FIC: Glory Days, Yukimura/Sanada, NC17 (4/7)
Title: Glory Days (4/7)
Author: Ociwen
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: Konomi owns all.
Summary: Sanada aims for the Nationals. And more...Yukimura/Sanada.
Instead, Yukimura yawns and traipses into the bathroom, arms full of pajamas. The light shines under the door for a moment, before he emerges and crawls back onto the bed. Kirihara stirs beside him, and curls back up between the headboard, Renji and Yukimura. Everything smells of oranges and of the sea air, filtering in through the open balcony doorway.
Renji’s brow furrows as he looks at Yukimura, then at Sanada, and back to his cards. Yukimura folds his cards after three more rounds and says, “I’m tired.”
Renji nods. Sanada jerks Kirihara awake, none too gentle, by pushing him off the bed. Yukimura and Renji say goodnight to each other. Kirihara rubs his eyes, glaring at Sanada, but smiling sweetly for Yukimura.
Yukimura closes the door behind them with a click. He leans against the door and sighs heavily.
Sanada looks up. “Yukimura?”
“It’s late, Sanada,” Yukimura says, yawning again.
“Aa,” Sanada says. He unzips his overnight bag and pulls his own pajamas out, hiding the disappointment etched over him as best he can with a quick nod and a quick trick to the bathroom to piss. He leans against the bathroom sink, clenching his fist and silently cursing Kirihara for ruining what might have been tonight. Yukimura is tired and wants to sleep. He does too, but his body is alive, he’s hard again, but he puts his pajamas on and brushes his teeth regardless.
The room is dark when Sanada emerges. He cannot see anything and he trips over something sprawled across the floor, which he thinks may or may not have been leftover snacks from Marui because his feet crunch for several steps more. He feels the end of Yukimura’s bed with his knee, then finds the other one, closer to the balcony.
The air conditioning hums softly. The bedsheets rustle as he crawls into them. They are cool and crisp and the hem of his pajama pants ride up. He lies back against his pillow and stares blankly at the ceiling, watching as the dim light permeates in from the curtains on his right side.
“Sanada?” Yukimura whispers in the darkness.
Sanada turns onto his side. Eyes shine out at him, the only thing he can see.
“Why are you sleeping over there?” Yukimura murmurs.
Sanada stiffens. His body runs through with fever, then a chill and every drop of blood in his body slithers down between his legs and makes the ache worse, makes him even harder. He doesn’t answer because his mouth has gone dry and the words lodge in his throat. Yukimura’s sheets rustle as he flings them back and pats the edge of his bed.
Sanada’s legs shake as he steps over. Yukimura’s mattress sags as he crawls in beside Yukimura, shaking all over when Yukimura puts the sheets back over the both of them and props himself up on his side, on his elbow.
“I- I thought you were tired,” Sanada manages. “I thought-”
He nearly moans when Yukimura presses a finger to his lips. The touch electrifies his body. He is as stiff as a mountain when Yukimura whispers, “Not for this, Genichirou,” and leans down to kiss him.
If Sanada feels like a mountain, stiff and heavy and frozen in place and time, then Yukimura is water flowing over his, his lips water, wet and warm, his hands moving down Sanada’s sides, breaking him away with fleeting touches to his ribs, his hips, the tops of his thighs.
The only part of his body that works is his mouth. He kisses Yukimura back, desperate and sloppy as hands skitter under his pajama shirt. He gasps against Yukimura’s lips when fingertips touch his skin, when a knee wedges between his, when Yukimura’s one hand curls around his wrist and pins it above his head. Sanada moans, and those lips leave his. He moans again, and those lips kiss a hot, slow line across his jaw.
He’d always half-imagined that he would be the one in control, that he would be the one crawling above Yukimura, the way Yukimura crawls over his body now. He’s taller, he’s older, he’s heavier, but all Yukimura needs to do is kiss him, touch him, and Sanada surrenders. He won’t serve back; he’ll forfeit the entire game for those smooth lips on his neck, those teeth biting his collar bone, moving lower and lower, heedless of his gasps. Sanada fists his hands in Yukimura’s hair. It runs like water through his fingers, soft and dark and in the darkness of midnight; it could be the ink from his dreams, it could be anything.
“How- how do you know what to do?” he manages when Yukimura starts to tug at his pajama shirt. Sanada lifts his arms and Yukimura pulls it free from him, running his hands over Sanada’s chest, dragging his nails softly down Sanada’s belly.
“Doesn’t this feel good?” Yukimura whispers. He kisses Sanada’s cheek. He licks a path over Sanada’s face, over to his ear, then swirls his tongue in the shell. Sanada shivers at the strange, wet feeling, murmuring “yes” when Yukimura pulls his earlobe between his teeth and tugs. Electric pleasure burns between his legs. Sanada digs his heels into the mattress, his hips jutting up against Yukimura’s thigh.
“Then it doesn’t matter,” Yukimura says. “Don’t think, Genichirou…” They kiss again, harder, deeper, their noses mashing and their tongues sliding together, fighting for control. Sanada doesn’t know what he wants, but his hands want to snake across Yukimura’s back, under his pajama shirt, to feel the warm, smooth skin that he’d spread lotion over hours before.
His fingers shake when he unbuttons Yukimura’s shirt. He can’t see anything except shining eyes and a shining mouth, lips wet with saliva. Yukimura laughs when Sanada throws it across the room, and their arms slide over each other’s backs once more.
Sanada doesn’t think this kissing, these touches, hands on shoulders, lips on necks, his mouth on Yukimura’s belly, could get any better until Yukimura wiggles against him, straddles his hip and pushes forward. He chokes on the feeling, something hard pressing his thigh, his own erection pinned tight to his body under Yukimura’s weight. His body feels numb and alive and on fire. He groans Yukimura’s name and fights to keep in control, to not let go, but it feels so damn good that his hips start to thrust blindly and he grabs Yukimura’s waist, pulling him down.
Yukimura leans down to kiss him, pushing back. Sanada throws his head back. “Yu- Seiichi, I-” He whimpers and thrusts again, desperate for heavy friction, desperate to sate the ache between his legs, desperate to come.
He can feel the ache start to build towards the breaking point and his legs tremble when Yukimura suddenly climbs off him. Sanada hears sheets rustle and pajamas rustle and then Yukimura whispers, “Take off your pants, Genichirou, and let me touch you.”
He’s so close that his hands don’t work and when the waistband catches his cock, he groans again. Yukimura reaches over and helps and he kicks the pajama pants off his legs to the end of the bed. A leg slings over his. He turns onto his side and they press against each other, skin to skin, completely naked, but clothed by the night.
This is new, but the rhythm is age-old and familiar when Yukimura rocks against him, digging his fingers into Sanada’s lower back, pressing their erections together. Sanada rubs and rubs and throws his head back, until Yukimura pulls his face close for sloppy, slow, heavy kisses in time with the thrust and jut of their bodies. Yukimura’s heels press into Sanada’s thighs. “I’m so close,” he moans.
Sanada grunts, unable to answer, not with the build of pleasure in his belly, not with his cock so hard, so aching, their bodies squishing together, sweaty and slick and moving and hot. He inhales sharply, his legs tensing and his balls tightening just before he groans and shudders and comes against Yukimura’s belly, grasping tight as the shivers run through his body.
Yukimura’s eyes fly open and he gasps, too, as the shaking subsides in Sanada, and then he feels something warm and wet against his stomach and Yukimura’s fingernails jab into his body as he comes, whispering “Genichirou,” so low and so breathy that Sanada’s cock twitches again, barely finished and wanting more already.
They lie next to each other after. Yukimura slides against Sanada’s back, pressing their bodies together like tinned sardines, their legs twining and their fingers lacing, too. He props his chin on Sanada’s shoulder. His breath tickles Sanada’s ear.
“How did you know what to do?” Sanada mumbles. He doesn’t want to ask, but at the same time he’s desperate to know, and jealous, too, because he wants this to be only between them.
“I just do what I think you’ll like,” Yukimura says quietly. “Did you like that, Genichirou?”
Sanada hums, a smile tugging his lips. “Yes,” he admits. How could I not?
Yukimura sighs heavily and says nothing. They lie quiet until Sanada thinks he hears Yukimura’s breathing slow and steady, ghosting over his face. He lies awake in the darkness, smiling to himself, warm under the sheets beside a boy he’s wanted this way for a long, long while.
And then there is a strange, loud thump! that shakes a painting on the wall. And then a second and Yukimura stirs, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.
“What was that?” he slurs.
Sanada sits up, too, and waits for the noise again, but nothing comes. “That’s…from Yagyuu and Niou’s room,” he says. “I don’t know.”
“Oh, no matter.” Yukimura flops back down onto the pillows. He holds his arms up and reaches for Sanada. “Come to sleep,” he says.
Sanada has never disobeyed Yukimura, in tennis or otherwise.
***
It is downright cold when Sanada wakes. His arm is uncomfortable and his other shoulder prickles, chilly and sticking out of the sheets. He burrows deeper, digging his toes into something warm, something that moves and rolls onto his arm.
Sanada opens an eye, staring blearily at dark hair fanned across his pillow, but from a head that rests partway on his neck, breathing warm and wet across his naked skin.
Yukimura.
He tells himself this is not a dream. Fleeting memories of the night previous flash through his mind. How Yukimura’s lips felt, how Yukimura slid his tongue inside Sanada’s mouth, how Yukimura’s hands roamed over his chest, how their legs twisted and how they rubbed together so sweetly- the thought alone makes Sanada hard again. Except there is a leg thrown over his, strangely heavy for someone who still looks so thin.
Yukimura sighs and Sanada shivers at the breathing that flutters over his skin. He moves his leg, shifting against Sanada, moving against his cock. Sanada bites his lip, but cannot suppress his rising moan.
“Good morning,” Yukimura murmurs. He peels his cheek off Sanada’s chest and presses a kiss to his jaw, then his lips. Sanada kisses back, slow and a little hesitant, until Yukimura’s tongue slides along his upper lip, seeking entrance. He tastes stale, and sweaty, and wonderful.
“Your hair is everywhere,” Yukimura says when he pulls back, patting down flyaways on Sanada’s head. “You should shower.” He extricates his limbs from the tangle with Sanada’s arms and legs and chest and neck and Sanada realizes just how sweaty and warm and sticky and grimy parts of his body feel, and yet as gross as it is, he doesn’t mind so much. The scent of sunscreen from yesterday, and oranges, and Marui’s shrimp crackers still lingers. Sanada rolls onto his side and sits on the edge of the mattress, feeling something crunch under his thigh.
He picks a cracker out from under himself. Yukimura laughs.
“You can shower first,” he offers. It’s not big enough for two is what he doesn’t say. Yukimura shrugs and wanders across the hotel room, stretching up, long and lean with his arms above his head. Sanada’s eyes follow the line of his body, of his muscles, stretched across his back and shoulders, and his ass, too. He blushes and feels a new wave of heat trickle down through his body, pooling between his legs. His cock twitches. He shifts, uncomfortable, but unable and unwilling to look away.
Yukimura stops and stills and glances over his shoulder. He cocks an eyebrow at Sanada. “Are you watching me, Genichirou?” he asks.
Sanada looks down at his feet. “No,” he lies.
Yukimura snorts. He pads back to Sanada’s side of the bed and stands in front of him, completely naked and unashamed. In the light of morning, Sanada can see strange red marks and little bruises across Yukimura’s chest and neck that he doesn’t recognize or remember and the realization that he made them makes him flush with pride and possession, but a little embarrassment too.
Hands on his hips, Yukimura stands there, sighing at Sanada for a long moment before he wanders into the bathroom. The sound of the shower running fills the hotel room. Sanada flops back onto the bed, closing his eyes for an instant, reliving the night with a smile on his face.
He showers in turn, loathe to shut himself away from Yukimura, whose body drips with warm water, pink and clean and just enticing for Sanada to trail his hands down Yukimura’s belly, maybe his lips, too.
He thought- he had hoped- before the trip that here they might be able to fool around a bit. But ever since Yanagi gave him the website address and the little bottle, Sanada has a new definition of fooling around.
Last night was just a taste. He wants more. He wants to do those things he read about, those things he cringed at, those things that he wondered about. He towels off his hair and the back of his neck prickles. Yukimura watches him, too, with a slight smile, a knowing smirk curved across those lips.
“Do you have any plans tonight, Sanada?” Yukimura asks. He holds his hands out for Sanada’s towel, tossing it across the room when Sanada gives it to him.
Sanada walks backwards into the edge of the bed. “No,” he says, swallowing thickly.
“Because I was hoping we could do something,” Yukimura steps closer. He’s wearing nothing but pants and when he steps closer still, their chests brush, both damp from recent showers. Yukimura curls a finger around a strand of Sanada’s hair, curling it. He licks his bottom lip.
Sanada watches that pink tongue slide across his lips, across white teeth, barely peeking out. He breathes. His heart pounds. The towel slips down from his hips when Yukimura tugs gently. Fingers flutter over his belly.
“Yanagi said the hotel has tennis courts out back. Do you want to play a game tonight?” he murmurs hotly in Sanada’s ear. Yukimura runs his tongue along the edge, teasing Sanada to the point of moaning.
“Come on, lazy ass,” Yukimura says, pushing Sanada to the bed and walking off to his suitcase. “Get dressed so we can go down for breakfast before Marui polishes off the entire buffet.”
Sanada has known Yukimura to be cruel in tennis, maybe cruel in the classroom, too smart and too aware of that, but he didn’t think Yukimura would be this cruel and make Sanada want him that much more.
***
Another day spent on the beach. Another question, “Can you put this on my back, Sanada?” Another set of longing glances out of the corner of his eye, under the shade of the brim of his cap when Yanagi isn’t looking, when Yukimura walks into the water, striding as though it is a tennis court of blue ocean, not green clay.
Kirihara pesters them, plucking Sanada’s cap from his head, throwing it around with Niou like a beach ball, talking with Yukimura, jabbing Sanada in the side, wrestling candies from Marui, threatening to bite him, but never following through.
Yanagi hands him a gameboy from his bag. “Here, Akaya,” he says. “Have you ever played this game?”
Kirihara studies the gameboy and shuts up. His fingers move, his eyes move, all his concentration now on one asinine handheld game.
Sanada lies back on the sand and sighs. Renji sighs, too, pleased with himself.
They eat fried udon and meat buns for lunch at one of the little stands lining the beach. Grey clouds start to roll in from the south and the sun skitters behind them, sporadically peeking out for a moment or two, before disappearing again. The day is hot and muggy. Sanada can feel the approaching rain. He can smell the vapours in the air, too, along with the rush of heady salt that permeates everything.
Yukimura doesn’t suggest they leave when Marui drags Jackal and Yagyuu off for a second lunch at the hotel buffet. Instead, he says, “Let’s stay here.” Yukimura pulls his t-shirt back off and stretches. He lies back on his towel under the umbrella, arms pillowing his head. “I want to soak it all in,” he says.
“Finished!” Kirihara shouts. “Fucking finally killed that character,” he says. He shoves the gameboy in Renji’s face. “See, Yanagi-senpai? His blood is everywhere once I shot that motherfuck-”
“Akaya,” Sanada warns.
Kirihara shoots Sanada a look and rolls his eyes. “Sorry, Sanada-fukubuchou,” he says. The grin on his face takes away any hint of regret.
The picks up and the waves on the sea start to swell, white-capped and swirling, furious slate colour as the sky continues to darken. Renji sets his book aside when the pages flap too much. Kirihara kicks at the sand and throws rocks at the seagulls trying to nest on the piers. Sanada pulls his own t-shirt off again and lets the wind hit his skin, refreshing from the stagnant heat of before. He leans against his knees and stares out at the ocean, waiting and watching for the rain to come, waiting for Yukimura to decide to go back to the hotel.
Neither he nor Renji seem interested to leave Yukimura. Niou, who had been off somewhere- Sanada doesn’t want to know- returns and sits with them under the umbrella, which sways and tilts overhead. The beaches empty. Towels and picnic baskets and sand buckets are packed away and people leave in droves.
Sanada doesn’t mind the quiet that descends, just before the rain.
Until Kirihara huddles under the umbrella too. He shoves Sanada to the edge of the towel and burrows himself beside Niou, who has burrowed himself beside Yukimura. Sanada scowls and brushes the sand off from his arm.
Kirihara sits, dangerously quiet and still for a moment. Sanada glances at Renji, who shrugs.
“Buchou, what’s wrong?” he asks, pointing to Yukimura’s chest. “Have you had a relapse-”
“Akaya?” Yukimura asks. He glances down at his chest, blinking and scratching his head. Renji wiggles and covers his mouth with his hand. Niou’s eyes narrow.
Sanada starts to panic. He can feel the blood drain, cold and slithering, from his face.
“What are all the bruises from?” Kirihara asks. He points them out. “You have them all over and-”
“Yes, what are all the bruises from, buchou?” Niou echoes. He cocks his head towards Sanada. There is no sunlight to explain the glint in his eyes.
Sanada stiffens and sputters. Yukimura stares at his chest and his stomach, smiling slightly. “It’s nothing to worry about,” he says finally. When he looks up at Niou, he says, “You should have that bruise on your neck checked out, Niou. It’s worse than mine.”
Niou’s hair ruffles. It is his turn to sputter and turn pink in the face.
Fat drops of rain start to fall around them, staining the pale sand. They hit the umbrella and slide down the sides, falling onto Sanada’s arm. He inches closer to Yukimura. Five of them fit poorly under one small beach umbrella. Yukimura sighs at last when the rain picks up.
“Let’s go back,” he says. “I’m getting cold.”
They run back to the hotel, slipping and sliding through the damp sand. Sanada wears his cap. Renji uses his book to shield his eyes, but Yukimura lets the rain run through his hair, all over his face and arms and legs.
“Buchou, are you sure you’re all right?” Kirihara presses as they wait for the elevator inside.
Yukimura nods. “It’s nothing to worry about, Akaya,” he repeats. He grabs Kirihara in a headlock and pulls him onto the elevator, messing up his hair and making the brat squawk and flail his arms. He hits Sanada in the arm and knocks the umbrella onto the elevator floor.
It is just the two of them in the hotel room when they peel off their damp t-shirts and swimming trunks. Sanada purposely slows himself to stare at Yukimura undress, his legs long and lean and still pale. Yukimura stops in the middle of putting a leg into his boxershorts. He looks over his shoulder. “Sanada?” he murmurs as he steps into his shorts. “Were you watching me?”
Sanada coughs. His face burns. He can’t deny the erection between his legs, which Yukimura notices with a cocked eyebrow.
“You’d better change,” he tells Sanada. “Damp swimming shorts might give you crotch rot and then who would play me on the hotel courts tonight?”
He grabs a pair of underpants and shorts and pulls them on, throwing the swimming trunks into the shower stall. Yukimura doesn’t seem interested in fooling around right now, much to Sanada’s dismay, when he finds Yukimura on the balcony again.
“You’ll get wet out here,” Sanada tells him, “and catch a cold and then who would play me on the hotel courts tonight?” He attempts to smile, but Yukimura rolling his eyes and punching him in the arm makes his attempted joke feel pathetic and foolish
“I’m sure Kirihara would love a game,’ Yukimura says. He sighs heavily and leans on the balcony ledge. His body is warm as Sanada stands beside him, close enough that their bare arms brush. The hair on Sanada’s body stands up all over as a shiver runs through him. Yukimura leans against him, radiating heat, radiating peace and happiness with his smile, one that reaches his dark eyes.
“Besides,” he says, still staring out at the boiling waves, “you could play nurse if I caught a cold, Genichirou. You’d like that, ne?”
Sanada chokes. “Y- Yukimura!”
Yukimura grabs Sanada’s arm and pulls it across his shoulders as he presses his body back to Sanada. “We have a couple hours before dinner,” he murmurs. “You ought to be resourceful, Sanada.” Yukimura steps out from Sanada’s arms, now slack at his sides, and walks across the threshold to the room. “Play a game with me now. It’s your serve,” he says. Yukimura holds out a hand and smiles when Sanada takes it.
The sliding glass door on the balcony remains open when they lie down on the bed, mouths meeting and noses brushing. Yukimura sighs into their kiss, his mouth open and eager for Sanada’s tongue. He leans his head back and tugs on the back of Sanada’s neck with one hand, his other on Sanada’s spine, pulling them closer. His leg shifts and Sanada finds himself rolling on top of Yukimura, rather than beside.
Yukimura was so thin after the hospital, and is still so thin, his knees bony and jabbing Sanada’s legs. He breaks the kiss, and looks down. “Am I hurting-”
“Oh, shut up, Genichirou. I’m not going to break” Yukimura grumbles, grabbing Sanada and threading his hands through Sanada’s hair, throwing his cap away and kissing him, harder and longer and deeper. Sanada nearly chokes as Yukimura’s tongue slides over his, as Yukimura arches his body up, as Yukimura presses their hips together and rubs. He can feel Yukimura’s erection and this scares him, too. The lights are on. It is not midnight. He can see every moment Yukimura makes when he cracks an eye open. Sheets don’t hide. Darkness doesn’t hide.
They are both fully awake.
The back of Sanada’s calves are cold from the wind rippling through the curtains to either side of the balcony door. He holds Yukimura tighter, seeking his warm as Yukimura’s hands seek the waistband of his shorts, fingertips cold and shocking when they brush over his belly, over his chest, over his collar.
Sanada has never been a prude, but when Yukimura pulls his t-shirt off, then makes quick work trying to tug Sanada’s shorts off, Sanada freezes. Their chests brush, naked skin on naked skin. The feeling electrifies. There is lightning flashing outside, crackling thunder over the sea. He gasps and jerks back when Yukimura’s hand dips under the waistband of his underpants, threading down, down and curling around his cock.
He gasps again, Yukimura’s name on his tongue.
“Take them off, Sanada,” Yukimura insists. He licks the hollow of Sanada’s ear and squeezes. Sanada chokes. His hips buck forward and his head dips low, forehead pressed against Yukimura’s chest, sweaty and hot, shivering with the cold air, everything mixed up in shivers of hot and cold and heady muggy air and ghosting touches, as cold as death and sloppy wet kisses. Sanada pulls his shorts off, then his underpants with Yukimura’s help. They sprawl across the bed, completely naked and wrapped around each other when Yukimura removes the last of his clothing, too.
Yukimura kisses a hot trail of kisses down Sanada’s chest and swirls his tongue around his navel. Sanada hisses, digging his feet into the sheets and pulling at Yukimura’s hair, then pulling Yukimura’s fingers from pinching his nipples, violent shocks running through his veins.
“My brother used to pinch them when we beat each other up,” Sanada groans. “It-”
Yukimura licks them. First, the right, then the left. He stares up at Sanada with half-hooded eyes. “I’ll give you new memories for them,” he says, pressing his mouth to Sanada’s once more.
Whatever shame Yukimura had before, he lost it during his stay at the hospital, all those foreign hands and fingers touching him during checkups and operations. He touches Sanada everywhere, dragging lingering fingers, leaving imprints, pressing hard on Sanada’s hips to keep him still. When lips close around his cock, and an experimental first tongue flicks across the head, the sides, that sweet spot underneath, Sanada loses every coherent though and jerks backwards, smashing his head against the wall.
Yukimura pulls back, flinching. “Genichirou?” he asks, his voice rough. “Are you all right?” His fingertips circle along the inside of his thigh and Sanada’s leg twitches. He nods, although his head pounds, because he wants that amazing feeling of Yukimura’s mouth, the tight suction, he wants it back.
He digs his fingers into Yukimura’s damp hair, and groans, shuddering as he comes. Yukimura stiffens, but Sanada can’t stop his body from moving, from thrusting forward into that mouth, his own mouth open and noises emerging as he finishes.
After, Yukimura crawls up his body and kisses him. He tastes bitter and strange and kisses hard and rough, holding Sanada down by sitting on him. He’s hard, still, while Sanada’s body is slack with orgasm, tired and sated all at once. He doesn’t say it with words, but with his hands, that glide Sanada’s down between his legs. Your turn, Genichirou.
Yukimura’s skin tastes faintly of sunscreen and sweat and the nitrous film that clings to everything during a thunderstorm. The lightning has stopped flashing outside, but the rain pours harder, muffling the sounds of Yukimura’s moans and little whimpers. Masking the sounds Sanada makes as he tests this out, this fooling around thing, with the curl of his tongue over Yukimura’s cock, with his fingers touching his balls, lower and lower until Yukimura pushes them back up and moans, “Not down there.” He takes Yukimura in his mouth, but all those fantasies are nothing like the real thing when Yukimura pushes too far, too fast and Sanada gags, but he can’t do anything, because hands hold him in place and hips thrust and then there is something warm and bitter and very, very strange on his tongue.
But it is worth it to see the flush on Yukimura’s face after, the way he curls himself against Sanada, completely boneless, and sighs. This feeling, of lying on the damp sheets as the rain pounds down on the ocean outside, of lying with the person he probably loves but can’t quite admit that feeling, this feeling of intimacy, new and a little scary, it’s better than tennis.
A buzzing noise from the floor and Sanada recognizes the ring of his cellphone. He fishes through his discarded shorts and answers it. “There’s a Yakiniku restaurant close by the hotel,” Yanagi says. “Niou and Jackal want to try it out. Can you be ready in a half an hour?”
Yukimura stares at Sanada, blinking slowly and rubbing his eyes, half-awake from the light doze they’d shared.
“Yes,” Sanada says, and hangs up.
“I haven’t been to a good Yakiniku buffet in a long time,” Yukimura says as he dresses. Sanada’s chest tightens with each new item of clothing Yukimura puts on, hiding himself beneath the layers, hiding the little bruises and lovebites and marks from his fingers. But then, he doesn’t want Kirihara asking any more questions than he already has.
Yanagi and Yagyuu were the only two of the team smart enough to bring umbrellas, one of them being the beach umbrella, so they huddle under them, barely covered, and sprint to the restaurant as Yanagi tells the direction of the place.
It’s warm and dry inside and smells delicious. Sanada’s stomach growls. Marui’s eyes go as wide as saucers before he disappears into the buffet line. Yanagi turns to Jackal and says, “I’ll wait for the drinks” and Jackal rushes off nearly as fast as Marui, but in the direction of the meat.
“You seem relaxed, Sanada,” Renji says.
Sanada’s face feels hot. He can taste residual bitterness on his tongue- Yukimura. His lips feel swollen and his throat hoarse, the longer Renji studies him, a small smile forming on his face.
“The website was helpful?” Renji asks. The waiter has their drinks- five pontas and three teas, four waters and a virgin cocktail for Niou- his attempt for alcohol failed.
Sanada coughs. His chopsticks are suddenly fascinating to watch. “Aa, yes,” he mutters.
“That’s good,” Renji says. Kirihara is the first back at the table, a plate heaped with meat, steaming and dark and delicious. He plunks himself down in the seat beside Renji.
“Aren’t you going to eat, Yanagi-senpai?” he asks. His brow scrunches when Renji’s amused expression doesn’t change. Kirihara stabs a piece of beef and holds it out. “Want some? Or do you want one of my shrimps instead?”
“Sanada and I were just talking,” Renji says. He stands up and walks off to the buffet. Sanada follows behind him, adjusting the brim of his cap as best he can to hide any blush staining his cheeks.
Maybe it is on purpose that Yukimura sits at the other end of the table from Sanada, between Yagyuu and Jackal. Sanada keeps staring there: eating a piece of BBQed beef one moment as his eyes lift to the other end of the table, catching the sound of Yukimura’s laugh through all the other voices, through the clink of plates, of glasses, of chairs scraping on the floor as Marui and Kirihara go back for more servings.
Yanagi notices, but then he always has noticed everything. A sharp elbow to Sanada’s side causes him to turn to Renji and Kirihara, scowling and saying “What now?”
“I asked if you wanted to come to the arcade in the hotel with us after,” Kirihara says. “Jeez, you never listen, Sanada-fukubuchou.”
Niou’s pale eyes follow him all evening, too. In the meat line Niou smiles, cat-like, and says, “Have you been enjoying your vacation, Sanada?”
Sanada bristles.
Yagyuu walks up behind them and raises an eyebrow. As Sanada returns to the table, he can see Niou whispering to Yagyuu out of the corner of his eye, then Yagyuu staring straight at him, his lips twitching.
Does everyone know? he thinks. Does everyone suspect something?
“You look a little green,” Yanagi says as Sanada stares at his plate for a long while. “Indigestion?”
“I know what would fix it,” Niou says, glancing slyly towards Yukimura.
It would be so much easier if Sanada was at home for this, even with his brother. He could kick him in the shin, or punch his arm, or do something. If he tried anything like that here, Yukimura would be furious. And any chances for tennis, or more fooling around, would be dashed.
Sanada never, ever though he would be grateful for the brat, but he sighs with relief when Kirihara starts to jabber loudly about the arcade in the hotel, filled with this laser game and that new version of Dance Dance Revolution, and everything that could possibly satisfy him for hours. Niou perks up and says he’ll go with Kirihara to play, and drag Yagyuu along, too, then he leans over Yagyuu to grab a napkin.
Across the table, Yukimura leans back and pats his stomach. “I’m so full,” he mouths to Sanada.
Sanada eats the last of his fried dumplings. His own insides swell uncomfortably and he’s glad he hasn’t worn his jeans. Marui has an endless pit and goes back for more, moving slower and slower with each return trip until he finally rolls off his seat, moaning in pain on the floor.
They wait for the bill. Yukimura says, “Give me your cap, Sanada” out of nowhere. Sanada frowns, but takes it off and hands it to Jackal, who hands it to Yukimura, who twirls it around on his finger, smiling lazily. Sanada tries to act casual, but he wants to fix his hat hair and desperately wants his cap back because Niou is smirking again at him.
Then a ball of white whooshes across the table and lands in his lap. Niou smirks. Sanada uncrumples it on his lap and reads the words written in bad teriyaki characters:
Sanada! I lurrrrve you! Should I duel the captain for your heart?
xoxxooxox
from Niou
His eye twitches. He shoves the napkin in his water glass and watches the characters dissolve with the ice. His palms are sweaty. His stomach aches from too much food- normally he’d show more restraint, but there are times when he remembers he is fifteen. Buffets with his teammates are one occasion.
Yukimura keeps his hat the entire walk back to the hotel. Niou waggles his eyebrows. Sanada wants to crawl under the manhole covers on the street and slither away someplace dark where his blush won’t be seen by anyone. The streetlamps they pass under show everything.
In the hotel, Yukimura smiles as the team breaks up. “I’m tired,” he says, yawning. “Good night.”
“I’ll go with you,” Sanada says.
Niou grins. Yanagi’s mouth twitches. Kirihara shouts in the arcade, “Come on, senpai-tachi!” and grabs their arms.
“Get your tennis bag,” Yukimura says in the elevator.
“I thought you were tired…?” Sanada replies weakly. “You should sleep if you-”
“Genichirou,” Yukimura says firmly, and then no more. Sanada will do exactly as he says with that tone and Yukimura knows it full well.
Author: Ociwen
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: Konomi owns all.
Summary: Sanada aims for the Nationals. And more...Yukimura/Sanada.
Instead, Yukimura yawns and traipses into the bathroom, arms full of pajamas. The light shines under the door for a moment, before he emerges and crawls back onto the bed. Kirihara stirs beside him, and curls back up between the headboard, Renji and Yukimura. Everything smells of oranges and of the sea air, filtering in through the open balcony doorway.
Renji’s brow furrows as he looks at Yukimura, then at Sanada, and back to his cards. Yukimura folds his cards after three more rounds and says, “I’m tired.”
Renji nods. Sanada jerks Kirihara awake, none too gentle, by pushing him off the bed. Yukimura and Renji say goodnight to each other. Kirihara rubs his eyes, glaring at Sanada, but smiling sweetly for Yukimura.
Yukimura closes the door behind them with a click. He leans against the door and sighs heavily.
Sanada looks up. “Yukimura?”
“It’s late, Sanada,” Yukimura says, yawning again.
“Aa,” Sanada says. He unzips his overnight bag and pulls his own pajamas out, hiding the disappointment etched over him as best he can with a quick nod and a quick trick to the bathroom to piss. He leans against the bathroom sink, clenching his fist and silently cursing Kirihara for ruining what might have been tonight. Yukimura is tired and wants to sleep. He does too, but his body is alive, he’s hard again, but he puts his pajamas on and brushes his teeth regardless.
The room is dark when Sanada emerges. He cannot see anything and he trips over something sprawled across the floor, which he thinks may or may not have been leftover snacks from Marui because his feet crunch for several steps more. He feels the end of Yukimura’s bed with his knee, then finds the other one, closer to the balcony.
The air conditioning hums softly. The bedsheets rustle as he crawls into them. They are cool and crisp and the hem of his pajama pants ride up. He lies back against his pillow and stares blankly at the ceiling, watching as the dim light permeates in from the curtains on his right side.
“Sanada?” Yukimura whispers in the darkness.
Sanada turns onto his side. Eyes shine out at him, the only thing he can see.
“Why are you sleeping over there?” Yukimura murmurs.
Sanada stiffens. His body runs through with fever, then a chill and every drop of blood in his body slithers down between his legs and makes the ache worse, makes him even harder. He doesn’t answer because his mouth has gone dry and the words lodge in his throat. Yukimura’s sheets rustle as he flings them back and pats the edge of his bed.
Sanada’s legs shake as he steps over. Yukimura’s mattress sags as he crawls in beside Yukimura, shaking all over when Yukimura puts the sheets back over the both of them and props himself up on his side, on his elbow.
“I- I thought you were tired,” Sanada manages. “I thought-”
He nearly moans when Yukimura presses a finger to his lips. The touch electrifies his body. He is as stiff as a mountain when Yukimura whispers, “Not for this, Genichirou,” and leans down to kiss him.
If Sanada feels like a mountain, stiff and heavy and frozen in place and time, then Yukimura is water flowing over his, his lips water, wet and warm, his hands moving down Sanada’s sides, breaking him away with fleeting touches to his ribs, his hips, the tops of his thighs.
The only part of his body that works is his mouth. He kisses Yukimura back, desperate and sloppy as hands skitter under his pajama shirt. He gasps against Yukimura’s lips when fingertips touch his skin, when a knee wedges between his, when Yukimura’s one hand curls around his wrist and pins it above his head. Sanada moans, and those lips leave his. He moans again, and those lips kiss a hot, slow line across his jaw.
He’d always half-imagined that he would be the one in control, that he would be the one crawling above Yukimura, the way Yukimura crawls over his body now. He’s taller, he’s older, he’s heavier, but all Yukimura needs to do is kiss him, touch him, and Sanada surrenders. He won’t serve back; he’ll forfeit the entire game for those smooth lips on his neck, those teeth biting his collar bone, moving lower and lower, heedless of his gasps. Sanada fists his hands in Yukimura’s hair. It runs like water through his fingers, soft and dark and in the darkness of midnight; it could be the ink from his dreams, it could be anything.
“How- how do you know what to do?” he manages when Yukimura starts to tug at his pajama shirt. Sanada lifts his arms and Yukimura pulls it free from him, running his hands over Sanada’s chest, dragging his nails softly down Sanada’s belly.
“Doesn’t this feel good?” Yukimura whispers. He kisses Sanada’s cheek. He licks a path over Sanada’s face, over to his ear, then swirls his tongue in the shell. Sanada shivers at the strange, wet feeling, murmuring “yes” when Yukimura pulls his earlobe between his teeth and tugs. Electric pleasure burns between his legs. Sanada digs his heels into the mattress, his hips jutting up against Yukimura’s thigh.
“Then it doesn’t matter,” Yukimura says. “Don’t think, Genichirou…” They kiss again, harder, deeper, their noses mashing and their tongues sliding together, fighting for control. Sanada doesn’t know what he wants, but his hands want to snake across Yukimura’s back, under his pajama shirt, to feel the warm, smooth skin that he’d spread lotion over hours before.
His fingers shake when he unbuttons Yukimura’s shirt. He can’t see anything except shining eyes and a shining mouth, lips wet with saliva. Yukimura laughs when Sanada throws it across the room, and their arms slide over each other’s backs once more.
Sanada doesn’t think this kissing, these touches, hands on shoulders, lips on necks, his mouth on Yukimura’s belly, could get any better until Yukimura wiggles against him, straddles his hip and pushes forward. He chokes on the feeling, something hard pressing his thigh, his own erection pinned tight to his body under Yukimura’s weight. His body feels numb and alive and on fire. He groans Yukimura’s name and fights to keep in control, to not let go, but it feels so damn good that his hips start to thrust blindly and he grabs Yukimura’s waist, pulling him down.
Yukimura leans down to kiss him, pushing back. Sanada throws his head back. “Yu- Seiichi, I-” He whimpers and thrusts again, desperate for heavy friction, desperate to sate the ache between his legs, desperate to come.
He can feel the ache start to build towards the breaking point and his legs tremble when Yukimura suddenly climbs off him. Sanada hears sheets rustle and pajamas rustle and then Yukimura whispers, “Take off your pants, Genichirou, and let me touch you.”
He’s so close that his hands don’t work and when the waistband catches his cock, he groans again. Yukimura reaches over and helps and he kicks the pajama pants off his legs to the end of the bed. A leg slings over his. He turns onto his side and they press against each other, skin to skin, completely naked, but clothed by the night.
This is new, but the rhythm is age-old and familiar when Yukimura rocks against him, digging his fingers into Sanada’s lower back, pressing their erections together. Sanada rubs and rubs and throws his head back, until Yukimura pulls his face close for sloppy, slow, heavy kisses in time with the thrust and jut of their bodies. Yukimura’s heels press into Sanada’s thighs. “I’m so close,” he moans.
Sanada grunts, unable to answer, not with the build of pleasure in his belly, not with his cock so hard, so aching, their bodies squishing together, sweaty and slick and moving and hot. He inhales sharply, his legs tensing and his balls tightening just before he groans and shudders and comes against Yukimura’s belly, grasping tight as the shivers run through his body.
Yukimura’s eyes fly open and he gasps, too, as the shaking subsides in Sanada, and then he feels something warm and wet against his stomach and Yukimura’s fingernails jab into his body as he comes, whispering “Genichirou,” so low and so breathy that Sanada’s cock twitches again, barely finished and wanting more already.
They lie next to each other after. Yukimura slides against Sanada’s back, pressing their bodies together like tinned sardines, their legs twining and their fingers lacing, too. He props his chin on Sanada’s shoulder. His breath tickles Sanada’s ear.
“How did you know what to do?” Sanada mumbles. He doesn’t want to ask, but at the same time he’s desperate to know, and jealous, too, because he wants this to be only between them.
“I just do what I think you’ll like,” Yukimura says quietly. “Did you like that, Genichirou?”
Sanada hums, a smile tugging his lips. “Yes,” he admits. How could I not?
Yukimura sighs heavily and says nothing. They lie quiet until Sanada thinks he hears Yukimura’s breathing slow and steady, ghosting over his face. He lies awake in the darkness, smiling to himself, warm under the sheets beside a boy he’s wanted this way for a long, long while.
And then there is a strange, loud thump! that shakes a painting on the wall. And then a second and Yukimura stirs, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.
“What was that?” he slurs.
Sanada sits up, too, and waits for the noise again, but nothing comes. “That’s…from Yagyuu and Niou’s room,” he says. “I don’t know.”
“Oh, no matter.” Yukimura flops back down onto the pillows. He holds his arms up and reaches for Sanada. “Come to sleep,” he says.
Sanada has never disobeyed Yukimura, in tennis or otherwise.
***
It is downright cold when Sanada wakes. His arm is uncomfortable and his other shoulder prickles, chilly and sticking out of the sheets. He burrows deeper, digging his toes into something warm, something that moves and rolls onto his arm.
Sanada opens an eye, staring blearily at dark hair fanned across his pillow, but from a head that rests partway on his neck, breathing warm and wet across his naked skin.
Yukimura.
He tells himself this is not a dream. Fleeting memories of the night previous flash through his mind. How Yukimura’s lips felt, how Yukimura slid his tongue inside Sanada’s mouth, how Yukimura’s hands roamed over his chest, how their legs twisted and how they rubbed together so sweetly- the thought alone makes Sanada hard again. Except there is a leg thrown over his, strangely heavy for someone who still looks so thin.
Yukimura sighs and Sanada shivers at the breathing that flutters over his skin. He moves his leg, shifting against Sanada, moving against his cock. Sanada bites his lip, but cannot suppress his rising moan.
“Good morning,” Yukimura murmurs. He peels his cheek off Sanada’s chest and presses a kiss to his jaw, then his lips. Sanada kisses back, slow and a little hesitant, until Yukimura’s tongue slides along his upper lip, seeking entrance. He tastes stale, and sweaty, and wonderful.
“Your hair is everywhere,” Yukimura says when he pulls back, patting down flyaways on Sanada’s head. “You should shower.” He extricates his limbs from the tangle with Sanada’s arms and legs and chest and neck and Sanada realizes just how sweaty and warm and sticky and grimy parts of his body feel, and yet as gross as it is, he doesn’t mind so much. The scent of sunscreen from yesterday, and oranges, and Marui’s shrimp crackers still lingers. Sanada rolls onto his side and sits on the edge of the mattress, feeling something crunch under his thigh.
He picks a cracker out from under himself. Yukimura laughs.
“You can shower first,” he offers. It’s not big enough for two is what he doesn’t say. Yukimura shrugs and wanders across the hotel room, stretching up, long and lean with his arms above his head. Sanada’s eyes follow the line of his body, of his muscles, stretched across his back and shoulders, and his ass, too. He blushes and feels a new wave of heat trickle down through his body, pooling between his legs. His cock twitches. He shifts, uncomfortable, but unable and unwilling to look away.
Yukimura stops and stills and glances over his shoulder. He cocks an eyebrow at Sanada. “Are you watching me, Genichirou?” he asks.
Sanada looks down at his feet. “No,” he lies.
Yukimura snorts. He pads back to Sanada’s side of the bed and stands in front of him, completely naked and unashamed. In the light of morning, Sanada can see strange red marks and little bruises across Yukimura’s chest and neck that he doesn’t recognize or remember and the realization that he made them makes him flush with pride and possession, but a little embarrassment too.
Hands on his hips, Yukimura stands there, sighing at Sanada for a long moment before he wanders into the bathroom. The sound of the shower running fills the hotel room. Sanada flops back onto the bed, closing his eyes for an instant, reliving the night with a smile on his face.
He showers in turn, loathe to shut himself away from Yukimura, whose body drips with warm water, pink and clean and just enticing for Sanada to trail his hands down Yukimura’s belly, maybe his lips, too.
He thought- he had hoped- before the trip that here they might be able to fool around a bit. But ever since Yanagi gave him the website address and the little bottle, Sanada has a new definition of fooling around.
Last night was just a taste. He wants more. He wants to do those things he read about, those things he cringed at, those things that he wondered about. He towels off his hair and the back of his neck prickles. Yukimura watches him, too, with a slight smile, a knowing smirk curved across those lips.
“Do you have any plans tonight, Sanada?” Yukimura asks. He holds his hands out for Sanada’s towel, tossing it across the room when Sanada gives it to him.
Sanada walks backwards into the edge of the bed. “No,” he says, swallowing thickly.
“Because I was hoping we could do something,” Yukimura steps closer. He’s wearing nothing but pants and when he steps closer still, their chests brush, both damp from recent showers. Yukimura curls a finger around a strand of Sanada’s hair, curling it. He licks his bottom lip.
Sanada watches that pink tongue slide across his lips, across white teeth, barely peeking out. He breathes. His heart pounds. The towel slips down from his hips when Yukimura tugs gently. Fingers flutter over his belly.
“Yanagi said the hotel has tennis courts out back. Do you want to play a game tonight?” he murmurs hotly in Sanada’s ear. Yukimura runs his tongue along the edge, teasing Sanada to the point of moaning.
“Come on, lazy ass,” Yukimura says, pushing Sanada to the bed and walking off to his suitcase. “Get dressed so we can go down for breakfast before Marui polishes off the entire buffet.”
Sanada has known Yukimura to be cruel in tennis, maybe cruel in the classroom, too smart and too aware of that, but he didn’t think Yukimura would be this cruel and make Sanada want him that much more.
***
Another day spent on the beach. Another question, “Can you put this on my back, Sanada?” Another set of longing glances out of the corner of his eye, under the shade of the brim of his cap when Yanagi isn’t looking, when Yukimura walks into the water, striding as though it is a tennis court of blue ocean, not green clay.
Kirihara pesters them, plucking Sanada’s cap from his head, throwing it around with Niou like a beach ball, talking with Yukimura, jabbing Sanada in the side, wrestling candies from Marui, threatening to bite him, but never following through.
Yanagi hands him a gameboy from his bag. “Here, Akaya,” he says. “Have you ever played this game?”
Kirihara studies the gameboy and shuts up. His fingers move, his eyes move, all his concentration now on one asinine handheld game.
Sanada lies back on the sand and sighs. Renji sighs, too, pleased with himself.
They eat fried udon and meat buns for lunch at one of the little stands lining the beach. Grey clouds start to roll in from the south and the sun skitters behind them, sporadically peeking out for a moment or two, before disappearing again. The day is hot and muggy. Sanada can feel the approaching rain. He can smell the vapours in the air, too, along with the rush of heady salt that permeates everything.
Yukimura doesn’t suggest they leave when Marui drags Jackal and Yagyuu off for a second lunch at the hotel buffet. Instead, he says, “Let’s stay here.” Yukimura pulls his t-shirt back off and stretches. He lies back on his towel under the umbrella, arms pillowing his head. “I want to soak it all in,” he says.
“Finished!” Kirihara shouts. “Fucking finally killed that character,” he says. He shoves the gameboy in Renji’s face. “See, Yanagi-senpai? His blood is everywhere once I shot that motherfuck-”
“Akaya,” Sanada warns.
Kirihara shoots Sanada a look and rolls his eyes. “Sorry, Sanada-fukubuchou,” he says. The grin on his face takes away any hint of regret.
The picks up and the waves on the sea start to swell, white-capped and swirling, furious slate colour as the sky continues to darken. Renji sets his book aside when the pages flap too much. Kirihara kicks at the sand and throws rocks at the seagulls trying to nest on the piers. Sanada pulls his own t-shirt off again and lets the wind hit his skin, refreshing from the stagnant heat of before. He leans against his knees and stares out at the ocean, waiting and watching for the rain to come, waiting for Yukimura to decide to go back to the hotel.
Neither he nor Renji seem interested to leave Yukimura. Niou, who had been off somewhere- Sanada doesn’t want to know- returns and sits with them under the umbrella, which sways and tilts overhead. The beaches empty. Towels and picnic baskets and sand buckets are packed away and people leave in droves.
Sanada doesn’t mind the quiet that descends, just before the rain.
Until Kirihara huddles under the umbrella too. He shoves Sanada to the edge of the towel and burrows himself beside Niou, who has burrowed himself beside Yukimura. Sanada scowls and brushes the sand off from his arm.
Kirihara sits, dangerously quiet and still for a moment. Sanada glances at Renji, who shrugs.
“Buchou, what’s wrong?” he asks, pointing to Yukimura’s chest. “Have you had a relapse-”
“Akaya?” Yukimura asks. He glances down at his chest, blinking and scratching his head. Renji wiggles and covers his mouth with his hand. Niou’s eyes narrow.
Sanada starts to panic. He can feel the blood drain, cold and slithering, from his face.
“What are all the bruises from?” Kirihara asks. He points them out. “You have them all over and-”
“Yes, what are all the bruises from, buchou?” Niou echoes. He cocks his head towards Sanada. There is no sunlight to explain the glint in his eyes.
Sanada stiffens and sputters. Yukimura stares at his chest and his stomach, smiling slightly. “It’s nothing to worry about,” he says finally. When he looks up at Niou, he says, “You should have that bruise on your neck checked out, Niou. It’s worse than mine.”
Niou’s hair ruffles. It is his turn to sputter and turn pink in the face.
Fat drops of rain start to fall around them, staining the pale sand. They hit the umbrella and slide down the sides, falling onto Sanada’s arm. He inches closer to Yukimura. Five of them fit poorly under one small beach umbrella. Yukimura sighs at last when the rain picks up.
“Let’s go back,” he says. “I’m getting cold.”
They run back to the hotel, slipping and sliding through the damp sand. Sanada wears his cap. Renji uses his book to shield his eyes, but Yukimura lets the rain run through his hair, all over his face and arms and legs.
“Buchou, are you sure you’re all right?” Kirihara presses as they wait for the elevator inside.
Yukimura nods. “It’s nothing to worry about, Akaya,” he repeats. He grabs Kirihara in a headlock and pulls him onto the elevator, messing up his hair and making the brat squawk and flail his arms. He hits Sanada in the arm and knocks the umbrella onto the elevator floor.
It is just the two of them in the hotel room when they peel off their damp t-shirts and swimming trunks. Sanada purposely slows himself to stare at Yukimura undress, his legs long and lean and still pale. Yukimura stops in the middle of putting a leg into his boxershorts. He looks over his shoulder. “Sanada?” he murmurs as he steps into his shorts. “Were you watching me?”
Sanada coughs. His face burns. He can’t deny the erection between his legs, which Yukimura notices with a cocked eyebrow.
“You’d better change,” he tells Sanada. “Damp swimming shorts might give you crotch rot and then who would play me on the hotel courts tonight?”
He grabs a pair of underpants and shorts and pulls them on, throwing the swimming trunks into the shower stall. Yukimura doesn’t seem interested in fooling around right now, much to Sanada’s dismay, when he finds Yukimura on the balcony again.
“You’ll get wet out here,” Sanada tells him, “and catch a cold and then who would play me on the hotel courts tonight?” He attempts to smile, but Yukimura rolling his eyes and punching him in the arm makes his attempted joke feel pathetic and foolish
“I’m sure Kirihara would love a game,’ Yukimura says. He sighs heavily and leans on the balcony ledge. His body is warm as Sanada stands beside him, close enough that their bare arms brush. The hair on Sanada’s body stands up all over as a shiver runs through him. Yukimura leans against him, radiating heat, radiating peace and happiness with his smile, one that reaches his dark eyes.
“Besides,” he says, still staring out at the boiling waves, “you could play nurse if I caught a cold, Genichirou. You’d like that, ne?”
Sanada chokes. “Y- Yukimura!”
Yukimura grabs Sanada’s arm and pulls it across his shoulders as he presses his body back to Sanada. “We have a couple hours before dinner,” he murmurs. “You ought to be resourceful, Sanada.” Yukimura steps out from Sanada’s arms, now slack at his sides, and walks across the threshold to the room. “Play a game with me now. It’s your serve,” he says. Yukimura holds out a hand and smiles when Sanada takes it.
The sliding glass door on the balcony remains open when they lie down on the bed, mouths meeting and noses brushing. Yukimura sighs into their kiss, his mouth open and eager for Sanada’s tongue. He leans his head back and tugs on the back of Sanada’s neck with one hand, his other on Sanada’s spine, pulling them closer. His leg shifts and Sanada finds himself rolling on top of Yukimura, rather than beside.
Yukimura was so thin after the hospital, and is still so thin, his knees bony and jabbing Sanada’s legs. He breaks the kiss, and looks down. “Am I hurting-”
“Oh, shut up, Genichirou. I’m not going to break” Yukimura grumbles, grabbing Sanada and threading his hands through Sanada’s hair, throwing his cap away and kissing him, harder and longer and deeper. Sanada nearly chokes as Yukimura’s tongue slides over his, as Yukimura arches his body up, as Yukimura presses their hips together and rubs. He can feel Yukimura’s erection and this scares him, too. The lights are on. It is not midnight. He can see every moment Yukimura makes when he cracks an eye open. Sheets don’t hide. Darkness doesn’t hide.
They are both fully awake.
The back of Sanada’s calves are cold from the wind rippling through the curtains to either side of the balcony door. He holds Yukimura tighter, seeking his warm as Yukimura’s hands seek the waistband of his shorts, fingertips cold and shocking when they brush over his belly, over his chest, over his collar.
Sanada has never been a prude, but when Yukimura pulls his t-shirt off, then makes quick work trying to tug Sanada’s shorts off, Sanada freezes. Their chests brush, naked skin on naked skin. The feeling electrifies. There is lightning flashing outside, crackling thunder over the sea. He gasps and jerks back when Yukimura’s hand dips under the waistband of his underpants, threading down, down and curling around his cock.
He gasps again, Yukimura’s name on his tongue.
“Take them off, Sanada,” Yukimura insists. He licks the hollow of Sanada’s ear and squeezes. Sanada chokes. His hips buck forward and his head dips low, forehead pressed against Yukimura’s chest, sweaty and hot, shivering with the cold air, everything mixed up in shivers of hot and cold and heady muggy air and ghosting touches, as cold as death and sloppy wet kisses. Sanada pulls his shorts off, then his underpants with Yukimura’s help. They sprawl across the bed, completely naked and wrapped around each other when Yukimura removes the last of his clothing, too.
Yukimura kisses a hot trail of kisses down Sanada’s chest and swirls his tongue around his navel. Sanada hisses, digging his feet into the sheets and pulling at Yukimura’s hair, then pulling Yukimura’s fingers from pinching his nipples, violent shocks running through his veins.
“My brother used to pinch them when we beat each other up,” Sanada groans. “It-”
Yukimura licks them. First, the right, then the left. He stares up at Sanada with half-hooded eyes. “I’ll give you new memories for them,” he says, pressing his mouth to Sanada’s once more.
Whatever shame Yukimura had before, he lost it during his stay at the hospital, all those foreign hands and fingers touching him during checkups and operations. He touches Sanada everywhere, dragging lingering fingers, leaving imprints, pressing hard on Sanada’s hips to keep him still. When lips close around his cock, and an experimental first tongue flicks across the head, the sides, that sweet spot underneath, Sanada loses every coherent though and jerks backwards, smashing his head against the wall.
Yukimura pulls back, flinching. “Genichirou?” he asks, his voice rough. “Are you all right?” His fingertips circle along the inside of his thigh and Sanada’s leg twitches. He nods, although his head pounds, because he wants that amazing feeling of Yukimura’s mouth, the tight suction, he wants it back.
He digs his fingers into Yukimura’s damp hair, and groans, shuddering as he comes. Yukimura stiffens, but Sanada can’t stop his body from moving, from thrusting forward into that mouth, his own mouth open and noises emerging as he finishes.
After, Yukimura crawls up his body and kisses him. He tastes bitter and strange and kisses hard and rough, holding Sanada down by sitting on him. He’s hard, still, while Sanada’s body is slack with orgasm, tired and sated all at once. He doesn’t say it with words, but with his hands, that glide Sanada’s down between his legs. Your turn, Genichirou.
Yukimura’s skin tastes faintly of sunscreen and sweat and the nitrous film that clings to everything during a thunderstorm. The lightning has stopped flashing outside, but the rain pours harder, muffling the sounds of Yukimura’s moans and little whimpers. Masking the sounds Sanada makes as he tests this out, this fooling around thing, with the curl of his tongue over Yukimura’s cock, with his fingers touching his balls, lower and lower until Yukimura pushes them back up and moans, “Not down there.” He takes Yukimura in his mouth, but all those fantasies are nothing like the real thing when Yukimura pushes too far, too fast and Sanada gags, but he can’t do anything, because hands hold him in place and hips thrust and then there is something warm and bitter and very, very strange on his tongue.
But it is worth it to see the flush on Yukimura’s face after, the way he curls himself against Sanada, completely boneless, and sighs. This feeling, of lying on the damp sheets as the rain pounds down on the ocean outside, of lying with the person he probably loves but can’t quite admit that feeling, this feeling of intimacy, new and a little scary, it’s better than tennis.
A buzzing noise from the floor and Sanada recognizes the ring of his cellphone. He fishes through his discarded shorts and answers it. “There’s a Yakiniku restaurant close by the hotel,” Yanagi says. “Niou and Jackal want to try it out. Can you be ready in a half an hour?”
Yukimura stares at Sanada, blinking slowly and rubbing his eyes, half-awake from the light doze they’d shared.
“Yes,” Sanada says, and hangs up.
“I haven’t been to a good Yakiniku buffet in a long time,” Yukimura says as he dresses. Sanada’s chest tightens with each new item of clothing Yukimura puts on, hiding himself beneath the layers, hiding the little bruises and lovebites and marks from his fingers. But then, he doesn’t want Kirihara asking any more questions than he already has.
Yanagi and Yagyuu were the only two of the team smart enough to bring umbrellas, one of them being the beach umbrella, so they huddle under them, barely covered, and sprint to the restaurant as Yanagi tells the direction of the place.
It’s warm and dry inside and smells delicious. Sanada’s stomach growls. Marui’s eyes go as wide as saucers before he disappears into the buffet line. Yanagi turns to Jackal and says, “I’ll wait for the drinks” and Jackal rushes off nearly as fast as Marui, but in the direction of the meat.
“You seem relaxed, Sanada,” Renji says.
Sanada’s face feels hot. He can taste residual bitterness on his tongue- Yukimura. His lips feel swollen and his throat hoarse, the longer Renji studies him, a small smile forming on his face.
“The website was helpful?” Renji asks. The waiter has their drinks- five pontas and three teas, four waters and a virgin cocktail for Niou- his attempt for alcohol failed.
Sanada coughs. His chopsticks are suddenly fascinating to watch. “Aa, yes,” he mutters.
“That’s good,” Renji says. Kirihara is the first back at the table, a plate heaped with meat, steaming and dark and delicious. He plunks himself down in the seat beside Renji.
“Aren’t you going to eat, Yanagi-senpai?” he asks. His brow scrunches when Renji’s amused expression doesn’t change. Kirihara stabs a piece of beef and holds it out. “Want some? Or do you want one of my shrimps instead?”
“Sanada and I were just talking,” Renji says. He stands up and walks off to the buffet. Sanada follows behind him, adjusting the brim of his cap as best he can to hide any blush staining his cheeks.
Maybe it is on purpose that Yukimura sits at the other end of the table from Sanada, between Yagyuu and Jackal. Sanada keeps staring there: eating a piece of BBQed beef one moment as his eyes lift to the other end of the table, catching the sound of Yukimura’s laugh through all the other voices, through the clink of plates, of glasses, of chairs scraping on the floor as Marui and Kirihara go back for more servings.
Yanagi notices, but then he always has noticed everything. A sharp elbow to Sanada’s side causes him to turn to Renji and Kirihara, scowling and saying “What now?”
“I asked if you wanted to come to the arcade in the hotel with us after,” Kirihara says. “Jeez, you never listen, Sanada-fukubuchou.”
Niou’s pale eyes follow him all evening, too. In the meat line Niou smiles, cat-like, and says, “Have you been enjoying your vacation, Sanada?”
Sanada bristles.
Yagyuu walks up behind them and raises an eyebrow. As Sanada returns to the table, he can see Niou whispering to Yagyuu out of the corner of his eye, then Yagyuu staring straight at him, his lips twitching.
Does everyone know? he thinks. Does everyone suspect something?
“You look a little green,” Yanagi says as Sanada stares at his plate for a long while. “Indigestion?”
“I know what would fix it,” Niou says, glancing slyly towards Yukimura.
It would be so much easier if Sanada was at home for this, even with his brother. He could kick him in the shin, or punch his arm, or do something. If he tried anything like that here, Yukimura would be furious. And any chances for tennis, or more fooling around, would be dashed.
Sanada never, ever though he would be grateful for the brat, but he sighs with relief when Kirihara starts to jabber loudly about the arcade in the hotel, filled with this laser game and that new version of Dance Dance Revolution, and everything that could possibly satisfy him for hours. Niou perks up and says he’ll go with Kirihara to play, and drag Yagyuu along, too, then he leans over Yagyuu to grab a napkin.
Across the table, Yukimura leans back and pats his stomach. “I’m so full,” he mouths to Sanada.
Sanada eats the last of his fried dumplings. His own insides swell uncomfortably and he’s glad he hasn’t worn his jeans. Marui has an endless pit and goes back for more, moving slower and slower with each return trip until he finally rolls off his seat, moaning in pain on the floor.
They wait for the bill. Yukimura says, “Give me your cap, Sanada” out of nowhere. Sanada frowns, but takes it off and hands it to Jackal, who hands it to Yukimura, who twirls it around on his finger, smiling lazily. Sanada tries to act casual, but he wants to fix his hat hair and desperately wants his cap back because Niou is smirking again at him.
Then a ball of white whooshes across the table and lands in his lap. Niou smirks. Sanada uncrumples it on his lap and reads the words written in bad teriyaki characters:
Sanada! I lurrrrve you! Should I duel the captain for your heart?
xoxxooxox
from Niou
His eye twitches. He shoves the napkin in his water glass and watches the characters dissolve with the ice. His palms are sweaty. His stomach aches from too much food- normally he’d show more restraint, but there are times when he remembers he is fifteen. Buffets with his teammates are one occasion.
Yukimura keeps his hat the entire walk back to the hotel. Niou waggles his eyebrows. Sanada wants to crawl under the manhole covers on the street and slither away someplace dark where his blush won’t be seen by anyone. The streetlamps they pass under show everything.
In the hotel, Yukimura smiles as the team breaks up. “I’m tired,” he says, yawning. “Good night.”
“I’ll go with you,” Sanada says.
Niou grins. Yanagi’s mouth twitches. Kirihara shouts in the arcade, “Come on, senpai-tachi!” and grabs their arms.
“Get your tennis bag,” Yukimura says in the elevator.
“I thought you were tired…?” Sanada replies weakly. “You should sleep if you-”
“Genichirou,” Yukimura says firmly, and then no more. Sanada will do exactly as he says with that tone and Yukimura knows it full well.