FIC: Rewind Forward (D1) 53/63

[reposte]

Title: Rewind Forward (53/63)
Author: Ociwen
Rating: NC17 (eventual)
Disclaimer: Konomi owns all.
Summary: Niou, meet Yagyuu.
Author's Notes: Spoilers for everything.



The tennis team isn't the only club holding practices at school on Monday. On the basketball court near the parking lot there are some guys running around topless, their chests already glistening with sweat as they dribble balls and shoot. Niou ducks past them, keeping his head low to the ground. He hates basketball-he hates the team aspect of it, the huge, hard balls that could smash into his nose, the memories of mildew-ed pinnies in PE for far too many years…

The baseball team is out too. Niou walks by their game, pausing at the chainlink fence to watch. They're not bad, but they're nothing special either. The pitcher sucks. In the time it takes Niou to walk past their bench stacked with metal bats and Gatorade containers, the pitcher throws three walk balls. Niou sniffs. Pathetic.

And then, the pitcher has a fit on the mound, bursting into tears and sniffling. The coach-a woman, it looks like the junior level literature teacher-has to come out and give him a pep talk complete with a pat on the back and a Kleenex.

Beyond pathetic, Niou thinks.

The kendo club is in the gymnasium. The door is flung open and the sounds of their slapping feet and grunting drifts out into the muggy summer air. Sanada would fit right in with them, all muscles and white outfits, bare feet and discipline. Instead, he chose tennis.

Just like Niou.

The sprinklers must have been on last night or this morning because the grass is wet when Niou walks across to the tennis courts. His sneakers get damp at the toe; water seeps into his socks and making his toes squishy and uncomfortable. He's already in his uniform-most people are, from what he can tell when he walks down the steps to the main courts, past the chain link fence and the dripping willow trees where girls from the Go club have set themselves up. Even the Golf club, in the distance across the green lawn, are out practicing in their khakis and polos.

Yagyuu stands at the side line of one of the courts. He turns around to Niou and nods. "Good morning," he says as Niou dumps his bag and slithers down the barrier to sit on the clay ground.

"Yo," Niou says.

Yanagi stands with Yagyuu, otherwise Niou might shift closer. There are clusters of team members around the courts, some snickering, some pointing. Niou's eyes follow their motions and settle on a single figure standing by the net post. His back is turned, but he's wearing a purple hoodie with a red eagle on the back and side. It looks expensive. It looks flamingly ridiculous.

The look on Sanada's face says it all. Sanada smirks. Sanada throws his head back and laughs, deep and hearty and happy. He unzips his racket as some of the freshmen start to cheer "Emperor! Emperor! Emperor!". The wind whip ups around Sanada in a cosmic gust of power and drama as he steps onto the court.

"Atobe," Niou says.

Yagyuu says, "He showed up ten minutes ago to challenge Sanada-kun."

Before Niou can ask, their Data Master adds, "Yukimura will be late. His doctor's appointment was this morning, not this afternoon as he'd thought."

"He's not gonna be happy about this…" Niou says. Sanada spins his racket. Atobe says "Rough!" in a loud, light voice. He flips his hood back from his head and sniffs at Sanada.

The racket lands on smooth. Sanada's side.

"He won't," Yanagi agrees. "But that won't stop Genichirou at the moment."

"Atobe's gonna be pummeled," Niou says.

"He's weak," Yagyuu says.

"It was 6-1 during their unofficial match at the Senbatsu last autumn," Yanagi says.

Niou snorts. He rubs his mole and plants his feet down, heels flat to the ground. He takes a deep breath and looks up as Sanada bounces the ball, ready to serve. Atobe stands near his baseline, bent low at his knees. His head and chin are up high-he's trying to be at Sanada's level. His hand is too tight on his racket. Even from here Niou can see his white knuckles.

"There's nothing like the fresh smell of blood in the morning," he says.

Yagyuu's laugh settles warm in Niou's belly. The game starts and it's beautiful. Sanada and Atobe's rivalry goes back, Niou knows, way way back. Probably to when they were chibis in elementary school. Complete opposites in person and play style: Atobe is showy and arrogant but Sanada is intense and concentrated, battling out his shots with the elements. His smash invades Atobe's court, spilling up dust and the burning stink of rubber. Atobe groans through his teeth to return it with a two-handed backhand shot, but his grip is off. The racket surges backward and the ball flies up. Point for Sanada.

All alone, Atobe doesn't have the flash he usually does. All alone, without his cheering masses, there's no one to care when Atobe snaps his fingers and starts his serve.

"Tannhauser," Yanagi says.

Niou watches the ball. No bounce, just a straight, even line of yellow across the net, not unlike Yagyuu's laser. He raises an eyebrow, but it's nothing for Sanada. He laughs at Atobe. "Is that all you have?" he shouts. He's immoveable like a mountain, but his feet practically dance across the court. Now that Yukimura is back all the trials of this past year have been forgotten.

Sanada is having fun. He barely swings and the ball shoots off, arcing up at the slightest angle away from Atobe, who runs and sweats and seethes into his return. Jack Knife, fail, because Sanada is there, at the net, moving from the baseline forward like a shadow. He casts no shadow, nothing but the glint of sun on his grin.

"No matter how many times," he says, swinging up to lob. Atobe runs the other way. He trips and stumbles and pulls himself up, his racket ready but his eyes never leaving Sanada, "the result is still the same, Atobe!"

Atobe screams through his shot. It veers off the frame of his racket. Sanada doesn't move. His feet are cemented down. A sudden shadow falls over his eyes as he looks out from under his cap, tilting his racket up and his body down.

He is a mountain there. Nothing gets past him.

Another point for Sanada. Another game.

Behind Niou, Jackal says, "Total domination." The crowds rise up in a fit of clapping and cheers. The freshmen are practically swooning. It's been a while since they've seen a good game played-not since the switch at the regionals. Niou smiles to himself and allows a quick glance to Yagyuu, who looks up the stands to Kirihara, snickering that "It's so sad…so sad…ne, senpais?"

"Atobe is just too weak," Yagyuu says. Marui hops down between Yagyuu and Yanagi, pushing Yagyuu closer to Niou. His bubble bursts and he chews the gum back into his mouth.

"Yeah," the fatty says, "it's already decided, but still funny as hell to watch. Hyoutei sucks."

Niou looks around. There is a sea of yellow jerseys, more and more gathering as the next game starts. Sanada's leading 4-0. There are even a few white kendo uniforms and dusty baseball players in caps scattered in the stands, all watching Sanada loom over the net at Atobe, who's nearly on his knees and practically begging to end the match.

Begging without words, anyway. The ball bounces next to Atobe's outstretched legs, bent so low that he's nearly buckling under himself.

"Puri," Niou mutters. He twirls the tail of his hair. Yagyuu's leg next to him is warm and Yagyuu's shadow falls over his head, long and narrow across the courts from the low morning sun. He watches Yagyuu's shadow move, fixing its glasses and shifting its weight, and then Niou glances up to the match again. He can't stop the snicker that rises in his throat. Not only is Sanada laughing, but he has on the scariest smile Niou has ever seen. Sanada's eyes are white. His lips are curled up and he keeps laughing at Atobe through his shots. Atobe sprays sweat and frustration onto the court, wet patches that follows his running. His sneakers slam into the court and dig up the dust as the crowds cheer, louder and louder. Niou can feel the tension rising along with the temperature.

Niou fans himself off with his hand. Sanada's shirt flips up-his abs are more defined than ever. Out of the corner of his eye, Niou can see Yanagi's eyes flick, appraising and analyzing all their recent training and its effect on Sanada's play. The ass is at the top of his game and it shows.

"I'm going to make you crumble with despair, Atobe Keigo!" Sanada shouts.

Niou rolls his eyes. Sanada's insults are as pathetically bad as ever.

Atobe doesn't say anything to egg Sanada on, and it only seems to bother Sanada that he doesn't. For all Atobe is supposed to be full of himself, it's Sanada who's showing off his skills now. Niou scratches his mole. He scratches the back of his neck. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Yukimura approaching from the direction of the parking lot, but the trees hide his shadow and the loud cheers of "Emperor! Emperor!" drown his footsteps.

Yukimura is pissed.

Niou snickers under his breath. This oughta be good, he thinks, noting Yukimura's thin lips and the way his eyes seem to blaze white, rather like Atobe's.

Not that it's Niou's issue. He leans back on the bench and stretches his arms out. Yagyuu stiffens next to him and says something about it turning into a battle of endurance. The wonderchibi pouts, "How come I'm not allowed to play unofficial games?" but as soon as Sanada slams a ball between Atobe's legs, and waggles his eyebrows at Atobe, Kirihara's lost in the cheering crowds and the rush of the game.

Niou can admit that watching Sanada cream Atobe's ass is rather satisfying, even more because Sanada lost so recently, so pathetically to that twelve year old kid. Sanada is a mountain of defense on the court. He stands there, legs barely bent and yet he moves faster than the speed of light-almost.

Jackal's mouth drops as Sanada returns a backhand to Atobe's baseline. "His defense is iron-tight." The fatty pops a bubble and agrees. Yanagi whispers something under his breath, mental data that he'll remember and try to use against Sanada, maybe, or use for Sanada in the Nationals.

They're coming up quick. Niou's toes tingle with the anticipation of playing some real tennis at the highest level. He half-turns to Yagyuu, beside him, warm and solid and real and his, and his throat thickens, just a bit.

Will we be Nationals-level doubles? he thinks.

Yagyuu starts to look at Niou. His eyes move from Niou's middle up to his face and Niou can feel the heat of the summer creep over his face. In the moment, all he can think about are the evenings they've spent, just a few, kissing and licking and touching and Yagyuu taking Niou's hands in his and placing them on his scorching skin, right above the hem of his shirt. A rush floods through his body, doki doki pulse and fluttering heart and Yagyuu's erection, hard and hot on Niou's thigh as their bodies strain closer together and he shouldn't be thinking about it, here, now, with all of the team around him who could see his blush and the squirming Niou does and-

But Yagyuu's gasp cuts the fantasy short.

Niou looks around at the faces of his teammates: various degrees of shock register in their white lips and dropped jaws. Kirihara spins and Marui's bubble falls to the clay court at his feet.

Sanada stands in the middle of his court, frozen to the spot. There is a scorch mark, blackened by his left side, right where his blind spot would be. His racket is raised, his eyes are wide and Atobe is at the net, flipping his hood back from his face.

Sanada spins around. His shoulders tense up as he registers the ball's bounce behind himself, in the court and a point for Atobe. Niou blows through his mouth, muttering "Puri" right before Atobe speaks.

Or, announces, more like.

"It is completed!"

And then Atobe breaks out laughing. It's a high-pitched cackle that echoes over the silent court. He throws his head back and the gales of laughter come. His mole seems to catch the light and blind Sanada because Sanada scrunches up his forehead and stares at Atobe like he's crazy.

Hell, everyone does. Only a fool would show up at a rival team's courts and start laughing their ass off like a hyena. Niou's never heard a similar sound: Atobe sweats bullets and his hoodie is soaked at the back. His eyes are glazed and pale and he's red in the face, laughing the way Kirihara would.

Kirihara shifts his eyes. Jackal raises an eyebrow and Yanagi is the first to notice the new shadow darkening the courts. Sanada's back is turned, but he does glance over his shoulder, away from Atobe, as an unnatural wind whips up.

Yukimura stands at the net post.

Niou touches his mole. The sun is hot on his arms-he can feel his skin starting to burn, so he inches a little closer to Yagyuu under the pretense of sitting in Yagyuu's cooler shadow. If anything, the brush of their leg hairs is an electric burn. Niou closes his eyes for an instant, relishing the feeling that shudders down his spine.

But the electricity between them is nothing compared with the tension on the court. Niou watches Yukimura crank the net to loosen it. Around the stands, whispers start, voices murmuring "Captain Yukimura?". Even the wonderchibi sucks in his breath and says, "Buchou!"

Sanada's eyes must go wide. Sanada's eyes must be the size of saucers and Niou can practically taste the sweet delicious feeling of Sanada's embarrassment in the air. Sanada, though, never gives it fully to Niou. His hand loosens its grip on his Babolat, but the racket never does clack to the clay ground. Sanada's breathing is too even, his motions are too controlled when he finally, finally turns to Yukimura.

Atobe, on the other hand, just rolls his eyes.

Yukimura ignores Sanada-irony of ironies. Niou can't help but wonder how their relationship has changed, now that Yukimura isn't lolling about a hospital bed in his pajamas with big, bad Gen-chan reigning over the team as temporary-buchou. There's something different between them. There's something harder, brittler in Yukimura's eyes and voice when he says, "All right, that's enough!" The words are forced and clipped, like he's got to take deep breathes between clauses to get enough power in his voice. But he manages it.

And the freshmen, at least, collectively shiver.

Yagyuu makes a little noise in his throat. He clicks his tongue and mutters, "Yukimura-kun…"

Yukimura and Atobe look at each other. Atobe snorts. The cocky Hyoutei player, Niou's seem him before and it's laughable, almost, when Atobe says, "Maybe you want to be my opponent instead." It's not a question, it's a command, as if he has the right to push Yukimura around, like some king of the courts, or whatever.

Niou snickers under his breath. It's no surprise that Sanada bristles and his eyes narrow into tiny slits. He's jealous, Niou thinks. The thought makes Niou smirk.

Yukimura, however, doesn't seem to think it's very funny, although his shoulders aren't drawn up tight and his knuckles haven't gone white the way Sanada's have. He cocks his head to the side. Niou cocks his head to the side, too-Kirihara's in front of his vision, yelling out, "Wait a minute! There's not supposed to be unofficial-"

"Akaya!" Yanagi snaps.

The kid falls back. Yagyuu turns his head, glasses catching the light and steaming a round little beam on the benches just beyond Niou's legs. Niou looks at him and their eyes meet. With his bland, boring expression, Niou can't tell what Yagyuu is thinking. Yukimura and Atobe speak to each other, but Niou's insides are slithering up into a hot mess of knots as Yagyuu stares at him, stares through him with dark eyes that swallows Niou up.

It’s been several days since they've been alone together and somewhere where they could actually mess around. Niou swallows. His throat has gone dry and dusty, like the breezes that seem to wave and sift over the courts, gathering around Yukimura.

Yukimura looks around. Atobe narrows his eyes. The sunlight bounces off the mole by his eye, and, in tandem, Niou's mole seems to itch, too. "What are you talking about?" Atobe snaps. He must be realizing he's alone and outnumbered fifty-to-one, because his resolve seems to crumble as Yukimura smiles. It's a thin, cold little smirk that Yukimura favours him with, even nastier because Yukimura's knees are knobbier and scrawny and he looks like he's going to fall over in the breeze.

But he doesn't. Yukimura doesn't waver and it's Atobe who curls up his lip and runs off first. The back of his hoodie is dark with sweat as he jogs off the court, the same direction that he randomly jogged in from. Slowly, the crowds begin to thin out and the team spills back onto the courts. Kirihara frog-hops off the ledge he'd been squatting on. Marui and Jackal roll their eyes and bounce a ball between themselves. A chorus of crickets hums in the air-it's humid and the atmosphere is thick, though the tension is loose as they laugh about the dumb captain from Hyoutei who challenged their emperor to a game.

Yanagi blinks. His eyes rove across the court and Niou follows them as he stands and fakes a stretch. He scratches his belly, faintly damp with sweat from sitting under the unforgiving sun. Yagyuu picks his racket up.

On the court, Yukimura and Sanada walk toward one of the benches. Sanada stomps. Yukimura shuffles-Niou wonders just how well his rehab is truly going, the way Yukimura struggles to hold his body up, the way his knuckles are mottled as he grips the back of the bench hard.

Niou shifts his eyes. Yagyuu starts to say something, but stops, as Niou creeps closer to the bench.

Sanada peels his cap off and runs a hand through his hair, shaking the sweat from the ends. Yukimura's smirk hardens. Neither he nor Sanada look at each other.

"Why did you do that?" Sanada snaps. "Why did you interfere?"

Lover's spat? Niou thinks.

Sanada's shoulders are tight and tense, drawn up nearly to the back of his skull. Silence grows between him and Yukimura as Yukimura glances back across the courts. Balls bounce and thwop on the clay ground, gathering dust and sweat and grunts as the team begins to work. Yagyuu lingers at the ball basket and the looks he sends to Niou make the back of Niou's neck flush hot. His dick swells in his shorts; Niou closes his eyes, savouring the anticipation. He knows something will happen later, the way he knows Sanada and Yukimura have bigger issues than Atobe right now.

"Because you'd have lost, Genichirou," Yukimura mutters. "That's why."

And then the awkwardness sets in. Sanada stops glaring at the trees and the fence around the perimeter of the courts to instead stare at Yukimura's feet. Yukimura winces and shakes his head. Niou inches back, one step, then two and three to leave the weirdness to the ass and Yukimura instead of being witness to it himself. A pang of sympathy pokes his stomach. As much as it'd be amusing to see Sanada losing to Atobe, too, it wasn't funny seeing him lose to Seigaku's Echizen.

No one on the team needs a reminder of that failure. Thinking back to that day makes Niou's throat all tight and bile scorch the back of his throat, just enough to be an uncomfortable side note. He walks back to Yagyuu, keeping his body loose and as easy as he can in the muggy heat. His arms don't feel right, so Niou rolls his shoulders. Yagyuu blinks and adjusts his glasses. He sets the tennis ball back in the basket.

"Niou-kun?"

Niou grunts.

Yagyuu picks the ball up again. He rolls it around in his palm, his long fingers curling over the soft felt. A ball zooms behind them, swooshing past their ears before the sound of Jackal yelling, "FIYAAAAH!" interrupts everything.

Yagyuu snorts, faintly, and smiles blandly. "Are you thinking about Atobe's Tannhauser?" he asks.

Niou raises an eyebrow. No, he thinks.

Yagyuu's bland smile deepens, curling into something more sinister. Niou shivers. A feverish shudder tickles its way down his spine and spreads to his dick, pounding and pulsing the blood between his legs. Niou fans his chest with the hem of his t-shirt. The weather seems even hotter than before. His body bakes as Yagyuu circles him, smiling and dangerous with that ball in his hand, squeezed hard like the wonderchibi does before a knuckle serve.

Niou straightens his back, trying to look Yagyuu in the eye, but he's too short by an inch or two. Yagyuu's glasses catch too much of the light. Niou can't stare at him as waves wash over his limbs, trembling and wanting to reach out and touch Yagyuu, to rub their bodies together again in that silent communication only they get.

"There's others players whose moves you could learn," Yagyuu says. "Shitenhoji's Shiraishi is also left-handed, you know."

Niou raises his other eyebrow, hiding his surprise. Yagyuu's learning, slowly. Pride swells in Niou's belly, warm and comfortable, though he holds back a smile of his own. "Oh?" he asks.

Yagyuu nods. "Yanagi-kun was talking about it earlier," he says. "Weren't you listening?"

Niou can't really remember.

***

It's Monday. There's no school, but Niou can only do so much tennis.

He and Yagyuu volley for a bit. He and Yagyuu work on smashes and rising shots-it's all back and forth plays. Yagyuu's game is as transparent as ever, even if his emotions aren't. Yagyuu's face strains and his brow furrows. Yagyuu pushes back sweaty bangs from his eyes and wipes the back of his neck with a sweat towel. He drops his shoulders before volleys and he steps back before backhands.

Niou can read him a mile away. "Too easy!" he shouts.

Yagyuu's arm swings back. He steps back. Niou rolls his eyes and yawns. Too easy, Yagyuu, he thinks. Niou runs to the mid-court, left-side and leans down, ready to return the lob.

Instead, a fast shot barrels through the air to his right. Niou jerks to the side, but he's not fast enough. The ball cuts the humid air beside his arm, burning the skin on his arm, too close for comfort.

Yagyuu smiles and slings his racket over his shoulder. His shoulders hunch up and he points, though his glasses slip down his nose. "Zannen munen-" he starts.

"Yeah yeah," Niou says. You got me, megane dork. He snorts and sneers, but inside, he's proud. Inside, Yagyuu turns his guts to jelly and makes his knees wobble as they walk to the clubhouse together, in perfect tune for once. It feels good knowing that Yagyuu isn't the hundred percent predictable dork.

And at the same time, it's a little unnerving, too.

Niou can't decide if he wants to know all about Yagyuu. Or if he wants these little bits and pieces to pick at, under Yagyuu's skin, if he digs deep enough. Either way, there is nothing better than walking with Yagyuu like this, there is nothing better than dumping their tennisbags down on the tile floor of the locker room and padding toward the fridge. Yagyuu crouches down to open the door. Niou hovers over his right shoulder, leering and leaning down to watch Yagyuu lick his lips and pull out a little container.

Yagyuu snaps the frosted lid from the top. He looks up at Niou, over the rim of his glasses, and then pulls out a long strand of tokoroten jelly.

Yagyuu slurps the jelly noodle. He moans.

Niou's feet slip. He stumbles and trips to his knees, landing on the hard floor with a slick, slippery smack!

Niou blinks. His knees throb, faint pain under the bone, and then his face feels hot, hotter than the air outside and even worse with the cool A/C in the clubhouse. He turns away, refusing to look at Yagyuu. Yagyuu. though, doesn't say anything except, "Are you all right?" He uses that tone, that silky, smooth voice that makes Niou shiver and shake, all the way down to his bones. His body aches to reach for Yagyuu, his arms want to peel off the tile floor and touch Yagyuu's neck, where beads of sweat gather along his jaw and chin, just begging to be smudged, smeared, licked off.

Niou sucks on his bottom lip-he won't lick his lips, as much as he wants to. His heart flutters. They are alone, right now, with nothing but the tokoroten jelly between them. Surely Yagyuu is as aware of the silence as Niou is. A watch ticks. There is an audible swallow, and Niou isn't so certain it's him, this time.

But Yagyuu…

…is as cool as a cucumber, as calm as Yanagi on his best days. Yagyuu rocks back on his heels, just a little, and his head turns to Niou. They are so close. Yagyuu's breath is warm. It wafts over Niou's chin as Yagyuu closes the distance between them, tilting his head and Niou closes his eyes, parts his lips, sticky with the humidity and so so ready for Yagyuu's tongue-

"Oi! Senpais!"

Niou freezes. But Yagyuu doesn't. Niou knows this feeling, that tingling touch on his mouth as Yagyuu kisses him, runs his tongue along Niou's lips and pokes it inside, just enough to make Niou gasp. He backs up into the refrigerator, scrambling and flushing and wiping the saliva from his mouth as Kirihara steps into the room and looks at them.

Niou's eyes are huge, he knows this. He can feel them bulging out of his skull as he stares at Yagyuu. Yagyuu is the epitome of megane dork as he adjusts his glasses. There is a smudge on the one lens-it might be wax from Niou's hair, it might be sweat from Niou's face.

What if the wonderchibi saw us?! Niou wants to yell. He wants to grab Yagyuu by his flipped up collar and shake some sense into that bastard. You don't DO those things!!

Not when it makes Niou blush hard and hot as Kirihara's eyes rake over them.

"Whatcha doing?" he asks. He rocks on his feet, hands tucked behind his back. The little grin on his face doesn't settle the fresh fear in Niou's belly. Worry twists his stomach with hot coils, mixing that fear with the thrill of nearly being caught.

It's so wrong.

And yet…

His heart won't stop slamming against his ribs. Niou can't speak, so he says nothing. Yagyuu is fast today.

Even faster when he dumps the container of tokoroten in Niou's lap. Niou's eyes flash. He looks down at it, them up at Yagyuu.

Yagyuu frowns and clicks his tongue. "Niou-kun, that's mine," he says. His words are clipped and even. He shakes his head and Niou blinks as his mouth opens a bit, his jaw falling open.

"Huh?" he asks.

"Niou-senpai," Kirihara says, "why are you stealing Yagyuu-senpai's food? We gotta-"

"NIOU!"

Sanada.

Niou groans. He shoves the tokoroten back at Yagyuu as Sanada steps inside, his shadow looming over Kirihara and making the kid cower and cringe a little. Sanada crosses his arms over his chest. His scowl is deeper than usual today and his eyes beadier than ever. Atobe's put him in a right mood.

Niou narrows his eyes right back at Sanada. He could stand up and shove into Sanada's shoulder, walk away and leave the ass to deal with Yagyuu the liar himself, except that would mean getting up and having to walk with this erection in his shorts. It's uncomfortable enough already, his dick throbbing down there and his face on fire and Yagyuu blinking, all innocent-like.

"What?" he snaps.

"Why aren't you two working on weights?" Sanada asks. "Get your asses into the weight room right now!"

Kirihara starts to snicker. Sanada glares at him and the brat shuts up, running off with his tail between his legs and nearly yelping when Sanada raises his fist. Then, Sanada marches off. But not without giving Niou a long, hard look first and curling his lip up.

"Tarundoru!" he mutters. "Keep a better eye on him, Yagyuu."

Yagyuu nods. "Of course, Sanada-kun."

As soon as Sanada slams the club house door behind himself, Yagyuu stands up. He's not graceful, per se, but he moves with a confident purpose. He smoothes the front of his shorts and sets his jelly back into the fridge.

Niou doesn't move. "Liar," he murmurs.

Yagyuu turns to him. For a long moment, they look at each other. Yagyuu's glasses slide down his nose as his eyebrows rise. Then, his lips twitch. "Your hair gets bristly when you're surprised, Niou-kun," he says.

Niou snorts. Carefully, he stands up and shakes his legs out, hoping and trying his best to will his erection away, even a little. But his cock brushes his shorts, as hard and swollen as ever and there's no way that Yagyuu can't know he's all hot and bothered right now.

Especially when Yagyuu touches Niou's wrist. His fingertips are feathery, the lightest of brushes over Niou's feverish skin. Niou hisses. With his other hand, Yagyuu touches the side of Niou's jaw, right under his ear. A shuddered sigh escapes Niou's mouth, vibrating in his throat and echoing in the quiescence of the clubhouse.

"You're still all puffed up," Yagyuu whispers.

Niou opens his mouth. Yagyuu smiles, in that sharp, slightly lop-sided, but completely sexy way that makes Niou nearly slither to the floor all over again. Blood rushes in his ears when Yagyuu lets go of Niou's wrist, even though he was never really holding Niou in place to start with.

Yagyuu walks off first. "Should I spot you first?" he asks.

***

They take the bus to Yagyuu's. Mid-afternoon sun burns the back of Niou's neck, and his arms, as they wait at the bus stop. Five minutes under the sweltering mugginess and harsh sun feels like five hours. Niou pants. His mouth is dry and not because of Yagyuu. The street is a mirage, waving wiggles and imagined palm trees along with the city buses. His arms and legs are sluggish from the heat, sticky with sweat, and the workouts with the machines in the weight room has left Niou with little more than the ability to shuffle onto the bus and collapse into a seat beside Yagyuu.

At least they have seats. The bus is half-empty. It's that indeterminate time of day when most sane people are indoors in a cool, air conditioned office or home, and only the crazies like them are out.

And only the complete idiots like those three would think to be out playing on the tennis courts still.

Good riddance, Niou thinks. Last he saw-before he and Yagyuu left-Sanada and Yanagi and Yukimura were out on the courts, volleying and rallying and taking mental data. Tezuka and Seigaku were the unspoken bonds linking them.

But Niou can't really bring himself to care. Not with the air conditioning, beautiful and cold on his skin, making his eyes droop and his head hang. He leans on Yagyuu's shoulder. It would be the perfect opportunity for a nap. The hair at the back of Niou's neck is wet, and Niou can smell the sour sweat dripping off his skin. Still, he closes his eyes and exhales in the cool, relative dimness of the bus. The sun shines across the other side. Yagyuu's shoulder is bony, but his upper arm is soft under Niou's cheek as he settles his face down.

Niou holds his breath. Then, he forces himself to blow the air from his nostrils. Yagyuu says nothing, but he doesn't shove Niou away, either, not even when the bus jostles them. Niou's tennisbag slides out from under his feet. It smushes into Yagyuu's leg. Niou's knee bumps Yagyuu's. Electricity sparks through his shin. Niou twitches. His body slumps into Yagyuu's more, but Yagyuu just settles back into his seat.

Niou can hear the sound of rustling, then Yagyuu sighing. Then pages rustle again. Niou cracks an eye open.

Yagyuu's reading a book.

Niou hums to himself and presses his face deeper into Yagyuu's arm. He can smell Yagyuu's deodorant, no longer fresh and earthy, but now instead mixing with the smell of his own sweat. Niou breathes it in deeper. It's weird, but he likes Yagyuu's smell, even if it is a little gross at the same time. Yagyuu's skin may smell of one thing, but his mouth always tastes generically wet. Sometimes like BBQ sauce, maybe, or the sweet remnants of tea and bean paste. Niou runs his tongue over the backs of his molars, trying to recreate the sensation in his mind of Yagyuu's kisses.

But Niou can never fully realize it by himself.

It takes two. Partners, even. Doubles.

Niou tries not to think too much about it, or the fresh jolts between his legs, straining his balls and making his shorts tighter than before. It's uncomfortable and hot and he's gotta smell like funky teenage hormones down there, fungus-y and musty, but Yagyuu doesn't say anything. Yagyuu doesn't shove Niou away. All Yagyuu does is turn the pages of his novel, the crisp, papery sounds that soothe Niou and set him on edge all at once. Yagyuu is too calm. He's too good at being a gentleman.

That bothers Niou.

Yagyuu presses the button for their stop. The bus rounds a bend in the road and the sunlight streams over Niou's face, too bright to sleep anymore-not that he was in the first place. Niou fakes a yawn and stretches his arms above his head. They grab their bags in a fast shuffle and hop off the back from the back exit. Niou cranes his neck. The sun is as bright as ever, but at least the rows of houses hide the true intensity of the glare and provide shade to walk under. Cicadas hum. Niou's back drips and his shoulders droop under the weight of his bag. The heat and humidity slow their motions to a shuffle.

Even Yagyuu drags his feet. Even Yagyuu's face is flushed and shiny with sweat. Yagyuu fans himself with his hand and looks up at the sky. It's an endless blue with the palest streaks of clouds in the atmosphere, hundreds of kilometers up there. The streets are empty, save for the insects. Not even a lone bicycle is out, weaving between the damp, muggy alleys, the sweltering caves of the suburbs.

It's just too hot.

Niou pants. He opens his mouth and sighs, but his tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth. They walk through a cement underpass, where the air is stagnant and rife with rotting garbage piled up in dark corners. Niou gags. Yagyuu coughs, clearing his throat all politely until they crawl back out the other side, passing by a green park. The Familymart opposite the park glows blue and green and white, a tri-colour beacon of air conditioning and popsicles, ice cream and cold cold drinks to guzzle and frigid PET bottles to roll over their skin. How Niou would love to see Yagyuu, flushed and topless, as Niou straddles his waist and rubs a bottle of cold tea over his nipples-would Yagyuu gasp his name? Would Yagyuu hiss and narrow his eyes and grab the bottle and throw it away and push Niou down and-

"Niou-kun," Yagyuu says.

Niou takes another step, then he looks around. Yagyuu is a half-block back at a set of lights, right where they should be turning. Niou blinks. Oh.

He pretends to smirk and Yagyuu shakes his head. "Where were you going?" he asks.

Niou cocks his head to the side, mimicking Yagyuu's disapproving little frown with one of his own. He snorts. "To the train tracks across from the parking lot down there," he says. "Obviously."

Yagyuu doesn't laugh at the joke, but the tension does simmer, just below the surface, as they walk toward Yagyuu's house. His house sits up an incline, towards the top but not quite. The green of his mother's neglected potted lemon trees on the porch seems deeper than ever. Whatever abandonment of Yagyuu's yard, the rains have cured it-although weeds tangle up the pavement pathway and there is a bucket of slimy water sitting near the driveway.

No cars-no sport scar of Yagyuu's dad, or the white Toyota of Yagyuu's mom.

"It just us?" Niou asks, leaning on the wall as Yagyuu slides a key into the front lock.

Yagyuu nods.

Niou's insides burn. His dick swells, and his chest too. Niou tries to swallow, but he can't. He can only let his feet follow Yagyuu into the cool, dark house.

"Yuuki?" Yagyuu calls out.

Niou's eyes flick to the bedroom upstairs; usually the closed door has a thin beam of blue-ish light underneath, a sign of Yagyuu's sister clacking away at her online pet games.

But today, there's nothing. The door upstairs is wide open. Silence greets Yagyuu's question.

Yagyuu looks at Niou. His eyes are shadowed, but the pupils darker still, consuming Niou with their depth. His breathing falters. His heart skips a beat as Yagyuu's eyes trail down, grazing his lips with a long look, before rising back to Niou's eyes.

"Do you want something to drink?" Yagyuu murmurs.

Niou's cock hardens, throbbing and pulsing with his blood, the same blood that rushes in his ears and makes his head spin. Vaguely, he nods. Mostly, he watches Yagyuu walk into the kitchen, his movement making his bubblebutt flex under his shorts and his calves ripple. When Yagyuu disappears behind the fridge door, Niou presses his palm to the door, balancing his dizzy head. He tries to steady himself, to steady his breathing and his heart, but he can't stop thinking about what will come.

Whatever Yagyuu wants, however far Yagyuu is willing to go, Niou wants it too.

He lets himself upstairs, to Yagyuu's room. Ostensibly, he's being himself: burrowing into Yagyuu's life and helping himself to his heart's content. Really, Niou knows he can't wait downstairs any longer. He flops back on Yagyuu's bed. The mattress groans under his weight and the bed frame creeks. Diffuse light filters in through the curtains, faint and comfortable in the heat, now reduced to a comfortable cool with the A/C. Niou flips onto his stomach. He waits for a moment, but hears nothing. Carefully at first, he buries his face into Yagyuu's sheets. But, with the passing quiet, he grows bolder, breathing in deep the musky smell of Yagyuu's orgasms and wet dreams-he must have those…

But do you think about me, Yagyuu?

Niou turns his cheek and sighs. He bunches a fistful of sheets between his fingers, wishing that Yagyuu was here, with him, curling his toes with kisses and touches and strokes on his naked skin. His muscles already burn from practice and now, in Yagyuu's bedroom, staring blankly at the lame Tiger Woods poster above Yagyuu's desk, Niou kinda wishes that his skin could burn under Yagyuu's lips, too.

"Enjoying yourself?"

Yagyuu's words hang in the air. There is no good way to remove his face from Yagyuu's sheets and feign innocence, so Niou does the next best thing.

"Puri?" he offers. It's beyond pathetic, but it's all Niou has.

His reward is the strangest look on Yagyuu's face: brows knotted, jaw pushed back to form a double chin, glasses slipping down his pointed nose and half his mouth curled up in a not-quite grimace as Yagyuu nods slowly, as though Niou is a retard and Yagyuu doesn't quite know what to do with him.

Niou can think of several things he wouldn't mind doing. His face is flushed under Yagyuu's stare, and he turns away as Yagyuu closes the doorway. It clicks. His footsteps are soft on the floor and Niou can smell Yagyuu's dirty, sweaty socks he's still wearing-pulled halfway up to his knees, of course.

Not that Niou really minds. His eyes flick down to Yagyuu's legs, gliding over the long limbs and his knobby knees; he takes in the dark, fine hairs that end abruptly in dusty sweat sock at his calf.

Yagyuu offers a bottle of green tea. The memory of Niou's little fantasies is too fresh for hiss body not to react when his hand wraps around the perspiring bottle. He bites his lip, gasping and remembering images of Yagyuu, supine on a bed, with beads of condensation shining on his chest, his skin warm and salty under Niou's tongue…

"Niou-kun?" Yagyuu asks. His voice drops to little more than a murmur as he sits down on the edge of the bed. The mattress dips, Niou's body rolling towards Yagyuu's hip, like some sort of Yagyuu Zone that sucks him in and refuses to let go. Niou lets his body slide. The PET bottle slips from his hand. The dull thud of the plastic is the only noise in the room, besides Yagyuu's too-steady breathing.

Niou is numb between the legs, his dick hot and his belly molten, even just lying like this, on his stomach to hide his erection. He could rub himself on Yagyuu's sheets. He could reach out those few inches and touch the spot on Yagyuu's hip, exposed where his t-shirt rides up and his shorts have ridden low. Niou closes his eyes and tries to breath through his lips, but he can't fight the rushing waves within his body that tighten his shorts and cloud his mind. The room seems to swirl and the air seems to thicken. The light has become a generic brightness through the fabric of Yagyuu's curtains, bouncing off the glossy posters and novels scattered around, the silvery scarves and cosplay wigs with green nylon threads that float, weightless.

The same feeling, that vague floating and swaying, makes Niou flush, hot and cold, because his body can't decide and his mind can't focus. Yagyuu drinks from his bottle, his throat bobbing as he gulps. He wipes the side of his lips with a handkerchief from his pocket and rests the bottle between his knees, spread wide with his feet flat to the floor. Raking light plays over his face, shifting his eyes and his emotions.

Yagyuu sets his bottle down. His posture is perfect, so straight that he's nearly leaning backwards into Niou. When Niou reaches out, he's not thinking, it's obvious, he can't be thinking as he wraps his arms around Yagyuu's waist, holding him tight. Niou presses his face to Yagyuu's back, feeling the soft rise in his muscles as he breathes and takes it in. Yagyuu's t-shirt is damp, sticking to his skin and Niou rubs his cheek on it, rubs Yagyuu's smell on his face and nose and the side of his ear.

If Yagyuu minds, he doesn't let on. All he does is reach around that awkward distance, pulling Niou up with his eyes before he takes his glasses off. Without them, his eyes are bigger, blacker, liquid in Niou's face and never, ever leaving his wavering gaze, not even when Niou realizes they're doing it again.

They're kissing.

The first touch is always surprising, even now, that momentary confusion as Niou's mind grasps to figure out what the feeling on his lips is and why he can't see anymore because, oh right, his eyes have closed and he has to remember to breathe through his nose. Yagyuu groans. Niou's body hums, vibrates, shakes with pleasure as the sound sinks into his veins and floats down to his dick. He's hard; Yagyuu is pushing him down into those musty, messy sheets and someone's mouth opens. Niou parts his lips under the electric sensation of Yagyuu's tongue. Today, Yagyuu tastes of tea, faintly bitter but mostly green. His tongue is more eager than ever, sliding over and under and sucking on Niou's tongue, playing the game offensively.

Niou doesn't mind playing defense to this. He doesn't need to fight back to enjoy what Yagyuu does, and Yagyuu only knows it too well, because his weight settles, heavy and hot on Niou's legs and hips and dick. Niou hisses. He arches up, his body pushing back on Yagyuu's. Friction increases as Niou rubs, unconsciously, consciously, it doesn't really matter. It doesn't matter that he forgets to kiss back and his mouth falls slack because his body is bursting with sensation, his legs shaking and his belly shuddering. His hands, once hesitant, find a place on Yagyuu's shoulders and dig into the buttery skin under the collar. Niou makes a noise. He should be embarrassed at the muffled mewl, but Yagyuu moans again.

This can't not be good.

The tide in his body rises. Niou's legs part, Yagyuu's shift and the bed creaks. Niou pulls away, and a saliva trail links their lips as Niou pants. He shakes his head, but he doesn't look at Yagyuu. Yagyuu's mouth is on his neck, hot, wet, a path of kisses one, two, three meld into a continuous strand and then Yagyuu's teeth follow. The feeling is too much. Niou gasps. "No!" He grabs Yagyuu hard, pulling himself up as another wave of numbing oh god I'm gonna come soon! wracks his body.

And he's not even undressed.

Niou's body burns. He's too hot for this. Yagyuu is too hot, too heavy, too much and the hand slipping under Niou's t-shirt is just as new and scary and Niou freezes. Panic sets in, then slow understanding that he should loosen his body and lifts his arms and Yagyuu is taking off his shirt.

The hair elastic comes off with his t-shirt.

Yagyuu's seen him shirtless a hundred times before, but not like this. For a long moment, Niou feels horribly self-conscious. Yagyuu leans up on his elbows, his wide myopic eyes looking down at Niou's chest. Surely he has to see the mole under Niou's right nipple, just as dark and a little bigger than the one on his face. Surely Yagyuu has to see-feel Niou's stiff nipples, hardening as Yagyuu touches them. Yagyuu's fingers pinch.

Niou sobs. There is a name on his lips and he's too ashamed to even process the thought of what he's done until Yagyuu licks his jaw, bites his ear, runs his tongue over Niou's lips and whispers, "I like that."

Niou was and is an opportunist with Yagyuu. An invitation is all he needs.

"Hiroshi," he says, repeating himself. The name is foreign to his lips in Yagyuu's presence, and oh so familiar too.

One of Yagyuu's hands dances along Niou's waistband. Niou digs his toes into the sheets as his hips buck up, meeting Yagyuu with his name again, breathy and eager and nervous, too, all rolled into one conflicting answer with his body.

Yes, I want this…

Before Niou can say it a third time, Yagyuu kisses him again. Then his hand dives down under the sweaty waistband of Niou's shorts. That precipice of orgasm is right there for Niou is he lets himself go, fall over and free his body of the straining, shaking, wound up pressure in his balls and dick. Yagyuu's hand is cool on his stomach, trapped between his waistband and his skin. Niou whimpers. He squeezes his eyes shut and forces his body to stay. Fear holds him back-the unknown reaction that Yagyuu will have when he comes, Yagyuu's name on his mouth and Yagyuu's hand so close to his throbbing dick that Niou can nearly feel those fingertips, calloused with smooth fingernails, long and perfect…

But there is also the fear, the reminder that he's done it before, that day, in the bathrooms at that sports park. Gone is the dingy, grimy bathroom stall and the drip of hard water into a festering sink, replaced instead with Yagyuu's bed and Yagyuu's bedroom, sorta clean, but dusty, dim and air conditioned, so different, and yet…

As quickly as it slid under, Yagyuu yanks his hand back, burned by Niou's gay germs.

Yagyuu rocks back, crawling off Niou and clenching his fist. Niou's heart sinks into the cold depths of his insides. His erection is still hard, still pounding between his legs, draining his mind of any thoughts except need want so so close…

Staring down at his hand, Yagyuu's eyes widen, unfocused and glazed over with something that Niou gets now isn't lust or desire or any of the feelings he'd hoped. Niou's stomach churns and he feels sick as hot, sour bile rises in his throat. Niou grabs his t-shirt from the floor and pulls it over his head.

He's a fool. A complete idiot.

"I'm sorry," Yagyuu says.

Niou stuffs his other arm through a sleeve.

"Niou-kun!" Yagyuu snaps. Blind, Yagyuu grabs his glasses from the dresser where he set them. For a megane, he's awfully good with his hands at finding things: his glasses, Niou's wrist…

Niou tugs at his hand. Yagyuu's fingers are too tight. He winces. Yagyuu's lips thin, then they curve into a slight frown. "Please," he says, "I'm sorry. I'm trying, Niou-kun, and I…"

Niou says nothing. He doesn't look at Yagyuu. The sun must be setting, because the light diffusing in through the curtains has become tinged with red as it plays over the features of Yagyuu's face, twisted with apology and whatever else Niou doesn't really want to know right now.

He should just go home, where he can jerk his blue balls off in peace before Yagyuu tries anything almost-but-not-quite again.

It hurts.

"I just need more time," Yagyuu says. He touches the sides of his glasses and sighs. "Don't think I'm not trying, Niou-kun."

Niou tugs on his wrist again. Still, Yagyuu won't let go. The touch burns Niou, and the shame inside is hotter than ever, scorching his cheeks and neck and all the way down to his dick.

The hand in Yagyuu's grip, Yagyuu takes it, lowers it, brings it between his own legs. Niou doesn't move when Yagyuu cups it to his cock. Through Yagyuu's shorts, Niou can almost make out the contours of Yagyuu's erection through the thin, sweat-damp material. He hisses. Yagyuu closes his eyes, groaning through his teeth before he mutters, "I do want this…"

"Then-"

Yagyuu releases his hand. His eyes blaze, his jaw tenses and his voice rises. Niou winces and Yagyuu shouts, "Do you think-"

But he stops himself and clears his throat. His face is nearly the gentleman's mask once more, if not for the puffiness in his lips, kiss-swollen, that he touches with the tip of his tongue before he says, "I don't mind if you need to masturbate right now."

Niou blinks.

He's dreaming again, one of those innumerable fantasies from the back of his mind that creep out sometimes, where Yagyuu is cold and cruel and tells Niou to get down onto his knees and jerk himself off in that clipped, even tone Yagyuu is so good at using. Yagyuu's eyes have lost their light, and, just like in Niou's dreams, his lip is curled up-in disgust, in mockery, in disdain because Niou can't hold himself in around Yagyuu…

It's got to be a joke.

But, Yagyuu isn't laughing.

And Niou isn't moving.

"You've done it before," Yagyuu says.

That was different! Niou wants to yell. Instead, the memories of that day flood back, a rush of shame and pain and shaking agony that followed when Yagyuu looked at him and told him to fuck off. Blood drains from Niou's face. His erection flags. His legs and arms are cold and don't move right when he tries to get away, to push himself off the bed and run downstairs, run out from this horrible, horrible memory that Yagyuu has surfaced.

Only Yagyuu doesn't let him go. Again, he touches Niou's hand, this time a light brush to the back of his thumb. Hair falls over Niou's eyes, which sting as much as his throat does right now, too.

"I didn't mean it that way," Yagyuu says.

Tension ripples between them. There is silence, save for the air conditioning, which makes Yagyuu and Niou shiver in tandem.

"Niou-kun, you…if you have to, I don't mind," Yagyuu says. "That's what I meant."

But it's too weird. Niou slackens, hunching his shoulders as he and Yagyuu sit on the edge of the mattress, neither speaking, both breathing-one, then the other, one, then the other.

"I've never done this, so I don't know what to do," Yagyuu says. His voice is small and soft. He purses his lips and sighs. Niou looks at him, then he looks away and blows at a piece of his hair.

Me neither, he thinks. But he doesn't tell Yagyuu that. He does say, "But with that girl, a few weeks ago, did you?"

Yagyuu's face is blank, then he starts to frown. Niou's suspicions are confirmed with that one action, when Yagyuu stares out his window, through the curtains as if his eyes can permeate the fabric. Yagyuu's fingers twitch, curling around an invisible something-does he want a smoke?

Niou frowns.

The bile in the back of Niou's throat forces out any remains of the tea-taste of Yagyuu's kisses. Niou swallows the thick wad forming in his chest, but it presses back against his ribs and makes it hard to breathe. Still, he forces the words out.

"I saw you, under the Confession tree," he says.

For all the kissing that he and Yagyuu have done in the interim, the memory is as fresh as if it happened an hour ago. The sweltering heat and the open windows in the corridor, the sound of his school shoes squeaking over the floor as he lost his balance, Yagyuu leaning into that girl, whose hair fluttered when Yagyuu kissed her…

The sound of Yagyuu clicking his tongue breaks the vision up, interrupting it with harsh reality. Yagyuu pushes his glasses up his nose with his middle finger. "The only girl I've ever kissed," he says, his words clipped and cold, "was two years ago at golf camp, Niou-kun."

Niou blinks. "E-eh?" he manages.

Yagyuu snorts. His eyes roll up over the rim of his glasses as he shakes his head. A clammy hand clamps around the back of Niou's neck, tugging at the hair and forcing Niou to look up and over at him. "Maki-chan confessed to me, yes, but you saw it wrong. I told her there was someone else. I never kissed her, Niou-kun. It's only been…" The fingers on Niou's neck loosen on his skin, but they weave through Niou's hair, where sweat gathers as the embarrassment builds and burns his body.

"It's only been you," Yagyuu says. "Since golf camp two years ago."

If only there was a way to play off his mistake. If only there was some tactful way to admit that he's been wrong, this whole while, and Yagyuu didn't kiss that girl, that maybe, well…maybe Niou saw it the wrong way, the wrong angle and the girl was short so if Yagyuu said no and leaned down, then from the third floor it might look like something more…

Niou grunts. It's a little easier than saying, "Oh." He reaches up to run a hand through his hair and be all aloof and "yeah, cool, whatever, Yagyuu" but when Niou lifts his hand, Yagyuu takes it in his other. Niou lets their fingers twine as Yagyuu presses it to his bed.

"For…what I suggested before, I'm sorry," Yagyuu says. "It was rude of me."

The gentleman returns.

But being with Yagyuu's gentleman side is easier. No weird kinks, except for his cosplay habit, no dark requests or swearing or pushing Niou down and holding him fast with chained stares, no sneers or smirks or smouldering gazes that turn Niou's legs to jelly and make him nearly come in his pants.

Yagyuu's gentleman side…Niou likes it. The gentleman side that doesn't complain when Niou never pays for food, or when Niou steals soap in the showers, or when Niou shows up at Yagyuu's place uninvited. The gentleman side that lets Niou touch Yagyuu's body and fix his form during practices, the gentleman side with the obsessive habit of fixing glasses and pulling socks up too high and flipping collars and-

This time, Niou kisses Yagyuu first. He can feel Yagyuu's lips curling into a smile underneath his tongue, so he tilts his head and kisses a little harder, enjoying the feeling of, for once, taking the initiative and swallowing the twisting of his guts. Arguing has deflated his dick enough that it's not painful, just to kiss and let Yagyuu pet his arm, to lick Yagyuu's neck and touch his ears. It took ages for them to be comfortable enough to be friends, but Niou hopes it doesn't take as long to be something more.

Don't think I'm not trying, Yagyuu told him. Well, Niou's trying too. Trying to avoid flinging himself at Yagyuu and rubbing his body in a mess of lame hormones and lust that could only end badly. He's trying to kiss the right way to make Niou moan, but more often than not, it's the electric sensation of Yagyuu's mouth on his collar than makes Niou groan instead.

Until the sound of a car pulling into the driveway stops them, completely. Yagyuu pulls back first-he always pulls back first. Niou's leg burns from the hard, hot erection that he been pressed to his thigh just moments before. That Yagyuu is human and not a robot, someone who gets stiffies just like him, thrills Niou all the way to his curling toes and tingling mouth.

One day, he'll see Yagyuu's flushed, erect dick. One day, he'll wrap his hand around it without trembling and he'll jerk Yagyuu off until Yagyuu's face flickers with suppressed emotion and his body blushes and he comes, whispers "Masaharu" and makes a sticky mess between Niou's fingers.

One day, but not today.

The door opens downstairs and a woman calls out, "I'm home!"

Yagyuu's mom. Her.

And maybe it's for the best that they've stopped kissing and Yagyuu is too busy adjusting his rumpled shirt, buttoning up the t-shirt collar and cleaning his glasses. Niou got them greasy with fingerprints, before. Now, Yagyuu blinks behind the lenses and his lips purse. He closes his bedroom door. Niou didn't know it was wide open.

He's supposed to be good at seeing things, and instead, all he's good at seeing right now is Yagyuu, back to his door and scowling as his mother calls his name again.

"I have bentos from Daimaru!" she shouts. Heels clack on the floor below. Yagyuu winces at the sound. He's got to be as much a stickler for that sort of thing as Sanada. Niou lets himself laugh a little under his breath, though, really, if he admitted the truth to himself, then he'd acknowledge the fantic patter of his heart in his chest and the new rush of blood in his ears.

"You're getting careless," he tells Yagyuu, "leaving your door open like that."

Yagyuu's eyes snap over to Niou, narrowing slightly as his lips thin even more. "Yes, I know that," he says.

Niou waggles his finger, an impression of the fatty and all his self-righteous, self-absorbed ego when he says, sing-song, "My Genius would never have let that happen."

Yagyuu's mouth twitches.

When Niou bursts out laughing, Yagyuu joins in.