag down, weighed by exhaustion. Niou yawns, then he yawns again. His body sinks. His head lolls. It's getting harder and harder to resist the pull, but he drags himself out of the tub. The air is a shock to his skin-cold on feverish, wet warmth. He grabs a towel, fights another yawn in a losing battle, and shuffles to his bedroom.
The last thing Niou manages to do is to check his cellphone.
No messages from Yagyuu.
And he's asleep before he remembers to send one of his own.
***
So maybe it's a vicious circle:
Yukimura works them to the bone. Niou doesn't get a chance to speak with Yagyuu. Yagyuu doesn't speak with him.
They heave their carcasses home. Too tired to communicate.
Wake up, rinse, repeat.
Still…
Maybe it's like the Tezuka Zone. Everything gets sucked in, worse and worse, and it takes something hot and burning like Sanada's Ka to cut through the cycle and slice it up.
There are only two people on the team who can douse those flames. Maybe three, if Niou adds Jackal to the mix. But Jackal is tight with Marui and Niou hates him.
So…
Niou sighs. He pulls a coin from his pocket, change from the bus this morning. Cicadas and locusts hum. There is a family of crows perched on the roof of the clubhouse. Yanagi and Kirihara carry a water cooler out to a cement bench by the fountain and set it down. As long as it's not Orange Gatorade, Niou's cool with whatever.
Heads, Yanagi. Tails, Yukimura.
"I said I wanted to see two hundred swings!"
Niou's mole twitches. Yukimura's voice pierces the air. If he's not quick, he'll have extra laps.
Niou throws the coin up. It's lost in the sun's rays for a moment, then it arcs, and falls straight back down. Niou reaches out with his right hand. The tendons in his wrist strain as he balls his fist around the warm metal.
He takes a deep breath, and looks down.
***
The best way to approach is the most direct. After all, Yukimura's been lying on his back half-paralyzed for the better part of a year. Nurses probably snuck up to jab IVs and needles into his sides, so Niou takes the frontal route.
Yukimura wipes sweat from his forehead. His hair hangs in limp strands. He switches his sweat band with a fresh one from his tennisbag. He's got his track pants on-with them, he doesn't seem as scrawny. Yukimura peels his jacket off and tosses it onto the top of his bag. The back of his t-shirt is as wet and dark as Niou's. Sanada must not have pussy-footed around him as much in today's game.
"Yukimura," Niou says in a loud voice.
Yukimura lifts his chin.
"I wanna practice with Yagyuu," Niou says. His voice rings in his ears, almost too loud and too echoing across the courts. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Yagyuu look up from his game. The back of Niou's neck tingles.
Yukimura raises his eyebrows. "Niou," he says.
Niou's heart does stupid pitter-patter doki doki type things against his ribs. Yagyuu's looking at him. Yukimura's looking at him. Niou is the one who should be doing this subtle watching of others, not the opposite way around. His collar starts to feel tight and his face starts to feel pink. Niou ducks his head to hide his blush and play it off with a cool, "Puri."
"Niou," Yukimura says again, "since when have I-or anyone else-stopped you from playing with Yagyuu?"
Niou's mouth hangs open, just a little.
"If you really want to do something, it'll happen." Yukimura laughs to himself in a breathy, high-pitched, self-satisfied way. "I really want to win the Nationals and it's going to happen."
There's no way for Niou to answer. He stands there and feels stupid as Yukimura walks off. "Kirihara!" he shouts. Kirihara looks up and forces a laugh from the other side of the net across from Yagyuu.
"Game. Me. Now."
Kirihara scratches the back of his hair. His hair curls with sweat, but he's got a toothy grin plastered across his face. "Buchou…but….Yagyuu-senpai and I-"
"Are done, so play with me," Yukimura says.
Kirihara blinks. Then he nods his head furiously and pumps his fist. "All right!"
Yukimura keeps walking. Nothing stands in his way. The oceans part. The cicadas shut up. Sanada turns the other way and doesn't ask Yukimura some asinine question about the tightness of the nets. "Urayama! Balls!" Yukimura calls. He pulls his racket out from the cover and tosses it aside. One of the freshmen picks it up and runs off. Another freshman frantically runs out, pushing a cart of balls behind Yukimura.
Everyone focuses on the other end of the courts. At Niou's end, the cicadas and locusts remember their buzzing. The crows remember to flutter and caw in the trees and the sun bakes the ground, making the dew from this morning start to steam.
"You wanted to play with me, Niou-kun?"
Yagyuu.
Niou touches his mole. Habit, he can't help it-even the best of people can't avoid their subconscious twitches. Blood rushes to his face, rushes in his ears. Niou has a hard time hearing whatever else-if anything-Yagyuu might be saying. Niou looks at Yagyuu's mouth. It moves. Words don't reach Niou's ears.
It's hard to breathe as the thoughts, fantasies, memories come back. Yagyuu's lips shouldn't be talking, they should be on Niou's mouth. His tongue shrivels up. His mouth parts. He licks his licks, feeling the cracked, uneven surface, begging to be kissed. Niou can't even look at Yagyuu straight in the eye right now and the racket in his hand is becoming lighter and lighter….
It clacks on the clay ground.
The sound breaks the moment.
Niou's eyes snap wide open.
The noise is infinitely loud. Time slows to forever. Niou can feel every part of his body freeze, and then kick back into gear, refusing this desire that sinks his stomach and makes him desperately want to slink into the clubhouse and hide in his locker. It shouldn't matter, but he feels stupid and uncool and retarded like Sanada always is because Yagyuu is the only person who can do this to Niou.
"Here," Yagyuu says. He holds Niou's racket out with his left hand. Niou grabs it as fast as he can.
"Do you want to serve?" Yagyuu asks. "I've been working on my serve with Kirihara-kun and Jackal-kun…"
It's not tennis I want, megane idiot, Niou thinks. He takes a deep breath and nods. "Whatever," he mutters. He stuffs his hand in his pocket and hunches his shoulders up. His face doesn't feel nearly as hot as he focuses on his breathing, numbering his exhales. One…two…three…
Niou grabs the nearest ball rolling around the ground by the net. He pockets it, walks five feet over with a little jump at the end, and grabs a second ball. Yagyuu stands by the net post. His brow furrows and he pushes his glasses up his nose.
New move you're going to try on me, partner?
The smile that comes to Niou's lips is bitter.
He's got nothing new for Yagyuu. The Zone attempts haven't worked. What bits he's seen of Shitenhoji's Shiraishi's video haven't been that exciting and Niou doesn't particularly feel very ecstatic at the moment.
"Niou-kun," Yagyuu says. His voice drags a bit, almost a whining request. Niou tightens his lips. "Would you come and help me get a basket of balls from the shed?"
Niou raises his head. He slings his racket over his shoulder and rolls his eyes. Are you blind, Yagyuu? A freshman runs behind him, nearly bumping Niou's elbow in a dash to get some out of bounds lob that Marui shot.
"Have the freshmen get some!" Niou snaps. He narrows his eyes. How dumb can Yagyuu get? Yagyuu isn't getting short with him, but damned if Niou's going to go do the work of a kouhai whose job it is to get them balls. Waste of their practice time, if you ask him.
The heat seems to be thicker than ever. Niou's temple throbs behind his skull. He rubs his neck, but it does nothing to stop the low, pulsing ache that starts. His brain starts to liquefy and melt, slithering down his back with the constant sweat.
Yagyuu isn't bothered by this. He seems to be in no hurry to play. He seems to show no expression, no emotion whatsoever to reflect the fact that he's been ignoring Niou for the better part of the week. Inside, Niou knows he's not helping, but he doesn't know what to do, either.
Wasn't Yagyuu supposed to be the gamemaker on this other court?
Niou's throat feels thick and closed up and so dry it's sticking to itself. Horking mucus makes his sinuses tickle. Niou coughs on the wad and ends up spitting it out.
"Please come help me," Yagyuu says.
Thereis something underlying his words: sharp, staccato pauses between his syllables that add just enough edge to his voice for Niou to pick up.
Niou grunts. "Fine," he mutters. "Megane loser."
The blank mask Yagyuu's got plastered on his face hardens. So you can hear after all…Niou thinks. Yagyuu's gait becomes tighter, his shoulders tenser. They walk behind the clubhouse and Niou can see Yagyuu balling his fist, too, like he's gonna smack Niou.
The shed is at the back of the clubhouse. The door is swung wide open from the freshmen constantly coming in and out for ball baskets and new equipment for practice. The view of the courts is blocked and the grunts and groans and yells are muffled here. It's quiet enough that Niou can hear Yagyuu's sneakers grinding into the pavement floor inside.
Niou breaks the silence. He sniffs. "You gonna hit me?" he asks. He looks inside the shed, egging Yagyuu on with a sneer and his chin raised, ready for Yagyuu to snap.
Yagyuu whips his head around. His lip is curled too. His eyes are glowing and huge behind his glasses. His nostrils flare as he breathes. He's too in-control right now. Niou's stomach twists with anticipation. Each beat that passes, his insides twist tighter and tighter.
And then Yagyuu narrows his eyes. Flashpoint. Niou's reacting before Yagyuu shoves him against the tin wall. It bangs and echoes, metallic ringing in his ears as Yagyuu grabs one of Niou's hands and squeezes his wrist hard. Niou hisses.
It's the first time in days that Yagyuu has touched him.
"Don't tempt me," Yagyuu says. His breath is hot and damp on Niou's face. The tension rises in Niou, but not with the recoil fear of a hand slapped across his face. Instead, it's tightening his belly, deep down, in his balls and dick, straining them as he hardens under Yagyuu's hard glare.
Niou's mouth opens. He doesn't mean for it to, it just does. He's breathing heavy and blinking. Yagyuu blocks the light from the doorway. The shed stinks like stale sweat and rubbery balls. Yagyuu's grip hurts enough for Niou's eyes to sting, but he won't give in to that.
His body is already giving into Yagyuu's presence. His legs shift, part, open to Yagyuu's knee. His dick throbs in his shorts, harder and harder until it hurts to stand here, so close and yet the inches between them still a barrier…
"Yagyuu…" Niou says. His eyes widen even more when he realizes he's spoken. Yagyuu's name was a breathy pant, desperate and wanting. Yagyuu…please…
Yagyuu's pupils start to swim. The pointed focus they had is lost as Yagyuu swallows. Niou closes his eyes. He leans his head back into the wall. His legs widen more, creaking the wall as his weight settles against it.
Then, there is a leg between his.
Niou whimpers.
Then, there is something breathing across his lips.
Niou moans.
Yagyuu's nose bumps his. Yagyuu's lips are light and feathery, barely brushing Niou's mouth, over and over. He teases. Niou groans. Yagyuu's grip loosens on his wrist. Niou doesn't care anymore. His body arches up into Yagyuu's and he pushes his mouth closer, refusing these half-kisses.
Niou touches Yagyuu's hip. He curls his fingers into Yagyuu's t-shirt hem.
Don't say you don't want this anymore…
Yagyuu's hands are on his face. Yagyuu's tongue slides into Niou's mouth. Yagyuu's kissing him hard, so hard that Niou forgets to breathe as their teeth clack and noses smash and that hurts too, but it doesn't matter because Yagyuu keeps kissing him, harder and harder, over and over and Niou can't keep up and he doesn't want to keep up and he just leans back and lets Yagyuu suck his lips and drag his teeth over them and between them and take and take until Niou's knees give out entirely.
It takes Niou a little while to catch his breath. His mouth prickles, over-used and abused by Yagyuu, but the numb sensation makes Niou's insides melt and hotter than ever. Yagyuu licks his lips, then he kneels down beside Niou. He avoids Niou's gaze-not that Niou has enough brain power to look back at Yagyuu right now-and Yagyuu sits down beside him. Yagyuu places his hand on Niou's thigh, right at the hem of his shorts. His fingers crawl underneath, making tiny circles on the bare skin.
Niou clenches his jaw. "Don't," he says. His dick jumps. His balls tighten. Niou shakes his head and squeezes his eyes closed. It won't happen again. He grinds his teeth to keep himself in check. His body shakes with effort and sweat beads at his hairline.
Yagyuu takes his hand away. "Okay," he says. Yagyuu tilts his head to the side. Niou's mind is dizzy. It spins around. He's going to kiss me again…
Niou leans forward first. Yagyuu kisses him one last, hard, deep time, then he stands up and brushes his shorts off.
"Let's play a good game," he says.
There aren't any more baskets of balls in the shed anyway.
***
Niou tells himself it doesn't matter who wins. And that it's too hot to care.
A good game for Yagyuu isn't a gentlemanly, 'well-played sport!'-type game. No, a good game for Yagyuu is a game he wins. Even just barely.
They don't need to shake hands at the net. Niou wipes his sweaty palm on his shorts. Grime cakes under his fingernails. He starts to walk toward the water fountain when Yagyuu calls his name. He's standing at the net with his hand stretched out. Yagyuu is being polite.
Niou snorts. Of course Yagyuu is being polite. His laser was sharper than any of Niou's volleys. Yagyuu's serves were better, stronger-he's been working hard with Yanagi and Jackal to improve his style. All Niou's done is dick around with some videos and lose to Sanada.
Niou keeps walking.
"Your footwork looked very good!" Yagyuu shouts.
It doesn't matter, either. Niou still lost.
Okay, so they took it to a tie-break. And okay, so Yagyuu had the service play so the chances of him winning were that much higher.
Still.
Niou runs the faucet. Cold water pours out, splashing over the edge. He dunks his face underneath it. The temperature shock makes him gasp. Water gets up his nose and he sputters and coughs as he wipes his face with a damp sweat towel.
His mouth still tingles. His body still hums from Yagyuu's kisses, Yagyuu's hand on the back of his neck and the sides of his face. That's the real reason Niou lost. He's off balance, just enough to lose his focus on the game. It's his own fault; he can't be Kirihara and switch off parts of himself. There is no tennis Niou separated from other Niou right now. There is just Niou, who bleeds the same colour into all the parts of his life.
And somehow Yagyuu infects every part of Niou's life. Real life. Tennis life. Everything revolves around Yagyuu.
They wait at the bus stop together. A slight weight has been lifted from their shoulders with the weekend encroaching, so close that Niou can almost taste the lie-ins and breakfasts at noon.
"I'll see you Monday," Yukimura told them. Only Sanada looked vaguely disappointed that they had the weekend free from training. Now, Sanada and Yukimura stand close enough to Niou and Yagyuu at the bus stop that Niou can eavesdrop on Sanada's mumbling and Yukimura's soft words.
"Will you be here tomorrow?"
"Mn."
"Let's practice."
"You just want to beat me."
"…no! Yukimura-"
"If we play at the courts near your place, we can have a picnic after."
Barf, Niou thinks.
"The grass isn't as good…"
"I looked up the info on the Tokyo courts. Same turf."
"Oh."
"Ne, Sanada?"
"Hn?"
"What are you doing tonight? I have to go home so my mom can fix my yukata for the festival next week, but after supper we can…"
Niou stops listening right about when he wants to start gagging. That, and Yagyuu says, "Ah, there's the bus!"
They get on it. Yukimura and Sanada are left waiting together in the hot, steaming sun for the bus to Sanada's place, way out in the boonies. Niou follows Yagyuu to the seat at the back of the bus. They spread their bags out over the extra space, taking up the full length.
"Doubles tomorrow?" Niou asks.
If Sanada and Yukimura can have a gross tennis date, then Niou sure as hell can play doubles with Yagyuu, too. There are dozens of courts nearby and dozens of kids willing to play against them, even more if Yagyuu brings a couple wigs and dorky polo shirts to dress up with and play dumb.
Or, there's that cosplay convention near the local shrine. Niou strokes his mole and smiles to himself.
Yagyuu touches the side of his glasses. In the raking light peaking in from the sides of the window blinds, Niou can see tiny dust specks covering Yagyuu's lenses. Yagyuu's eyes shift away from him.
"Ah, Niou-kun, I'm sorry, I can't play tomorrow."
Niou's stomach flip-flops. The mayonnaise from the noodle salad at lunch starts to churn. His face flushes cold, then hot.
"I'm going to the ABC Open with my father this weekend," Yagyuu says. "You'll have to play with someone else."
Niou's insides wither up into a cold mess. He wishes he could say something a little better than, "Yeah, whatever," but his mouth doesn't work. He turns to the window and stares blankly at the blinds. Indeterminate buildings pass by on the other side, dulled and blurred by the window shade. His pupils start to sting, dried out from a hard stare.
"Niou-kun," Yagyuu says. "We can play Monday-"
"Whatever," Niou says. He presses the button and the bus lurches to a stop. It's probably close enough to his neighbourhood. Niou grabs his tennisbag and shoves past Yagyuu. He bumps into Yagyuu's knee. Niou's throat is too tight to breath and he swallows. His saliva forms a hard lump in his chest.
"Niou-kun!"
"See ya," Niou mutters.
Talking with Yagyuu is about the last thing Niou wants to do right now.