internet_is_for

#10, Inui/Tezuka for 30 Lemons

Thu, 21 Jun 2007 05:09:42 GMT

Title: Slow Slide
Fandom: Prince of Tennis, which is owned by Konomi Takeshi and various manga publishing houses. I am not gaining any tangible benefit from writing and posting this; it's just for fun.
Pairing: Inui/Tezuka
Rating: R
Warnings: This is what happens when I don't have entries for this challenge prepared several months in advance. Also, sex.
Notes: For 30_lemons theme #6: The Closet, or, "Denial isn't just a River in Egypt!" This time, a very boring and literal interpretation of the theme. Fortunately, it is also very short. The title exists because I decided I had too many things called "I Suck At Titling."

Seigaku’s courts are empty when Inui looks around, glowing orange under a pale yellow sky. He doesn’t know how he got here. No memory exists of the commute that logic dictates must have occurred, but it doesn’t matter. There is something standing at the service line of the court nearest him now. It’s what he’s here for.

It’s Tezuka. He’s serving to the opposite side of the court, over and over. The balls never return to him. There is no opponent. It doesn’t matter. Inui is only interested in this.

Tezuka’s form is perfect. Twenty players on the other side of the net would still not equal an opponent. Inui watches the muscles move under Tezuka’s skin. Graceful. Subtle. Precise. He wants to be in that skin. He moves forward, raises his hands. He’s there.

He’s touching Tezuka now, learning how his body works. Deltoid, trapezius, latissimus dorsi. Bunching and stretching as Tezuka continues to serve. Even the slide of Inui’s palm up the back of his arm doesn’t stop him. Tezuka smells like detergent. His skin is smooth. Inui’s fingers glide over it until they rise too far, into his hair, but Tezuka doesn’t stop, he never stops, not even when Inui steps around in front of him.

Tezuka’s serves are passing straight through Inui, now, they have that much power. Inui reaches out again and places his fingertips on Tezuka’s pectorals. He watches them work, matches tactile sensation to sight. It occurs to him that there is something wrong with his own musculature, because it will never work like this. His hands spread against Tezuka’s chest, smooth their way up his neck, thumbs settling below the larynx, and Tezuka finally, finally stops serving and looks at him.

Their eyes meet. Inui can’t breathe. Tezuka’s arm lowers, racquet gone. He leans closer, puts one hand on Inui’s glasses and the other on Inui. Inui’s tongue darts out on instinct, but Tezuka is too far away. He has to know, though, so he bites Tezuka’s lower lip and laves it; it’s smooth as well. Tezuka doesn’t make a sound, but his thumb slides under Inui’s glasses to press against the bridge of his nose. His body nestles into Inui’s, and Inui feels like his skin’s been infected, hot and painful, about to split open.

Inui licks the underside of Tezuka’s jaw. Sweat, soap. Tezuka’s hand on Inui tightens, twists, and Inui moans because his form is perfect. He pulls Tezuka closer, close enough to inhale his hair. It’s all he can do now just to hold onto deltoid, trapezius, latissimus dorsi, anything, let Tezuka control the pace and the rhythm. He’s going to lose. All the data points to it.

Inui regains consciousness seconds before orgasm and barely stifles his cry. When it is over, he wipes his soiled hand clean and sighs. There’s a notebook under the mattress. He pulls it out, turns on the reading lamp, flips to a certain page and dutifully tallies another mark next to Tezuka’s name.

Every line on that page has a name on it. Only boy’s names. It doesn’t matter, he thinks as he replaces the notebook and changes. They’re just dreams, and data is unreliable when it comes to predicting certain things. Tezuka has taught him that.

#9: Continued

Sun, 22 Apr 2007 01:57:14 GMT

Part 1

Inui is up at 6:00 the next morning, though Seishun’s graduation doesn’t begin until 8:00. He takes his time with his morning routine, showering for three minutes longer than normal, actually selecting an outfit to wear rather than throwing on the first appropriate set of clothing he can find. There aren’t many choices, due to his hasty departure the previous night, but at least he does not look, as Tachibana An has jokingly phrased it (though she had been referring to Fuji rather than Inui himself) “like a Harajuku shopowner’s worst nightmare.”

Intellectually, he knows that instant oatmeal he finds in the cupboard is not actually the best thing he has ever tasted, as his own hunger plays too large a part in his estimation of the flavor to count the observation as accurate. He eats it slowly, cutting a banana into it and adding a few pieces of orange when that is gone. It is time to go when he finishes, but before he leaves he takes a moment to text-message Kaidoh regarding the underlying circumstances for his upset mood the previous day. He ends with the URL to the site he found most useful in his endorphin research, then takes off for the school grounds.

Kaidoh meets him at the gate. Inui had only calculated a 35% chance that he would, given the impending ceremony, but Kaidoh once again surpasses his data. It makes Inui strangely proud to know that Kaidoh will always be able to surprise him. “Good morning, Kaidoh,” he says.

“Senpai,” Kaidoh nods, pushing away from the wall and heading over to him. His uniform is immaculately cleaned and pressed--undoubtedly Kaidoh’s mother wanted her son to look perfect on his last day wearing it. “I got your message.”

“Ah,” Inui replies. “I apologize for the timing, but there was an 88% chance you would remain concerned about me throughout the ceremony if you didn’t know what was going on. As it stands, the situation is not yet resolved, but I have a plan to do so, or at least, to set a solution in motion.”

Kaidoh hisses, looking away. “I wasn’t worried, senpai,” he says.

“Of course not,” Inui grins. “It would be 100% out of character for Kaidoh Kaoru to worry about anything.”

Kaidoh nods. He really isn’t concerned anymore, Inui knows; he’d once told Inui that, in his opinion, if Inui could think rationally about a situation, then he could solve it. Inui’s grin widens, glad at the remembrance of Kaidoh’s esteem. “You should be getting to your place,” he says. “If I remember correctly, the teachers and staff are very particular about the ceremony.”

“You’re right,” Kaidoh answers. “I’ll see you later, senpai.” He raises his fist. Inui knocks his own against it and watches Kaidoh head onto the school grounds.

It’s easy enough to locate his old teammates, despite the crowd--Kawamura in particular still towers above most people. He finds them standing in a circle near the entrance to the main athletic field, where the ceremony will take place. Oishi notices him first and raises a hand in greeting.

“Good morning,” Inui says politely as he joins them. Fuji to his right, Oishi to his left. Beyond them, Kawamura and Kikumaru, respectively. He frowns. “Tezuka isn’t here yet?” he asks Oishi.

“He’s not with you?” Oishi answers, looking concerned. The other three are conversing, catching up on their lives after high school, either oblivious to or unconcerned about Tezuka’s absence. Inui listens with half an ear, recording the data for later analysis.

“No. Perhaps he’s just running late.” He scans the crowd for a more-than-familiar face, but doesn’t see him anywhere. “I’ll follow up by phone after the ceremony.”

“Maybe I will, too,” Oishi says. “He called me yesterday morning, and he sounded really... off.”

Inui cocks his head to the side. “Off?”

“Distracted, tense,” Oishi replies. He frowns a little at Inui, who suddenly feels guilty. In all likelihood, Tezuka called Oishi sometime soon after Inui hung up on him.

“What did he say?” Inui presses.

“Nothing specific. He did say he would be here, though.” Oishi sighs, once again a victim of Tezuka’s bad communication habits. Inui can remember his face clearly from the day Tezuka announced that he was leaving school for a time in order to facilitate his rehabilitation, as well as the pang of sympathy he’d felt. The expression had been too similar to the one he himself must have worn when he’d learned about Renji’s departure.

“Cheer up, Oishi!” Kikumaru says, breaking from his own conversation to clap his old doubles partner on the back. “Let’s go sit down. I wanna get a good seat to cheer for Momo!”

Oishi shakes himself and smiles. “Right. We’d better hurry if we don’t want to get stuck up in the nosebleed section.”

“I believe I see Fudomine in the right wing of the bleachers,” Inui volunteers. “There is some space open in the rows behind them.”

“Thanks, Inui,” Oishi replies. “But first?”

Fuji turns away from his chat with Kawamura to fix Oishi with his usual vapid smile, prompting Kikumaru and Kawamura to do the same. “Hmm? What is it, Oishi?”

Oishi sighs and puts on his best stern-captain expression. “No one here has their racquet with them, right?”

As one, Inui, Kikumaru and Fuji chuckle, while Kawamura turns bright red. Their own graduation had turned into a complete debacle when someone (the administration never could pin anything on Fuji) had slipped a tennis racquet into Kawamura’s hand in the middle of the principal’s speech. Though he hadn’t played tennis seriously in several years, the action had still caused Kawamura to launch into his “burning” mode.

“HURRY IT UP, OLD MAN,” he’d yelled out right as the principal was acknowledging school board members. “STOP SPEECHIFYING AND GET IT OVER WITH! WE’RE BURNING OUT HERE!” Considering that Oishi had had to physically wrench the racquet away to keep Kawamura from shaming the tennis club forever, Inui could understand his concern.

“No, no racquet this year, Oishi,” Fuji answers, a particular lilt to his voice that indicates he has an alternate plan for mischief up his sleeve. Oishi senses it too; he keeps himself squarely between Fuji and Kikumaru as they make their way up to join Fudomine and some assorted Seigaku soon-to-be-third-years.

The graduation is mostly uneventful. Echizen shows up halfway through with his shirt buttons mismatched and missing a sock. He utters a rueful “mada mada” as he takes a seat with his yearmates. Teachers make speeches. Students make speeches. Arai gets his diploma, then Ikeda, then Kaidoh, and several minutes later Momo does as well. Fuji remains smiling throughout the ceremony, but nothing happens. Inui considers the possibility that the underlying cause is his seating arrangement (squeezed between Tachibana An and a snoozing grandfather), rather than any hidden plot. It’s almost disappointing.

At 10:56, the last student gets her diploma, the principal gives out a few last pieces of advice (“Be careful out there,” and something wrenches in Inui’s chest), and the class of 2007 disperses. It takes some doing to wade through the crowd to find Kaidoh while still keeping track of the rest of his ex-teammates. When he does find him, he is, predictably, starting something with Momoshiro.

“Wuss,” Kaidoh says gruffly. “What kind of moron cries at his own graduation?”

“Hey! These are manly tears! So manly!” Momoshiro shouts back, then wipes his face and hiccups.

He glares at Kaidoh through his tears. Kaidoh glares at him through his own watery eyes. They pounce.

“I’m gonna miss kicking your ass, you stupid viper!” Momoshiro yells, grabbing Kaidoh by the shoulders.

Not to be outdone, Kaidoh grabs back and pulls them closer. “Idiot, you’ve never kicked my ass.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. And stop crying, you’re getting snot on my jacket.”

“Hey, my shoulder’s wet too, you dumb snake. I hope your tears aren’t poison.”

“Better watch out, Ota,” Inui hears a sarcastic female voice say from behind him. “Your boyfriend’s gonna turn gay like the rest of the tennis club.”

“Hey!” Ota sounds irritated, and there is a 92% chance that her irritation will lead her to--”I’ll have you know that not everyone on the tennis team is gay!”

“Really.”

“Really! It’s only I--”

Inui whips around, glasses flashing, and fixes the girl standing next to Ota with a stare. She meeps and quickly disappears into the crowd. “Inui-senpai!” Ota admonishes, coming forward to stand next to him. “I could have handled that.”

Inui doesn’t care one way or the other about rumors concerning him. He has, at various points in his academic career, been a space alien, an undead warlock, and a time-traveling android sent to the present era to wipe out humanity. However, he is 100% certain that Tezuka would not appreciate being whispered about in such terms.

“Questioning your senpai, Ota?” Inui intones darkly, chuckling at her small squeak before turning back to Kaidoh and Momo.

He watches them hug and carry on and feels vaguely jealous. Not particularly of Momo hugging Kaidoh, he realizes as they break the hug and look away from each other, their stances insisting, “That didn’t just happen.” He is jealous of the act of hugging itself. He and Tezuka are not an affectionate couple: the only times they reach out physically for one another are for practical reasons or to initiate sex.

Inui closes his eyes. He cannot blame Tezuka for this; he has never made a move in that direction either. There is a significant chance that Inui will not press for such a development, though, should they manage to reconcile their current situation. The risk is too great.

“Inui?” Kawamura is standing in front of him, hand in his pockets. “We’re going back to my family’s place for a party before St. Rudolph’s ceremony. Are you coming?”

Inui grins. He has visited Kawamura Sushi innumerable times over the years, but he never turns down an opportunity to eat there. It’s good sushi.

“We’re all chipping in to pay for Momo and Kaidoh’s share,” Kawamura continues, smirking. Inui’s grin falls a little. Good sushi, but expensive. Still, it’s for Kaidoh.

“I’m in,” he says. “Let me get in touch with Tezuka. He’ll probably be attending the--” he pauses, “the Hyoutei ceremony instead of St. Rudolph’s, but he may be interested in lunch.” He pulls out his phone and is about to press speed dial #1 when it rings.

He blinks at the caller ID. There is only a 1% chance that his mother would call him at this time, between her work and her knowledge of Inui’s schedule. He answers the phone and realizes immediately that he’s guessed wrong again.

“Tezuka?” he asks.

“Yes.” Tezuka is silent after this, breathing deeply. Inui swallows. There is too much to talk about, and not nearly enough time--even assuming that communication is 100% successful between them, which Inui has learned it almost never is. This is also assuming Tezuka that is willing to talk--which Inui has also learned, he almost never is. An invitation to lunch should function as a suitable icebreaker: they certainly won’t discuss their personal issues in such an open forum, but perhaps physical proximity will promote more fruitful interactions.

“Tezuka,” he says, “we noticed you weren’t at the ceremony, but we are also planning on celebrating the graduation at Kawamura Sushi. Are you interested in attending? The monetary contribution if you do should be approximately 8,000 yen.”

He waits. The connection is bad, and there is a great deal of background noise, but he knows Tezuka heard him. He listens carefully, and is eventually rewarded with an intake of breath.

“I told my parents,” Tezuka says. Inui nearly drops the phone.

“What?”

“I told my parents,” Tezuka repeats, voice steadier this time. Inui hears a voice announcing the arrival of the bullet train from Yamagata on Tezuka’s end of the line. The static gets stronger.

“Why?” Inui finally blurts out, forty-three milliseconds before the line cuts out. He pounds the redial key and is sent straight to voicemail.

“Inui-senpai?” Kaidoh asks from somewhere far away.

“I have to go,” Inui replies. He bolts off through the thinning crowd, ignoring all protests. There is only one train station in a ten-kilometer radius that has a morning bullet train arrival, and it is two full bus stops away.

~*~*~*~*~

He had expected to find Tezuka in the subway station itself, or not to find him at all. Instead, he locates Tezuka on a bench approximately ten meters away from the entrance. Tezuka doesn’t look up or respond at all when Inui approaches; after a moment’s observation, Inui determines that he is asleep. He says Tezuka’s name, and Tezuka blinks, staring up at him with bleary eyes.

“Inui,” he says, rubbing at his face and belatedly wiping a small trail of saliva from his cheek. Inui shuts his eyes. The past several days suddenly feel disjointed, unreal. This is the way Tezuka wakes up every morning in their apartment, next to him. When he opens his eyes, though, there are still people swirling around him, and Tezuka is regaining consciousness on a bus station bench.

“Tezuka,” he finally replies, then swallows. “We should talk.”

“Yes,” Tezuka answers. He holds out his hand. “Can I borrow your phone?”

Inui frowns. “You have your own. 100% chance; my caller ID identifies pay phone numbers as such.”

“The battery’s dead,” Tezuka replies. “It ran out while I was calling you.”

There’s still the question of why Tezuka wants to make a call at all, but Inui hands his phone over without further comment. He can, at least, use the extra time to prepare his questions and arguments. Tezuka finds the number he’s looking for on Inui’s phone and makes the call.

“Oishi, it’s me,” Tezuka says after a moment. “I’m sorry I missed the ceremony. Something came up.” He listens. “No, I won’t be coming to lunch either.” A pause. “Please extend my congratulations to Momoshiro and Kaidoh.” He closes his eyes. “Thank you.” He hangs up and hands the phone back to Inui.

Inui pockets the phone and licks his lips. “Tezuka,” he asks quietly, “why did you tell your parents about us?”

“I told them about me,” Tezuka corrects, standing up. “Yesterday at lunch.”

“And their reaction?”

Tezuka doesn’t answer. They start walking by unspoken agreement in the direction of Inui’s parents’ apartment.

“Your father must have been very angry,” Inui presses. “I have found it impossible to construct a scenario in which he isn’t.” Remembering his own mother’s message, he adds, “Your mother must be sad.”

“Stop it,” Tezuka snaps. Inui does, jerking his gaze away from Tezuka’s face to the sidewalk ahead of them. They cross a street.

Tezuka takes a deep breath. “I haven’t seen them since then. I rode the subway all night last night.”

“You could have gone back to our apartment,” Inui points out.

Tezuka blinks and looks over at him. “Our apartment?”

“The futon may be lumpy, but it’s more comfortable than a stainless-steel bench.” Inui’s attempted joke falls flat as Tezuka face darkens.

“It’s not our apartment anymore. You left.”

Inui stops dead in his tracks, numbness blooming from his chest to creep out across his limbs. “I what?”

“Yesterday morning. And then you hung up. You never hang up.” Tezuka stops too and turns to stand in front of Inui, rubbing his left elbow with his right hand. “I didn’t want to go back.”

“Are you saying that, when I left yesterday morning, you believed I was leaving permanently?”

“Aren’t you?”

“I’m not, not yet,” Inui replies. “There are still too many positive aspects of this relationship for me to abandon it without at least an effort at repair and maintenance.”

Tezuka’s eyes close, and his entire body sags as he processes the information. Pedestrian traffic flows around them, occasionally brushing against them lightly, but never to the point of discomfort. Inui hears the dull roar of a passing motorcycle and suppresses the urge to pull Tezuka against him.

“Tezuka,” he says finally, both because he wants Tezuka to look at him and because he wants to say it. “You do understand that I’ve never been angry at you for not revealing your sexual preferences to your parents?”

Tezuka looks up at him and nods. The bags under his eyes make Inui want to run away before he can make his next point, but he can’t, not if he really values this relationship at the level he believes he does. “And I’m not... I’m not pleased at the prospect of you marrying. I am not yet 100% certain of my thoughts on that subject. But I do know that that is not why I’m angry with you now.”

Tezuka shoots him an annoyed look. “Be more direct, Inui.”

Inui’s eyes narrow. “I found out for the first time two days ago that you have a marriage arranged. It is apparent that you have been aware of this for some time. Think, Tezuka. Why would I be angry?”

“Didn’t you know?” Tezuka retorts. “I noticed you when Kisaragi and I had our dates. I saw your calculations. I know you heard my parents allude to it. You knew. You always know everything. Don’t be angry at me because you chose to ignore it.”

Inui blinks as the pieces click into place. He swallows; it’s difficult because on some level, Tezuka is 100% correct. He’s known something was wrong, the same way he knew something was wrong when Renji wouldn’t meet his gaze for the first time ever. Still. “Even if you thought I knew,” he says slowly, “you should have told me, Tezuka. It was... difficult, to have my suspicions confirmed in such a manner.”

Tezuka slumps and sways on his feet. Inui catches him. Tezuka lets him, leaning slightly against the pressure of Inui’s hands on his shoulders. After a moment, he balances himself and brushes Inui’s hands away.

“I need a shower,” he says quietly.

“Let’s get you home, then,” Inui replies.

~*~*~*~*~

It’s six minutes past noon by the time they get back to Inui’s parents’ apartment. They haven’t spoken a word to each other since their conversation died, and the silence makes Inui’s skin prickle. His irritation has long since died down, and he has no idea what to say or do. The knowledge that there isn’t anything he can say or do to make this better for Tezuka makes him sick. He unlocks the door and waves Tezuka inside: at least he can ensure that Tezuka won’t spend another night riding the subway.

They pause to remove their shoes in the front hall. Tezuka takes his time, bending over to untie his sneakers and ease them off. Inui watches him with his arms crossed, and when he can’t stand it anymore he leans down and plucks Tezuka’s phone from his back pocket. He heads down the hall to his room and the phone charger he is 78% certain he saw amid the clutter, grateful that Tezuka’s family uses the same make and model of cellular phones that his does.

Tezuka’s phone beeps its satisfaction when he plugs it in and turns it on, and at the same moment he hears Tezuka enter the room. He pauses to adjust his glasses before he turns around. Tezuka’s demeanor has returned to its normal stoicism, and it unnerves him more than it should.

Inui opens his mouth, shuts it. Tries again, but nothing comes out. Wipes his hands on his pants. Tezuka takes a step forward, then another. Inui observes until Tezuka is right in front of him, trying to predict what he is going to do. He nearly jumps out of his skin when Tezuka’s arms shoot out and wrap around his torso, then freezes when Tezuka buries his face in Inui’s neck.

A moment later, he remembers to breathe. His hands hover for a moment, then rest on Tezuka’s hips. He breathes in again and smells sweat in Tezuka’s hair. “Do you want to shower?” he asks.

“Not yet,” Tezuka answers, then bites down at the junction of his neck and shoulder. Inui’s body flares. It’s been sixty-two hours and twelve minutes since he last had sex, and he can suddenly feel every millisecond of it. He nudges Tezuka’s lips away from his neck and kisses them fiercely. Tezuka kisses him back just as hard, dragging Inui to his bed and pulling him down onto it.

The landing knocks their mouths apart, and they take the opportunity to both catch their breath and remove their glasses. Tezuka takes Inui’s from him and tosses them off to Inui’s right. There’s a 43% chance both pairs will be crushed during their sex. Inui almost hopes it will happen, though he can’t discern any possible reason for his desire. They shuffle up a bit, more centered though their calves still hang awkwardly off the side.

Inui wedges a knee between Tezuka’s thighs and groans when Tezuka returns the favor. He kisses Tezuka again and fights for control of it, tilting Tezuka’s head back in order to taste him more deeply. Tezuka shivers, but wins in the end: his hand undoes Inui’s pants and slips inside, causing Inui to break the kiss with a gasp.

“In me,” Tezuka demands, biting Inui’s ear.

“I don’t have anything here,” Inui replies. He slides a hand down in between their bodies and undoes Tezuka’s pants, then grabs Tezuka’s wrist and pins it. There is a good chance that Tezuka is seeking aggression and energy, rather than the physical sensation of being penetrated, so he grinds his hips into Tezuka’s, hard. Tezuka grinds back, sticking his free hand down the back of Inui’s pants to grab his ass. Inui muffles their vocalizations with another kiss, fingers twisted into Tezuka’s hair to hold his mouth in place.

Tezuka’s phone rings. Inui moves from his mouth to his neck and sucks on a particularly sensitive spot, but despite his best efforts Tezuka rolls them over and pushes away from him. He kisses Inui briefly, then crawls over to sit at the edge of the bed. Inui closes his eyes and concentrates on nothing, forcing his frustration down to manageable levels.

“Hello, Father,” Tezuka says after a pause. Inui’s arousal dissipates immediately. He lets his heartrate and breathing slow, then joins Tezuka. Tezuka’s eyes flicker when Inui settles himself next to him, but he makes no other acknowledgment of his presence.

Inui stands. He’s never been able to read Tezuka well, but this is clear enough. Tezuka answers his father in monosyllables as Inui shuffles around the room, gathering up a set of clean clothing from his bag and a towel from the hall closet. He reenters the room just as Tezuka says, “I understand,” and, “Goodbye.”

Tezuka takes the bundle from Inui as he passes, nodding slightly. Inui hesitates, too long: Tezuka shuts the bathroom door before he can say anything. He deposits their glasses safely on a pile of quantum theory texts next to his bed, then straightens the covers and stretches out on top of them. The rhythmic pounding of water from the next room empties his mind. His body starts to shut down. Before he can remember to time the length of Tezuka’s shower Inui has fallen asleep.

He wakes up when something wet hits his cheek. The shower has stopped, and there’s a blurry shape hovering over him--Tezuka. More water drizzles from his hair. Inui blinks, glances down. He realizes that Tezuka is naked just as Tezuka leans down and kisses the shell of his ear.

There is no urgency as they arouse each other step by step. Inui runs his hands up Tezuka’s arms and around his back as they kiss, long strokes up and down his spine, short ones against the roof of his mouth. Tezuka slips his hands underneath Inui’s shirt. Inui shivers and fondles Tezuka in return. He can remember, with perfect clarity, each of the instances in which their sex has had this particular flavor, and he nearly moans at the thought that he’ll have another memory after today.

Inui shivers again as Tezuka shifts to his neck, teasing pressure on his sweetest spots. He tries to pull Tezuka down against him, but Tezuka won’t have it; he pushes Inui away, glides down his body. Inui’s breath pauses when he realizes Tezuka’s intent, then speeds up. He shucks his shirt as Tezuka works on his pants. When Inui is as naked as Tezuka is, Tezuka pushes his legs apart and gently takes one testicle into his mouth.

Inui lets Tezuka tease him for as long as he wants, wherever he wants, making no move to hurry or direct him. Instead, he squirms, and when the sensations start to overwhelm him he bites down on his fist. When his legs start to shake, Tezuka pulls away and rests his lips against the tip of Inui’s cock. His hand grasps Inui’s, now fisted in the sheets, and guides it to rest at the back of his head.

Inui blows out a breath, then props himself up on his elbow and twists his fingers into Tezuka’s still-damp hair. “Don’t let me hurt you,” he says as his hips start to move.

He knows that he will later be amazed that Tezuka lets him do this, but Inui currently finds it nearly impossible to form even a simple sentence. His pace quickens. Tezuka keeps up easily, and when Inui loses his rhythm he clamps an arm around Inui’s hips and pulls him down his throat.

Inui comes back to himself some indeterminate amount of time later. Tezuka is moaning quietly, face pressed into the junction of Inui’s thigh and pelvis, one hand clutching Inui’s hip. It takes Inui a moment to realize that he is masturbating, and by the time he thinks of aiding him Tezuka is already coming. Inui spares a moment to listen to Tezuka’s ragged breathing, then sits up. He hooks his hands under Tezuka’s arms and falls backwards, pulling Tezuka forward to sprawl on top of him.

“What was that for?” he asks once he regains the ability to speak coherently.

“I wanted to do that on Friday night,” Tezuka answers. His hair is still wet. Inui finger-combs what moisture he can out of it and wipes away the droplets with a corner of the blanket. “I thought about it all day.”

If Inui were physically capable of it, he would roll Tezuka over and reinitiate sexual contact that very second. Instead, he drapes his arms around Tezuka’s back and squeezes. “I had the futon out early,” he replies. “I regret that we didn’t use it as intended.”

Tezuka sighs and shifts slightly, resting his cheek more comfortably against Inui’s shoulder. After a few moments, he says, “Father says he won’t disown me if I go through with the marriage.”

Inui’s mouth opens, then shuts. His lips and tongue are numb, trapped between Tezuka’s best interests and his own. He tries again. “That may be your only option if you wish to maintain relations with your family,” he says.

“Will you leave if I do it?” Tezuka asks matter-of-factly.

“I...” Inui trails off, rubbing Tezuka’s back absently while he considers the options available to them. “Would you want me to leave?”

Tezuka hesitates, then shakes his head no.

“There is a large chance that an extramarital relationship will negatively impact your relationship with your wife,” Inui presses. “Your parents will be suspicious: they will hardly believe that you left your homosexual tendencies at the altar. And if her parents found out--”

“Inui,” Tezuka growls.

Inui lets out a shaky breath and falls silent. Something about this situation seems distinctly unfair, but he can’t determine who the injured party is. Tezuka leans up a little and looks him square in the eye, demanding an answer. Inui stares right back. He will not commit to a mutually destructive life choice without Tezuka’s full acknowledgment of his consequences. Inui deliberately does not think about his own.

They look away at almost precisely the same instant. Inui thinks he may have held out for thirty milliseconds longer, but that amount is not significant once margin of error and observational bias are taken into account. Tezuka rolls off of him and starts pulling on his borrowed clothes, which are lying in a small heap by the door. Inui finds his own and dresses quickly, his chilled skin rising to the forefront of his mind, before wiping cursorily at his top blanket. He experiences a moment of panic when Tezuka leaves the room and heads toward the entrance hall, but forcefully calms himself: Tezuka’s stride is determined, not angry.

“Where are you going?” he asks, pulling on a sweatshirt as he follows Tezuka into the hall.

“Hyoutei’s graduation.” Tezuka finishes knotting his shoelaces, then looks up at Inui. “I’m going to tell her. Are you coming?”

~*~*~*~*~

Hyoutei’s graduation is much the same as Seishun’s, except with longer, wordier speeches (containing scattered, seemingly-random phrases in French and/or German), fewer parents present per student, and more expensive uniforms. The air is thick with perfumes and colognes, but the scent of sex is still sharp in Inui’s nose. It thrills him a little, to think that anyone in their immediate vicinity could tell what they’d been doing if they paid them any attention. The logical portion of his brain is relieved that no one does.

Tezuka scans the crowd, probably looking for his fiancee. He ignores Inui’s attempts to engage him in quiet conversation. Inui would believe that Tezuka was ignoring him completely except for the occasional deliberately-slow brush of Tezuka’s fingers against the outside of his left thigh. Inui’s own fingers tighten against the metal bench with each repetition, and he is on the verge of dragging Tezuka to the nearest semiprivate space for stress relief when the ceremony finally ends.

They stand in acknowledgment of the graduates with everyone else, but make no move to leave yet; seated in the middle of the row as they are, it will take some time for the crowd to clear. Tezuka is still looking out at the graduates. Inui cocks his head to the side. “The class is not very large, Tezuka. I had predicted that you would have found her by now.”

“I found her,” Tezuka replies absently. “I’m looking for her parents.”

“Ah. Yes, it would probably be best if they were not present for this, though you certainly would increase their esteem for you by showing up at the ceremony.”

“If they didn’t already hold me in high esteem, they wouldn’t want me to marry their daughter,” Tezuka points out.

“...True.” Inui’s hesitation is unintentional and somewhat unsettling. He decides to change the subject. “Tezuka, why did you tell your parents?”

Tezuka’s gaze falls, and he is silent for a long time. “I thought they should know,” he says finally, each syllable slightly separated from the next. “I thought it was important.”

Inui doesn’t know what to say to that, so he doesn’t say anything. It irritates him that Tezuka tells his parents important things, but won’t do the same for Inui. Still, if he had been under the impression that Inui was already aware and choosing not to address the issue, Tezuka’s reticence could be considered understandable.

“I told you about my parents because I knew you would want to know,” he continues. “I tried to tell you before I did it...”

“But I hung up on you,” Inui finishes. “I apologize, Tezuka. It was 100% unintentional.”

“Ah.” Tezuka squeezes Inui’s fingers briefly. Inui’s resulting smile draws three confused glances.

The crowd has thinned out, so they start making their way out of the bleachers and onto the athletic field (considerably more well-maintained than Seishun’s, Inui notes). He holds on to the back of Tezuka’s shirt as Tezuka leads him to a certain spot on the field and stops. He looks around, puzzled.

“She’s probably moved by now,” Inui volunteers.

“I know that,” Tezuka replies. He looks around again, frowning. Inui starts to suggest the most likely path for her to have taken, based on the crowd distribution and the nearby availability of shade, but is interrupted by a distinctive and familiar voice.

“Tezuka? And what are you doing here, ahn?” Atobe asks, sidling up beside them. Inui frowns. He doesn’t like the tone of Tezuka’s voice when he talks about Atobe, and there is evidence to suggest that Atobe’s girlfriend doesn’t like it when he talks about Tezuka, either.

“I’m looking for someone,” Tezuka answers. Inui shifts closer, nodding in as polite a greeting as he can manage with no room to bow.

Atobe presses a hand to his face and looks at them both with the “Insight” that made him a force of nature on the high-school tennis courts. “Your fiancee, hmm?”

Inui feels a sudden and startling urge to punch either Tezuka or Atobe, or both, but it dies when he sees the matching shock in Tezuka’s expression. Atobe laughs smugly. “She’s friends with Ohtori. I saw her head that way.” He jerks his head north-northwest. “She may be... preoccupied.”

“Thank you,” Tezuka says. He shifts his weight to leave, but something changes in Atobe’s expression and he doesn’t. Inui glances from one to the other. Moments pass.

“We should find her soon,” Inui says. “Before she leaves the grounds.”

Tezuka blinks and looks over at him. “Yes, we should,” he says.

“Ah, Kabaji,” Atobe drawls as his constant companion reattaches himself to his side, no trace of the previous minute’s odd atmosphere present in his voice. “Congratulations. Clear a path for us, will you? These two have somewhere to be.”

“Usu,” Kabaji replies.

With Kabaji leading the way, they reach the edge of the crowd in record time. They congratulate Kabaji on his graduation and head in the direction Atobe indicates. It takes them into Hyoutei proper, a mass of enormous buildings and the narrow passageways between them. Hyoutei’s lower grades share space with the college, Inui recalls. Convenient for someone who doesn’t want to learn an entirely new campus after high school, but not so convenient in light of Tokyo’s limited space.

The layout has its benefits, he thinks as he pulls Tezuka into an alcove and kisses him soundly.

“We need to hurry,” Tezuka breaks the kiss to protest.

“We do,” Inui replies, grinning. He wipes his mouth and continues.

It’s Inui who breaks away this time, delighting in the grip Tezuka has on his shirt. “We do need to hurry, now,” he says. “The average graduate will only spend twenty minutes on-campus after the ceremony.”

They jog down the main corridor after that, quick glances down the alleys they pass. There is no one around. Inui thinks back to the kiss and considers a detour--after this amount of time, it’s unlikely that Kisaragi is still around, and the odds are lessened considerably by the complexity of Hyoutei’s campus and their unfamiliarity with it. He grins. He’s always wanted to do it at school.

“Perhaps you should just call her later,” Inui suggests.

“I don’t have her number,” Tezuka replies. He glances off to the side and stops dead. Inui backtracks a few steps and looks down the alley to see what Tezuka is staring at.

It’s Kisaragi. She is visibly upset, small black smudges around her eyes and shaking lips. There is someone else with her, taller, but the overhang casts a shadow that Inui can’t see through. Atobe had mentioned she is friends with Ohtori; Inui considers the possibility that her companion is Ohtori, but on further observation, the figure is far too short.

“Please, please, please believe me,” Kisaragi pleads quietly. Tezuka looks away. Inui should, but the scientist in him wants to observe, to understand this person he might be sharing Tezuka with. He watches as she takes her companion’s limp hand and squeezes it. “If I had a choice, I would never do this. Please.”

Her companion is unresponsive for a moment. The hand in Kisaragi’s tightens. Two seconds later, Kisaragi and her companion are kissing desperately. This does not surprise Inui; though they had only met one time, it is clear in hindsight that Kisaragi was not enthusiastic at the prospect of marrying Tezuka. Kisaragi’s companion leans into her, slightly out of the shadows, and Inui is surprised to find that she is wearing the same uniform as Kisaragi’s.

“Tezuka,” he says, then puts his hand to his mouth and laughs.

“That’s rude, Inu--” Tezuka cuts off as he sees what Inui is laughing about. Kisaragi breaks away from her companion but doesn’t release her hand, placing herself protectively in between her and the two men. Her lipstick is smudged and her eyes are still wet, but there’s a fire in them now that she has something tangible to fight against.

“And what is so funny?” she snarls, glaring at Inui, who can’t seem to stop himself. He leans against the wall, laughing and shaking his head in disbelief. Statistically, the chances of this occurring are at the very best 1:100, considerably less due to the rarity of arranged marriages and possible reluctance on the part of one or both parties to indulge in, or even admit to, their homosexual tendencies.

He slowly manages to calm himself. When he is quiet enough for her tastes, she shifts her gaze to Tezuka. Her face becomes 2% paler, like before, but she lifts her chin defiantly.

“I’m not ashamed,” she says. “You can be as disgusted as you want, but I won’t be ashamed of this.”

Tezuka doesn’t respond. Kisaragi’s companion tugs at her arm. “Kaede,” she says; her voice is quiet, almost a squeak.

“Tell your parents I’m a dyke,” Kisaragi presses. “Tell them you don’t want to marry someone like me. You don’t have to. I won’t love you. If my parents didn’t want me to, I’d never marry.”

“Kisaragi-san,” Tezuka says finally.

“What?” she snaps. Tezuka mouth opens, then shuts. Inui almost starts laughing again. “Go on. Tell me I’m disgusting.”

“You’re not,” Tezuka replies. He takes a breath. “There is something you should know.”

Kisaragi’s face loses some of its hostility, though her posture remains defensive. “And that is?”

“Something about me.” He falls silent. Kisaragi frowns in confusion. Her companion darts nervous glances off to the side, clearly wanting to escape. The silence continues.

“Be more direct, Tezuka,” Inui says, a slow grin spreading.

“Hush,” Tezuka replies. Then he crosses the small gap between them and kisses Inui. Inui kisses him back readily, having predicted a 79% chance of this occurring with the usage of that particular phrase. Inui doesn’t intend for it to go beyond chaste, and he is certain that Tezuka doesn’t either, but somehow their mouths open and they breathe the same air.

Tezuka is shaking slightly when they part. Inui licks his lips. They will have to hurry home.

“Oh my god,” Kisaragi’s companion says.

Tezuka steps back from Inui, blows out a breath and shakes his head. He nods at Kisaragi. “I thought you should know,” he says.

Kisaragi doesn’t respond right away. Her expression is stunned, but she starts smiling after a few moments. “Maybe we can work something out.”

Tezuka nods again, then pulls his phone out of his pocket. “That would be be best,” he says. “Can I get your number?”

~*~* The End *~*~

#9: Prince of Tennis, Inui/Tezuka for 30_lemons

Sun, 22 Apr 2007 01:55:09 GMT

Title: Private Number
Fandom: Prince of Tennis, which is owned by Konomi Takeshi and various manga publishing houses. I am not gaining any tangible benefit from writing and posting this; it's just for fun.
Pairing: Inui/Tezuka
Rating: R
Warnings: Angst with some humor mixed in (a dramedy?). Cliche plot device. Deus ex machina. Original characters. Mentions of other pairings. I can't write Atobe. And I kinda wimped out on the sex.
Notes: For 30_lemons theme #8: The Phonebooth, or, "Aural sex." Once again, a liberal interpretation of the theme.

This is approximately 14,500 words long. If you just want the sex, it's somewhere in Part 2. If you want the (questionable) plot as well, start here. I realized as I was reading this over that it could be much better, but it's already two weeks past the 30_lemons deadline and this is the only thing that's even close to being done. I hope it's enjoyable anyway: it's been eating my brain for quite some time.

It starts with a text message. “Parents ETA 20:15.”

There is no signature and the number is listed as “PRIVATE,” but Inui knows its source instantly. Tezuka doesn’t contact him often; when he does, it is almost always an emergent situation. Like now. Inui glances at the clock: 19:42. He has thirty-three minutes to make the apartment look as if it is inhabited by two platonic friends instead of a pair of homosexual lovers.

Inui tosses his phone onto his desk and gets to work. He folds up the futon and puts it away--he’d been planning a Friday night post-exams celebratory makeout session after dinner today, but with Tezuka’s parents on their way, he foresees a 0% possibility of this occurring. Hopefully, Tezuka’s parents won’t come into their bedroom, and if so, won’t notice that there is only one futon. He takes down the very few pictures of the two of them Tezuka will let him keep out and hides them in a drawer underneath his socks. He sorts their laundry into two separate hampers.

Finally, he sprays a hefty dose of air freshener around the room. It’s not quite strong enough to cover the scent of last night’s sex (and in April it’s too cold to crack open a window) but Tezuka’s parents will likely attribute it to the normal activities of hormonally-active, heterosexual young men. He carefully rearranges their bathroom cabinet, pulls out the spare tube of toothpaste and another comb, then makes a quick run-through of the rest of the apartment.

There, on the kitchen counter. A Polaroid, taken by Fuji and framed by his sister, possibly Inui’s favorite picture of Tezuka, ever. Tezuka is sitting on the sand, at the beach, shoes off, looking into the distance. Sunrise on the day before their high school graduation, a year ago this coming Monday. The legs in the background are not identifiable as Inui’s, but if Inui’s analysis of Tezuka’s father is correct, he will consider it suspiciously “gay.”

Inui picks up the photo and takes a moment to study it. He nearly drops it when someone knocks at the door.

“Just a moment,” he calls as he dashes to the bedroom, stashing the photo away with the others. He frowns as he goes to answer the door. Tezuka’s parents don’t visit without him, and Tezuka, being one of the occupants of the place, has a key. Unless he’s forgotten it (3% chance) but then he would call out to warn Inui. Also, he notices when his watch beeps a fifteen-minute warning, it’s not time for them to arrive yet.

On the other side of the door is a young woman--a Hyoutei high-school student, Inui realizes, taking in her plaid skirt and gray blazer. She bows politely. Inui returns her bow and asks, “Is there something I can help you with?”

She straightens from her bow and looks up at him. “Is this the residence of Tezuka Kunimitsu-san?”

“Yes.” Inui wants to frown but doesn’t. He recognizes this girl now--one of Tezuka’s acquaintances. They have met each other for lunch twelve times in the past three months, increasing in frequency as time has passed. Five times last month alone. Inui doesn’t yet know her name. Her long black hair is done up much more elaborately than usual today, and her makeup is more precise.

“I’m Inui Sadaharu, his roommate,” he says. “May I ask your name?”

“Oh, I apologize. I should have introduced myself from the start.” She bows again, stiffly. “I am Kisaragi Kaede. I was supposed to be meeting with Tezuka-san at around this time, but I may be somewhat early.”

“Ah,” Inui nods. Perhaps Tezuka has double-booked himself, setting up a time to discuss college choices with this girl, only to be goaded into inviting his parents for dinner at the last minute. 54% chance. He stands aside and holds open the door. “He should be here soon. Please, come in.”

“Please pardon the intrusion,” she murmurs as she steps inside and toes off her shoes. Inui shuts the door and heads to the kitchen to make tea. He nearly burns himself on the bottom of the electric teapot and grips the countertop tightly to try to diffuse his remaining irritation. He’s accustomed himself to most of Tezuka’s quirks, but having their space intruded on by someone he has not even been introduced to is not the same as leaving clothing in the bathroom sink.

The water heats in record time--of course it does, Inui revamped the teapot himself. He brings it out to the main room of the apartment and sets it on the table, on a small metal-and-cork disk designed to keep the surface from charring. Kisaragi has already seated herself, legs folded under her as primly as any well-bred Hyoutei girl. Tezuka was supposed to have gone to Hyoutei, Inui recalls. Had he not convinced his parents that learning from Ryuuzaki Sumire, who had trained the legendary tennis “samurai” Echizen Nanjiroh, would be more beneficial to his tennis than Hyoutei’s eat-or-be-eaten system, he would have.

“Kisaragi-san?” he says, because she didn’t notice him come into the room. She looks up at him, blinking rapidly. “What flavor of tea would you like?”

“Oh, thank you. Would you happen to have Earl Grey?”

“One packet. I hope you don’t mind that it’s a bag.” He heads back into the kitchen, nodding in acknowledgment of her humble apologies. He pulls out a teacup and a mug, sets the tea bag in the former and taps two spoonfuls of instant coffee into the other. Decaf, because he suspects that the queasy feeling in his stomach will not respond well to chemical stimulation.

He brings everything back out to the table, sets the teacup down in front of her and the mug down in front of himself. He fills her cup, then his own, cursing to himself as he realizes he’s forgotten the spoon. He stirs his coffee with his right pinky finger instead. An accident in the chemistry lab at school had cost him all sensation in that finger, and if his guest is offended... she doesn’t seem to notice, staring down at her cup and dunking the bag halfheartedly.

“Kisaragi-san?” he asks finally. She looks up at him. Inui tries to interpret her expression, but he has always been bad at reading people and she has been trained to keep her emotions locked away. “If I may ask... what are you here to meet with Tezuka about today? Is it colleges?”

“Oh. No,” she answers. “I’ve already made my selection. I’ll be going to Hyoutei next year as well.” Kaidoh’s age, then. He removes his finger from the mug and sucks it clean.

“That’s a fine school,” Inui says, taking a sip of his coffee. Too strong. He drinks a little more, intent on draining the mug three-eighths of the way down. “Very strong academically, and also in sports. Especially tennis.”

“Ah. Yes, Tezuka-san had mentioned that he plays tennis.”

“Tezuka is an excellent tennis player. In fact, we became acquainted through our school’s team in junior high.”

“I was unaware that you played as well, Inui-san.”

“Not for the school team,” Inui answers. “Not anymore.”

“I am sorry to hear that.”

“Please don’t worry yourself for my sake.” It had been a difficult decision, but Inui was 100% confident that he had made the correct choice. Not playing for the team had freed up a large portion of Inui’s time, time he could now spend studying, keeping up-to-date on various personal dramas unfolding on the internet, and, of course, his favorite hobby, coaching. Kaidoh was maturing into a truly professional-grade player, and watching his progress gave Inui a joy and pride that his own athletic achievements, while laudable, had never provided.

“But as to why you’re here...” he continues.

“Yes.” She takes a sip of tea, splashing it against her lips more than anything else, and sets the cup down with more force than is strictly necessary. Inui downs one more mouthful of coffee, then reaches for the teapot, intent on diluting it to the perfect consistency. “I am to meet with Tezuka-san and... and his parents. And also my own parents.”

Inui frowns: they don’t have enough room at the table to comfortably seat more than four. He also hopes that Tezuka will think to bring some tea leaves home, because while a Hyoutei girl might settle for tea in a bag, Inui doubts her parents will. “Oh,” he says, pouring with one hand and holding the mug steady with the other. “That’s unusual. Is it a business meeting?”

The skin of her cheeks becomes 2% paler. “Of a sort. They will be setting a date.”

“A date?”

“For our wedding.”

Inui burns his hand.

~*~*~*~*~

He has it under the faucet when he hears the door open, nine minutes after the scheduled arrival time. A quiet chorus of voices rings out polite greetings, four “Pardon the intrusion”s and one “I’m home.” Inui can’t bring himself to answer. If the topic comes up, he’ll claim the water was too loud.

Kisaragi hurries around the corner, stained rag in hand. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I think you’ll have to wash it. Is your hand all right?”

“Yes, it should be.” He shuts off the water and takes the rag from her, gingerly patting his hand dry. This will teach him not to lose focus while performing a potentially dangerous task. “Could you bandage it for me, please? It would be difficult with one hand.”

“Of course,” she says. She fetches the first-aid kit from the cupboard he indicates and pulls out burn cream and medical gauze.

“I apologize,” he says as she applies the cream. “You had to clean up after my carelessness.”

“Please don’t think anything of it,” she answers. She takes the gauze and starts bandaging his hand. It’s not a large burn, but it does involve the webbing between his thumb and first finger. He suspects it will be sore for some time. There is chatter coming from the living room, along with rustling plastic. Inui surmises that Tezuka’s parents must have brought food again, knowing how unskilled their son and his roommate are in the culinary arts.

Tezuka rounds the corner and blinks. “You’re... here early,” he says to Kisaragi.

“We weren’t doing anything,” she asserts.

Inui wants to let her know that infidelity cannot be the reason Tezuka is concerned about her early arrival. Instead, he says, “I burned my hand before you got here, and Kisaragi-san was just bandaging it for me.” He holds it up and smiles. “I think she will make a good wife, don’t you, Tezuka?”

Anyone else would not have seen Tezuka’s expression change. Inui, however, has spent hours cataloging each of the possible shades of Tezuka’s skin, the customary movements of his facial muscles. Kisaragi flinches. Inui feels vaguely sorry that his comment affected her in such a way, but he has achieved his purpose.

“Kaede, dear,” a sweet female voice calls from the living room. “Come sit with your father. Tezuka-kun’s mother and I will take care of dinner.”

“Yes, mother,” Kisaragi calls back. She takes a deep breath and walks out of the kitchen, all poise and dignity. Inui and Tezuka look at each other. Tezuka opens his mouth, but before he has a chance to speak his mother comes around the corner, boxes of takeout in tow.

“Oh, Inui-kun!” Tezuka’s mother says, raising a frail hand to her mouth. “I hadn’t realized you were here.” Her expression is peculiar. Inui spends a moment trying to decipher it; when he thinks to look away, Tezuka is gone.

~*~*~*~*~

He has waited for Tezuka for nearly three hours. Technically, he’d spent the first two hours studying techniques for how to lower the body’s endorphin threshold--he’d calculated a possible 22% increase in Kaidoh’s win rate if he could hit his runner’s high just twelve seconds earlier--but Inui knows that he spent the last forty-three minutes of his research staring at the computer screen, mind blank.

The computer is in sleep mode now, and Inui is sprawled out on their futon and staring at the ceiling. The paint is cracking. He counted thirty-four spots where the sheet rock shows before the ambient light became too dim to see by. His hand is stinging. He can hear a group of drunken students sharing a laugh right below the window. Probably celebrating the end of exams and the school year. Seniors, maybe. He stands and goes to the window, looks down. There’s no street lamp, though, and it’s too dark to see much.

“100% unproductive,” he murmurs, but it doesn’t compel him to move.

He’d eaten dinner with them at Tezuka’s father’s insistence, sat next to Tezuka, caught the faint scent of him over reheated Indian food. No less than eight times over the course of the meal, he’d wanted to turn to him and comment on his silence. “Are you all right, Tezuka?” he would say. “You’re so quiet. Are you sick?” And then Tezuka would look at him helplessly, eyes begging for forgiveness, exactly the same reaction he’d wanted from Renji during the first awful month he’d been gone.

Except that Renji’s sudden departure was not his fault, and there is a 97% chance that Tezuka has no choice in this matter either. Inui’s emotional growth must be stunted, though, because he still wants it to be Tezuka’s fault somehow. Even though it isn’t. Even though he’s been aware that this was a likely outcome, even though he’s calculated the odds of it occurring several times.

He leans his forehead against the window and takes the coolness to heart. Nothing will be solved like this.

He hears the front door open and close, the murmur of goodnights and goodbyes. Closes his eyes and listens to Tezuka’s feet padding over the carpet to their bedroom. Crosses his arms. The door swings open. A soft click and the room is thrumming with energy, intense enough to make Inui’s throat hurt.

He swallows, holds his breath, lets it out. Seconds pass.

“Were you going to tell me?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“When?”

Tezuka doesn’t answer. Inui turns to see him leaning against the door. He might be looking at Inui, he might not: neither of them have turned on the lights. “Tezuka.”

“I don’t have a choice about this.” After a moment, Tezuka flips the switch and light floods the room. He looks the same as he ever does, stoic with a hint of annoyance.

Inui pushes away from the wall. “You always have choices,” he says.

“I won’t do that to my parents, Inui,” Tezuka snaps. “Yours don’t care. It’s different for me.”

“That’s not the point,” Inui snaps back. On impulse, he crosses the room to the closet and pulls out his old overnight bag. A handful from the sock drawer--he should actually bring two, but his fingers brush one of the pictures and he can’t risk that again. He closes that drawer and opens the next, approximating what he’ll need. When he’s finished, he looks back up and is startled to see Tezuka staring at him with something like panic. Perhaps his tone was harsher than he’d intended.

“Where are you going?” Tezuka asks when Inui swings the bag over his shoulder and stands.

“My parents’ place,” Inui answers. He takes his phone from the desk and slips it into his pocket and heads for the door.

Tezuka catches his elbow as he walks by him. Inui shrugs it off, but Tezuka grabs him again, firmer this time. “It’s nearly midnight,” he says. “The trains--”

“There’s one at 0:13,” Inui says, but he lets his hand rest on the door handle instead of opening it.

“You’ll wake your parents.”

“My mother is always awake at this time.” A full 87% of the time, Tezuka will decide it’s not worth talking about at this point and let Inui leave, trusting that he’ll return when he’s had time to draw up a plan of attack. This time, his grip doesn’t relax. Inui glances at him and realizes that he doesn’t want to leave either, not with things like this.

Tezuka’s hand falls away. Inui swallows. He has no plan for reconciliation, no clue as to how to solve this problem, no idea of what the future might hold. After a long, long moment, Tezuka takes a breath and steps around Inui, heading to their little bathroom. “I’ll take the floor,” he calls.

Inui fights down the sudden urge to follow Tezuka and punch him in the mouth. Instead, he checks his watch--it is now physically impossible for him to make it to the subway station on time, even at top speed. Tezuka comes back and changes into his warmest pajamas, preparing for a night on their thin carpet.

“No,” Inui says finally, tossing his bag down to act as a pillow. “I’ll take the floor.”

Tezuka glances sharply at him, glasses in hand. “Inui.”

“It’s bad for your shoulder,” Inui insists.

“You’ll freeze,” Tezuka retorts.

“Correct.” Inui goes to the bathroom and brushes his teeth. When he comes back, Tezuka has spread out the futon and is sitting on the edge. He looks up, and Inui understands his challenge: I will if you will. Inui nods, and Tezuka slips under the covers. After he sets his phone’s alarm for the exact time he’ll need to leave to catch the first train, Inui switches off the lights and follows suit.

Approximately 54 minutes after he lays down, he hears the blankets rustle behind him. This is followed by warm fingers pressing against the small of his back. A percentage of his brain wants to roll over and fuck Tezuka as hard as he can, so hard Tezuka breaks, but it’s a controllable percentage. After a few seconds, the fingers retreat. The blankets rustle again, and they go back to pretending that neither knows the other is awake.

~*~*~*~*~

It’s a testament to Inui’s state of mind that he carefully checked his pockets for his phone, his subway pass, his wallet, and his mini-binoculars before he left, but somehow forgot his keys. He stares at the closed door to his parents’ apartment and sighs. His attempts at knocking have gone unanswered, and his attempt to pick the lock failed as well--apparently, you can’t learn everything on the internet. He hits #3 on speed dial, sighs again when he gets his parents’ voicemail, and leaves a message. Then he goes to see if he can find breakfast. Tokyo may be billed to foreigners as a city that never sleeps, but in Inui’s little corner of it nothing is open at 4:53 in the morning.

Nothing, that is, except for a small convenience store Inui frequented when he was studying for his college exams. He buys a can of vegetable juice and heads out again. After a meandering walk through his neighborhood, his feet take him to a particular bridge. He knows it very well. It’s the bridge he supervised Kaidoh’s training at for countless hours, the one he asked Kaidoh to be his doubles partner under, and the site of his first love confession (result: 100% failure).

A splash alerts him to the presence of a figure standing in the water a short distance away, swinging a sopping wet towel in a graceful arc. Inui grins and heads over. Speaking of Kaidoh...

“Inui-senpai,” Kaidoh says when he notices Inui on the bank. He wades over, and Inui can’t help but appreciate how he’s grown since they first met, the powerful muscles in his shoulders and legs, his confident stride and his sharp eyes. “The graduation ceremony isn’t until tomorrow.”

Inui nods. “My exams are already over. I had some extra time, so I came down early.”

“Ah.”

“I thought I told you you’d outgrown the towel exercise?” Inui teases. “Four years, seven months and fifteen days ago, to be exact.”

“I wanted to improve the strength in my left wrist, in case I injure my right,” Kaidoh replies. He squints as the sun emerges over the horizon.

Inui brings a hand up to shade his eyes. “Still trying to outdo Echizen?”

“If that brat can play with his off hand, so can I.” Kaidoh’s grudges have as much stamina as Kaidoh himself. It’s a part of him that Inui has never fully understood, but that’s to be expected: Inui has always been drawn to people he doesn’t understand.

Kaidoh heads back out to the middle of the river. “Do you mind if I stay here for a while?” Inui calls as he starts his exercises again. “I’ve locked myself out.”

“Do what you want, senpai,” Kaidoh calls back. After a few more strokes, he adds, “You can come to my house for breakfast if you like. My mom won’t mind.”

Inui sits and pulls the can of vegetable juice out of his bag. It tastes like cardboard (Inui knows this for a fact, having once eaten cardboard with the express purpose of testing the accuracy of that metaphor), so he waters the grass with it and answers, “That would be much appreciated, Kaidoh.”

He watches Kaidoh as the sun rises, resisting the urge to verbally correct Kaidoh’s form. They’re minor mistakes, and he’s taught Kaidoh more than just technique; each slight inaccuracy is corrected by the next swing. He wonders if Kaidoh really needs him anymore, but puts the thought aside. Kaidoh has never needed him. The fact that he wants Inui around anyway, even seeks out his company on occasion, has made difficult times in Inui’s life 100% more tolerable.

Kaidoh stops when the sun has fully risen and wades back to the bank. He sits beside Inui, draping the wet towel over his shoulders. Inui pulls it up and over his head, soaking his hair and bandana. Kaidoh scowls, but doesn’t remove it. If Inui’s data is still accurate, he’s at the very end of his morning routine and the coolness is probably soothing.

“You’ll probably need a new menu soon,” Inui says after a period of comfortable silence. “Let’s be sure to play together a bit while we’re both on vacation so that I can get your most current data.” Kaidoh nods. “I’ll also have to take into account the time you spend with Ota-san and any physical activity involved.”

“Senpai!” Kaidoh sputters, face flushing crimson.

“I just don’t want you to overwork yourself, Kaidoh,” Inui deadpans. “It would be most helpful if I were able to observe such activity firsthand. When is your next date?”

“I--that’s--you--” Inui laughs, and Kaidoh scowls as he gets it. He punches Inui’s shoulder. “That’s not funny, senpai.”

Inui thinks it is, but lets the subject drop. “I do think that we should set aside at least half an hour a day to spend with her, and two hours on weekends. If there are problems in your relationship, you’ll be distracted and won’t be able to train at your full potential.”

“An hour a day,” Kaidoh says, looking straight at Inui. “And four on weekends.”

“You might have to cut into your free time if we do that.”

“I spend it with her anyway.”

Inui smiles. “Ah. Then it’s not a problem.” His phone rings; the number is listed as PRIVATE. “Excuse me, Kaidoh,” he says. “This might be my mother.” He accepts the call and answers with his name.

It only takes a breath from the caller for him to realize that he isn’t talking to his mother. He opens his mouth several times, tries to force out something, anything, but it doesn’t work and the silence continues. Finally, the caller inhales deeply. “Inui,” he says. His statement is followed by a click and silence.

Inui blinks. Tezuka does have a habit of hanging up on him (marginally less so now that they are sexually involved), but he’s never done it when the call was originally made by him. Inui pulls the phone away from his ear and realizes that he’s hit the REJECT button with his thumb.

“Inui-senpai?” Kaidoh asks.

“Wrong number,” Inui answers. He sets the phone down, unnerved.

Kaidoh is frowning, not his usual go-away frown but his elusive I’m-concerned-but-not-saying-anything-because-coddling-is-for-girls frown. He opens his mouth, but Inui heads him off before he can speak. “Let’s go, Kaidoh,” he says, getting to his feet. “Your mother is likely to be anticipating your arrival. We shouldn’t disappoint her.”

He scoops his bag up from the ground and heads up the concrete embankment, only to stop when Kaidoh grabs his shoulder. His friend is holding out something to him, something that glints in the warm sunlight.

“Don’t forget your phone, senpai,” he says.

~*~*~*~*~

Kaidoh’s mother is delighted to see him, as always. She chatters happily as she sets out an extra plate and fills it with scrambled eggs. Inui takes a seat next to Kaidoh and chatters back, comfortable in his role as honorary son. He suspects she’s grateful to have someone to talk to who will actually talk back, so he cheerfully answers all of her questions about college, his classes, his friends there. When she asks about Tezuka, he takes a bite of egg and nods. She doesn’t ask again.

Kaidoh wolfs down his breakfast as fast as politeness will allow. Inui takes longer. The eggs also taste like cardboard, despite their home-cooked care. He chokes them down anyway and smiles when Kaidoh-san asks if he wants seconds.

“Actually, Mom, I had some stuff I wanted to ask Inui-senpai about,” Kaidoh intercedes before his mother can reach for the pan. He thanks her for the feast, clears away the dirty dishes, and kisses her on the cheek.

“Now, don’t burden your senpai, Kaoru,” she says, accepting the kiss and returning it with one of her own. Inui comes around the table and watches. Kaidoh’s family operates very differently from Inui’s, and it’s always fascinating to observe. She winks at her son. “And be sure to send your brother down for some food. I think he may have a surprise for you. Don’t worry about your father, I’ll wake him up.”

She reaches up toward Inui’s face; he doesn’t understand at first, but then he leans down and lets her ruffle his hair. “Thank you for breakfast,” he says, turning the position into a bow.

“You’re always welcome, Inui-kun,” Kaidoh’s mother answers. “Thank you for taking such good care of Kaoru.”

Kaidoh hisses impatiently, so Inui straightens up, thanks Kaidoh’s mother again and follows him to his room. He sets his bag on the floor and sits on it. Kaidoh sits on the futon and crosses his arms. “What is it, senpai?” he asks without preamble.

Inui pushes his glasses up his nose. Really, he should have realized that Kaidoh would pick up on his unusual mood--his kouhai is surprisingly sensitive to the emotions of others, though he lacks the social grace to follow through effectively. “It’s nothing, Kaidoh,” he says.

Kaidoh’s frown deepens, so he hastily adds, “I will inform you of the circumstances if and when they become relevant. In the meantime, I’d prefer not to think about it.”

“If you say so,” Kaidoh says, and lets it drop. Inui experiences a sudden, intense wave of regret that he did not succeed in winning Kaidoh’s affections four years, seven months and fifteen days ago. It’s always so easy with Kaidoh.

The silence that follows is suddenly broken by a familiar MIDI melody coming from the room next door. Inui cocks his head, trying to place it; Kaidoh hisses. “I don’t believe it,” Kaidoh grumbles. “He’s playing video games already?”

“Street Fighter II,” Inui clarifies. “The original Super Famicom version.”

“He shouldn’t be playing at this hour,” Kaidoh insists, though he perks up a bit.

“Let’s join him,” Inui says, getting up and heading down the hall to Hazue’s room. He knocks on the door and is startled when a tiny brown-haired girl flings it open and grabs him around the waist. Inui can hear Hazue laughing as she snuggles into his chest. He looks down at the top of her head, hands hovering in the air above her shoulders.

“Ota-san,” Hazue chuckles as he gets himself under control, “that’s not Nii-san.”

“Oh!” She squints up at Inui’s face. “Then who am I hugging?”

“It’s me, Ota-san,” Inui says.

“Oh!” she says, squeezing him. “Hello, Inui-senpai.”

“Hello,” he replies. Though he still finds himself uncomfortable with her cuddly ways on occasion, Inui likes her as a match for Kaidoh, whom he thinks would rather bite off his own tongue than admit his longing for physical affection. If Inui is honest with himself, the physical affection is beneficial to him as well, though it’s motivated more by debilitating myopia than actual intent.

Kaidoh hisses, and she releases Inui, smiling widely. “Is that Kaoru-kun?”

In response, Inui takes her by the shoulders and turns her in the right direction. She walks carefully down the hall, hand outstretched. Kaidoh takes it and growls, “Why aren’t you wearing your glasses?”

“I wanted to look nice today,” she answers, latching on. “Mom and Dad want to go visit relatives right after graduation tomorrow, so I wanted to spend today with you.”

She tilts her face up expectantly. Inui grins and refuses to leave until Kaidoh hisses at him. He greets Hazue with a wave as he enters the room, then plops down on the floor, wincing as he lands on the phone in his back pocket. Hazue hands him the second controller. “Good morning, Inui-senpai,” he says.

“Good morning, Hazue-kun,” Inui answers. “Your mother wants you to--”

“--come down for breakfast. I’ll go later.” Hazue waves his hand dismissively and pushes buttons, advancing them to the two-player character selection screen. The Famicom is more than ten years old and has been jury-rigged too many times to count; Hazue has enlisted Inui’s help on several occasions, determined to wring out every last minute of playability. He picks Blanka, sets the controller down and shoots Inui a challenging stare. “I’ve been practicing, Inui-senpai. Prepare to get your ass whipped.”

Inui grins and picks Dhalsim. He likes Dhalsim, slow and possessing an odd set of moves that leaves him vulnerable almost 60% of the time. It is impossible to button-mash with Dhalsim and expect to win. Dhalsim takes skill. Inui has skill.

“Is that so?” he says, adjusting his glasses so that they flash in the light. “You sound very confident, Hazue-kun, but it is you who should prepare for 100% ass-whippage.”

Inui follows up on his threat. Hazue curses under his breath continually, Blanka’s electrical crouch his only defense against Dhalsim’s ranged punches and kicks. Inui counters with Yoga Fire, timed perfectly to hit him just as he comes out of the crouch--extra humiliation. Kaidoh and Ota join them several rounds later when Hazue switches to Guile. Both look approximately 32% more red in the face than normal. Neither Inui nor Hazue comments, but they flash each other grins of barely-concealed laughter, which Kaidoh hisses at.

“Are you still playing Street Fighter II?” Ota asks, feeling around on Hazue’s dresser. “I call E. Honda!”

“Not yet,” Hazue grunts, managing to land a singular Sonic Boom on Dhalsim. “I nearly had him last time!”

“Which ‘last time’ was this, Hazue-kun?” Inui asks mildly as he directs the frail-looking Indian to sweep the floor with his mohawked foe.

“Dammit!”

“Hazue,” Kaidoh warns.

“I found them!” Ota says, triumphantly holding up a pair of glasses with oval lenses thicker than Inui’s. “My turn, Hazue-kun.”

The impromptu tournament lasts for several hours, players rotating out as they lose or the mood suits them. Inui keeps score, but only mentally. It feels good to do this, to absorb himself in something that has no bearing on anything at all.

Kaidoh picks Ryu, as Inui expects. Kaidoh always picks Ryu, and Momoshiro always picks Ken. They’d both protested vehemently when Kikumaru insisted “but they’re really the same character nya!” in a nameless arcade somewhere near Kawamura’s family’s restaurant. The whole team gone out to celebrate even after their customary party, the last match of their senior year. Tezuka had declined their invitation. His parents had been expecting him. Though Inui had inquired about it later, Tezuka refused to tell him what they’d been expecting him for.

“Inui-senpai,” Kaidoh says. Inui blinks and looks at him. “It’s your turn,” he says, holding out the controller.

Though he feels slightly ill (chances of it developing into full-blown nausea: 22%), he takes the controller from Kaidoh and plays. Ota is his opponent this time, a decent player, but not a real challenge for him. Though he loses a great deal of health to careless mistakes and a sticky D-pad, his Yoga Slide lets him avoid her Flying Sumo Headbutt, and most of Honda’s other moves are so short-range that Dhalsim’s stretching limbs allow Inui to easily outmaneuver her. He’s jumping in for the killing blow when his phone rings.

Inui throws the controller down and lets E. Honda Hundred-Hand-Slap him into oblivion. He digs the phone out of his pocket and slams it to his ear. “Hello?” he asks breathlessly.

“Sadaharu? Are you all right?” It’s his mother. Inui closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, willing his heartbeat to slow to an acceptable resting level. “It’s not like you to lock yourself out.”

One more breath and Inui is calm. “Hello, Mother,” he says. “Are you awake?”

“For the most part,” she answers. “You can come home now.”

“Thank you, I will.” He hangs up, slips the phone back into his pocket and excuses himself.

~*~*~*~*~

Inui is about halfway to his parents’ apartment (alone in spite of Kaidoh’s persistence) when it finally occurs to him to call Tezuka back. After four rings, he is directed to voice mail. He doesn’t leave a message.

~*~*~*~*~

Inui’s mother has left the door unlocked for him. He locks it behind him, then goes straight to his room. It’s been turned into a storage area now--piles of books that didn’t fit on the shelves line the floor, syntax trees and molecule diagrams paper the walls. But his bed is still there. Inui tosses his bag underneath it and is about to collapse onto it when he hears his mother’s voice. “Don’t fall asleep, Sadaharu. You’ll disrupt your circadian rhythm.”

Inui sighs. Considering that his mother has no circadian rhythm to speak of, he’s not convinced she’s qualified to correct his own habits. He’d been hoping she’d be at the university’s organic chemistry laboratory, as she usually is when she is awake. Since she is here, she will inquire as to his early arrival.

“Sadaharu,” she calls again. Inui briefly pauses to remove his shoes (a habit of his that Tezuka finds particularly offensive) and goes to greet her properly.

“Hello, Mother,” he says as he enters the kitchen. She is seated at the table, a mug of coffee in one hand and a red pen in the other. Inui pours himself a mug from the half-full pot and sits across from her. She makes two marks on the paper in front of her, then writes a number on the top and sets it on the stack of papers to her left. It is miniscule compared to the stack on her right; 92% chance she had passed out the previous night while grading.

“Sadaharu,” she acknowledges, taking a sip of coffee. “You look gray, and your hand looks sore.”

Inui has never been a verbally demonstrative person when it came to matters of emotion, and when he’d been younger he’d attempted to hide his problems from his mother on a semi-regular basis. He’s learned better. If he doesn’t capitulate now, he’ll be subjected to a game of “20,000 Questions” and will likely miss Kaidoh’s graduation. He takes a drink from his own mug and sets it down.

“My hand is fine,” he says.

“And?”

“And Tezuka is getting married. I met his fiancee last night.”

And now that he’s said it, the bile rises in his throat. He drags his fingers across the surface of the table, then looks down at them and does it again.

“I take it he didn’t tell you?” his mother asks after a moment.

He shakes his head, then inhales and pinches the bridge of his nose. “No,” he answers. “She did.”

“I see.” He contorts his hand against the table, then clenches it into a fist, fully aware that his reactions are ridiculous. He isn’t a child anymore, and this isn’t even the first time he’s suffered a setback like this. His lips press together and his hand spreads under his glasses to cover his eyes completely.

A few minutes later, he starts to feel dizzy. “Sadaharu,” his mother is saying, “Sadaharu, breathe with me.”

He shakes his head but does it anyway, expelling the carbon dioxide breath by breath, inhale and exhale, in and out. Her thumb strokes the backs of his fingers in the same rhythm. She occasionally brushes against the edge of his burn, and the extra sensitivity helps him regain his composure. “Are you calm?” she asks when his breathing has finally equalized.

“Yes,” he answers. He presses the tips of his fingers against his eyelids for a moment, then lets his hand drop. “You historically follow that statement with bad news almost 94% of the time.”

“It may not be an appropriate time to tell you.”

“It would be difficult to make my current mood any worse.” He looks at her. A strand of black hair comes undone from her bun as she nods.

“I already knew what you were going to tell me, though I wasn’t aware of the circumstances under which you acquired the information.”

Inui blinks. “How?”

“Tezuka-kun’s mother called me this morning,” she answers. “She asked me to pass on a message.” She heads over to the house phone and roots around in a pile of papers next to it, eventually plucking a Post-It note from the stack and sitting back down. “She said... hmm, let’s see.” She squints and tilts the paper in multiple directions, attempting to decode her own handwriting.

“Mother, are you 100% certain you wouldn’t like a PDA of some sort?” he asks.

“It’s not paper, Sadaharu.” Finally achieving the correct angle, she begins reading aloud. “She said that she is always proud of her son, but that she loves him very much. Because she loves him, she would like for him to have an easy and natural life. That life will be difficult for him to have if he continues on his current path.” She sighs and sets the note down. “She apologized, and hoped that you would understand.”

Inui does. He can only smile helplessly in the face of her logic. “As expected from Tezuka-san,” he says.

Two minutes and ten seconds pass. Inui’s mother gets up from the table. “I’m going to update your father on the situation,” she says. “Is that acceptable?”

Inui nods. “Where is he right now? When we last spoke, the details had not been finalized.”

“Hokkaido University,” she answers, pausing next to his chair. “He’s presenting his research on Old Church Slavonic. It’s all he’s been talking about for the past two weeks. Like you when you were so involved with tennis.”

“I remember.” The mention of the sport invokes a series of memories spanning the entire range of his emotional spectrum. He covers his eyes again even as he smiles.

She hesitates, then places a hand on his shoulder. “In the past, you have always taken a proactive approach to upsetting situations, Sadaharu, and have eventually recovered your equilibrium.” She squeezes and lets go. “I believe that you will be all right.”

“I agree with your assessment,” he answers. “However, I still find this to be a thoroughly unpleasant experience.”

“If you enjoyed these situations, I would worry about your psychological makeup.” He chuckles as he listens to her stride down the hall to her bedroom and the ancient computer in it. “Wash your face, Sadaharu,” she calls, “and when you’re ready, come help me. Grades are due in on Monday, and my students this semester were particularly dense. I may send you out for more pens.”

Inui exhales deeply, then stands. “I’ll take the spare key,” he says.

~*~*~*~*~

His mother takes a clipboard and moves to the couch at about 16:00, claiming the need for a change in position. Inui calculates a 98% chance she will fall asleep before grading even one more test. He’s glad. They are more than 75% finished, enough that she will easily be able to complete the task on her own tomorrow, and the bags under her eyes are darker than normal. He scores his current test--32 points out of 60, all from misinterpretation of one concept, such a shame--and places it aside.

He rotates his wrist, soothing the cramp that has developed over the past thirty minutes, and waits. Soon enough, he hears his mother’s light snores emanating from the living room. He stands and scratches at his chest. More than anything, he needs a shower. He goes into the living room first and pulls off one of his mother’s socks (the temperature difference invariably wakes her within ten minutes, he’s discovered, and napping on the couch is bad for her back: better to wake her now so she can move to her bed). Then he heads down the hall to his room.

Just as he’s pulling out a set of pajamas from his bag, his phone rings. He holds it gingerly as he answers it.

“Sadaharu,” the caller says.

“Hello, Father,” Inui answers. “How is your presentation going?”

“Very well, thank you,” his father answers. There is silence for a moment, and then, “Your mother informed me of your circumstances.”

“Yes. She told me she would.” Inui tries to say more, but finds his throat nonfunctional. A minute passes. Two. His father is silent. Inui manages to clear the blockage enough to ask, “Were you hoping to reach my voicemail?”

“...yes.”

“Then I’ll hang up.” Inui does so and rejects the call when the phone rings again. He leaves it on the bed.

The water is warm, so he masturbates in the shower, back braced against the wall for support and left hand splayed against the tile. His right hand moves frantically against himself, faster and harder than it has since he gained a steady source of sexual gratification, and he pants just as hard, head lifted to avoid the spray. Orgasm is difficult; when he finally achieves it, he slides down the wall in relief, nearly to his knees. He doesn’t think of Tezuka at all.

The water soon washes away Inui’s semen and sweat. He shuts it off, dries himself, dresses. His father’s message is 17 minutes long and contains 3 salient points: that young love can be difficult, that he supports Inui 100%, and that he will be bringing home a crate of Hokkaido squash for Inui and his mother to experiment with. A follow-up text message asks whether or not he should call Tezuka-kun and give him a piece of his mind. Inui texts him back with a definitive no. As much as he appreciates the thought, he knows his father. Tezuka would be subject to not just a piece of his mind, but several volumes, complete with footnotes and indexes.

After this, he tries to sleep. In spite of his exhaustion and his recent self-gratification, he can’t. He counts backwards by sixes from one million and gets into the negative hundred-thousands before he realizes it’s not going to work. He rubs his chest slowly, breathes rhythmically, trying to self-soothe the way his mother taught him to when he got too old for the night light. He thinks about masturbating again, even slips his hand into his pajama pants, but he just doesn’t have the energy.

Why his heart is pounding strongly enough to cause him pain when the rest of him can’t even lift itself off the bed, he can’t fathom.

His phone rings. He doesn’t hear it the first time, and the second time he calculates a significant chance that he’s hallucinating. He’s moving by the third ring and manages to answer before it goes to voicemail. “This is Inui,” he says.

“Sadaharu.” The connection is weak and it takes him a moment to place the voice. When he does, he sits bolt-upright.

“Renji?”

“Yes,” Renji answers, a hint of laughter in his voice. “I’m sorry for calling so late at night.”

“It’s not--” he fumbles his glasses on and checks the clock display on the phone. “Oh. It is late. But I wasn’t asleep.”

“Good. How are you?”

“I’m...” He searches for a word that will tell Renji precisely what he wants it to and no more. The “no more” is always the difficult part. “Tired. And you?”

“The same. My classes start this Monday, and there’s been a lot to prepare. It’s very different in England.”

“So I’ve been told.” He rubs his eyes. “Renji... why are you calling me?”

“I thought you might have something to say to me.”

“To you in particular? Nothing comes to mind.” Except, perhaps, everything. They haven’t been on those terms in eight years, eleven months and two days, but the impulse is still difficult to ignore.

“But you are upset,” Renji replies.

Inui blinks. The correct neuron fires in his brain and Inui suddenly realizes exactly why he is upset and exactly who it is he should be talking to. He laughs; it’s so obvious that only Renji could have inspired him to see it. Even after all this time, Renji’s presence still helps Inui to eliminate nonessential variables from his difficulties and view them in their most basic form.

“I wasn’t aware that you being upset was a humorous situation, Sadaharu,” Renji says.

“Actually, Renji,” Inui replies, “I’ve just thought of something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Oh?”

He grins. “Are you 100% certain you won’t participate in Kyoto University’s study of psychic phenomena with me?”

“Sadaharu,” Renji sighs, “even if I wanted to, they’re looking for identical twins. We don’t even share a birthday, let alone genetic material.”

“The difference in our birthdates is negligible, and if we work together, we can convince them that they’re sampling the wrong population. This occurrence is excellent evidence, Renji. Also, you do remember when I called you approximately three hours after your mother’s accident without knowing of the circumstances, don’t you?”

“Purely coincidental, Sadaharu. We haven’t talked in some time, and I recently received a free calling card.”

“My call was made on a hunch, Renji. So was yours. Shall I remind you? You admitted it yourself.”

“You’re getting sloppy. A dedicated scientist would never assign so much importance to a ‘hunch.’ ”

“Kyouju’s a stuffy old man.”

“Hakase watches too many daytime talk shows.”

They pause, then laugh softly, perfectly in synch. “Now who’s getting sloppy?” Inui chuckles. “You, who concede to your opponent in less than 1% of total debates, just proved my point for me.”

“Good night, Sadaharu,” Renji says. Inui can hear his smile over the phone.

Part 2

#8: Prince of Tennis, Inui/Tezuka for 30_lemons

Tue, 06 Feb 2007 05:41:11 GMT

Title: This Doesn't Have a Title Either
Fandom: Prince of Tennis, which is owned by Konomi Takeshi and various manga publishing houses. I am not gaining any tangible benefit from writing and posting this; it's just for fun.
Pairing: Inui/Tezuka
Rating: R (really more like PG-16)
Notes: For 30_lemons theme #4: The Thrill of the Forbidden, or, "No, You Must Not!...Here, Let Me Help You." Except it's not quite a lemon and it only vaguely fits the theme. It actually fits the "Aural Sex" theme better, but I have another idea for that one, with plot and everything. This is just crack.

"Hello, Tezuka. It's me."

"Inui. What is it?"

"I have a question for you."

"Yes?"

"What are you wearing?"

"You saw me this morning."

"True, but I have done some research and have found that in experiences of this nature, the ratio of pleasure to amount of description is 100% convergent. I would appreciate a thorough list, including materials and any significant creases in the fabric."

"...how many times have I said 'no' to this, Inui?"

“"Fifty-four times. Now, boxers or briefs?"

"Inui, I’m in public."

"I'm sure you can find a quiet spot. A phone booth would suffice, or possibly a very thick hedge."

"My lecture is about to start."

"You hate organic chemistry anyway."

"Inui."

"Given the contents of your drawers, there is a 67% chance you are currently wearing white briefs, so let's start with that."

"No."

"Ah. Boxers, then."

"No."

"...are you not wearing anything under your clothing today?"

"Inui. I have now said 'no' to this fifty-six times. There is a clear pattern here, and I am late for chemistry."

"Every pattern has an exception, Tezuka, and you have always surpassed your data."

"Inui."

"Since you are already late to your lecture, Tezuka, would you mind taking off your clothes?"

"Excuse me?"

"I am taking off my clothes as well. As the last item falls away, I kiss you in the usual manner."

"...Inui."

"Mm. I like it when you say my name, though it would be more appropriate for you to call me by my given name in a situation such as this."

"There is no situation."

"Are you saying that me running my hands down your back to squeeze your buttocks does not constitute a situation?"

"I need to get to class."

"Data tells me that you vastly prefer sex with me to attending your organic chemistry lecture. In fact, you have skipped several such lectures for that very purpose."

"...which is why I should attend this one."

"I grip your hips and manuever you to the edge of the bed, continuing to kiss you with approximately 7% more tongue than before. Once you are securely seated, I push your torso so that you are laying down with your legs off the edge. Then I perform oral sex on you."

"Inui."

"Your exclamation arouses me. I fondle your perineum and testicles."

"Inui."

"Are you excited as well, Tezuka? Is this an enjoyable fantasy? I constructed it using an algorhythm I developed to approximately your level of pleasure by the decibel level of your voice. It has proved almost 89% accurate in our previous liasons. I would appreciate any feedback you have on its effectiveness over the phone."

"I'm not answering that."

"Hmm. 92%. I work you thoroughly while deep-throating you. You soon orgasm. I swallow. Then I masturbate."

"...are you finished?"

"Yes, unless there is another element you would like to add to this scenario. I would find it most enjoyable if you would perform oral sex on me as well."

"I'm still in public, Inui."

"Do you think that's advisable, Tezuka? The speed and cadence of your breathing indicates that you are noticably aroused."

"I'm hanging up."

"I doubt your chemistry professor would appreciate--"

"I'm not going to class."

"...oh? Please elaborate."

"Goodbye, Sadaharu."

And Tezuka did screen his calls
For Inui was crass;
He sent them all to voicemail
And listened after class

#7: Prince of Tennis, Inui/Tezuka for 30_lemons

Fri, 24 Nov 2006 21:42:56 GMT

Title: A Marriage of Convenience
Fandom: Prince of Tennis, which is owned by Konomi Takeshi and various manga publishing houses. I am not gaining any tangible benefit from writing and posting this; it's just for fun.
Pairing: Inui/Tezuka
Rating: R
Notes: Another serious one. Bah. For Challenge #25: "The Planetarium," or, "Sex Under the Stars."

This one takes place a few days after this one. Like that one, I dislike the introduction, but I don't think it'll get any better so I'm posting it anyway. There's one more, less-serious part that goes in between these two, but I haven't written it yet, and if I don't post this part I'm afraid I never will.

I think the only warning here is for Inui talking too much and Tezuka talking too little (but that's canon, really). And sex. Not particularly graphic sex, true, but like everything here, don't click on the cut unless you are of age.

If you don't want to read the first part of this, all you need to know is that Inui and Tezuka had a not-so-anonymous sexual encounter, and Tezuka bit Inui on the arm. Hard.

PS: I only really sign into this journal to post, and I just realized that there are some comments I need to respond to. Many apologies.

The streetlight illuminating the area around the restroom was dim. It flickered periodically, almost advertising the encounters that went on behind the door. Inui skulked at the edge of the light, recalling several such encounters that he himself had participated in. Quick, dirty, anonymous, leaving him with sated body and roiling mind. He wondered if Tezuka felt the same way about it.

There was a blur of movement a short distance away. A male figure hesitated at the light’s perimeter, then stepped into it: Tezuka. Inui cleared his throat, and Tezuka halted again, looking over at him. “Inui,” he said, voice flat.

“Tezuka.” Inui nodded. “I was wondering if I could speak with you?”

After a moment, Tezuka walked over to him. It was hard to make out his expression with the backlighting, but then that same light would also render Inui’s glasses almost opaque from Tezuka’s angle, so he figured they were even.

“What is it, Inui?” Tezuka asked.

Inui closed his eyes, took a breath, opened them again. “Did I hurt you?”

Tezuka grew still. Inui pressed on. “Three nights ago. I admit that seeing you in such a place shocked me somewhat, and I was not thinking as clearly as I should have been. Were you in pain?”

“No,” Tezuka answered after a long, long moment. He gripped his left elbow, a gesture Inui had catalogued the meaning of back in their junior high days. “...did I hurt you?”

As if it had heard and understood, the bruise on Inui’s arm throbbed. “Nothing that won’t heal,” he answered. Tezuka nodded, and a silence fell between them. Inui shifted his weight. Tezuka’s grip tightened.

“Was there anything else?” Tezuka asked.

“Yes, actually, though it may take some time to explain it properly.” Inui pushed his glasses up his nose and ran through his mental script once more. This conversation required a specific plan of attack to have any chance of success at all. The only feasible strategy was to hit hard from the start. “Your parents--”

“Don’t know,” Tezuka interrupted. Inui blinked; Tezuka was usually polite to the point of near-coldness. “Won’t know.”

“As I’d predicted.” Inui fiddled with his glasses again. Given Tezuka’s reaction, his proposal would probably not be well-received, but he had to try. 1% could become 100%, if you took the right steps to achieve it.

“Inui.”

Another breath and Inui was ready. “I haven’t told my parents yet,” he confessed. “There is only a slight chance that my homosexuality would disturb them, but they would be very angry with me if they knew what I was doing.”

Tezuka frowned, crossing his arms. “If they wouldn’t care that you’re a...” he pressed his lips together in lieu of saying it aloud, “why--”

“It’s risky,” Inui interrupted, unable to stop himself. It seemed that the presence of someone who shared his secret had unleashed a flood. “Our encounter was...” he coughed. “I found it very satisfying. It’s not always good. It can be rough, or painful. People lie about... all sorts of things. You could become infected with a serious disease. If I didn’t know you on a personal level, I might have worried that you would ‘out’ me, or use the threat of doing so to coerce me into doing things I might not have ordinarily done.” He pushed his glasses up. “These are all hypothetical scenarios, of course.”

The look on Tezuka’s face indicated that Tezuka didn’t believe that last statement, but whether or not Inui had personally experienced the scenarios in question was not relevant to the discussion. “The thought of you being caught in such a situation disturbs me, Tezuka,” he said. “You deserve better than that.”

Tezuka looked sharply off to the side. Given his reluctance to discuss the fact, let alone the particulars, of their shared proclivity, Inui calculated that Tezuka probably didn’t believe his last statement either. He folded his own arms across his chest and waited. Tezuka eventually looked back at him, opened his mouth, shut it, then tried again.

“If it’s so dangerous...” He trailed off.

“Why do I continue?” Inui asked. Tezuka nodded. “Each time I come here, I make a vow not to do so again. However, I invariably break that vow within a month.” It was Inui’s turn to look away, embarrassment at his lack of control preventing him from meeting Tezuka’s gaze. “Perhaps it’s just hormones, but I... enjoy sex, despite the risks. Perhaps too much. My attempts at celibacy always end with a decreased ability to function in my daily life. I find it difficult to sleep, my appetite decreases, and my mood and concentration deteriorate rapidly until I have sex again.”

He paused and swallowed, palms sweaty. Was he really going to go through with this? “Until now, I have not been able to come up with a practical alternative to... this place.”

Tezuka frowned, his gaze dropping to Inui’s shoes momentarily before rising back up even sharper than before. “ ‘Until now?’ ”

Inui took a step forward, fully intending to demonstrate his idea, but paused in the wake of Tezuka’s defensive posture; his former captain practically had a sign over his head that read “DANGER, THIN ICE.” Still, he’d never let Tezuka intimidate him on the tennis court (or, more accurately, he’d never let his intimidation affect his play), and it wouldn’t happen here, either. He crossed the remaining distance between them, cupped Tezuka’s face in his hands, and brushed his lips once, twice over the other boy’s.

When he stepped back, he had goose bumps on his forearms and the nape of his neck. He idly wondered how long he’d unconsciously wanted to kiss Tezuka, that a relatively innocent gesture would have such an effect on him, but set that matter aside to consider later. Right now, his task was to gauge Tezuka’s reaction.

Tezuka took a breath through his mouth, held it for two seconds, then released it through his nose. His folded arms clenched even tighter. His eyes closed, a small crease appearing between his eyebrows.

Inui adjusted his glasses. Things were not looking good.

“Tezuka, I. Uh.” Inui squeezed his own eyes shut. Though he’d certainly entertained this turn of events as a possibility, this wasn’t how he’d visualized his own reaction. “I apologize. For my forwardness.” He slid his fingers under his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. Where was his cool, detached acceptance? “I should be going. You were going somewhere.”

“Inui.” Inui’s eyes snapped open to find Tezuka watching him. Evaluating him. “I don’t want to be careless. What exactly are you suggesting?”

Inui licked his lips, heart pounding in this throat. “That we become partners,” he said.

“In the physical sense?”

“Yes.” He took a deep breath and felt his heartrate slow without the anxiety of the first hurdle to fuel it. “It’s perfectly logical. We share an interest, and this route would avoid most, if not all of the possible dangers I previously described. Since we are already acquainted with each other, and have been for some time, it would not be considered unusual for us to spend significant quantities of time together. Your parents know me, and mine know you, thus decreasing the chances of them suspecting our actions. In addition, I trust you, Tezuka, and I hope that you trust me as well.”

Inui folded his arms again and waited for Tezuka to make his decision. He briefly entertained the notion of telling Tezuka the major pitfall inherent in this scenario--it was easy to come to places like this, then wake up the next morning pretending you’d only dreamt of a man fucking you, but not so easy when the man in question ate lunch with you almost every day--then put it aside. It was highly probable that Tezuka was already aware of it, having just that day eaten lunch with Inui; if he were to be completely honest, he was also reluctant to discuss anything that might hurt his argument. The goose bumps still hadn’t gone away, and Tezuka’s hips were canted at just the right angle.

He was looking at Tezuka’s thighs when the other boy shifted his weight; reluctantly, he lifted his gaze back to Tezuka’s face. Tezuka nodded, as stoic as ever, then jerked his head to the side. “Not here,” he said as he walked past Inui and into the park.

Inui followed as best he could, squinting as the light from the lamppost faded away and the faint illumination of the stars replaced it. He wanted to observe Tezuka more closely, see whether he would be moving differently now that circumstances had changed, but Tezuka was just a darker blur against a dark backdrop. Inui frowned as a thought crossed his mind: Tezuka didn’t deserve this, either. He was better-suited to the day.

Tezuka stopped when they had left every trace of artificial light behind. Inui could barely see him now--the stars were dim tonight. He halted a few steps away from him and waited. There was a slight blur of movement, but no reflected light, so Tezuka was still facing away from him. He stuck his hands in his pockets, to appease his fingers’ urgent need to touch, and waited.

The moment stretched thinner than Inui could stand, but he stayed silent. This was the critical point, he knew. He’d come to his own conclusions about the shame and what to do with it long ago. Though he could support Tezuka in all other things, Tezuka would have to fight this battle alone.

Finally, Tezuka exhaled heavily. Inui’s fingers twitched.

“Inui.” Tezuka said; the thick air almost swallowed his voice. “Do something to me.”

The goose bumps spread down Inui’s back, and his hands shook as he removed them from his pockets and wiped them on his jeans. “What do you want me to do to you?”

“Inui.”

In three steps, he was molded to his former captain’s back and sliding his hands up his shirt. Tezuka flinched slightly as Inui’s breath hit his neck, but soon relaxed as Inui traced Tezuka’s ribs, measuring their curve and the spaces between them. He clutched the sides of Inui’s thighs and leaned his head back to rest against Inui’s shoulder. His murmur when Inui mouthed his jaw was highly satisyfying, but he didn’t have any special reaction when Inui pinched his nipples; he probably wasn’t particularly sensitive there. Inui hoped to map Tezuka’s peripheral nervous system someday, find all the spots that would make his breath quicken, hitch or stop completely.

He let out a surprised gasp when Tezuka took the lobe of his ear between his teeth, then moaned as he felt the accompanying lips and tongue. The action reminded Inui of an idle fantasy he’d had when he’d first noticed Tezuka as something other than rival, captain, friend. He’d dismissed it at the time: Tezuka was as alluring as the stars, true, but also just as distant and impossible to quantify. But now...

Now.

“Turn around,” Inui ordered, and when Tezuka hesitated, gripped his hips and turned him himself. He made short work of the fastenings, then shoved Tezuka’s pants and underwear down to rest mid-thigh. Tezuka sucked in a breath and his hands clenched Inui’s shoulders almost painfully as Inui dropped to his knees.

“Are you clean?” Inui asked, gripping Tezuka’s erection in one hand and pushing his glasses to rest above his forehead with the other. He couldn’t feel any sores or abnormalities with his fingers, but not all diseases left those kinds of indicators. He cursed himself; he wouldn’t have had to ask such a question if he’d brought a condom, but the probability of them progressing this far tonight had been so miniscule that it had slipped his mind.

“Here,” Tezuka panted, fumbling in his back pocket and pressing a familiar foil packet into Inui’s free hand. The clouds had parted somewhat, and Inui’s hands almost glowed against Tezuka’s darker skin, prompting thoughts of ghosts. Inui briefly entertained the possibility that this was a dream, but dismissed it summarily: the texture of Tezuka’s skin felt almost certainly real, as did the heat of his cock in Inui’s hand. Inui had always imagined Tezuka to be as taciturn in his pleasure as he was in everything else, so the moan he emitted when Inui pulled back could not have been anything but real--unless Inui was transposing the sound from their encounter three nights previous, but this moan didn’t match any other in Inui’s memory banks.

Remembering his task, Inui nodded, ripping open the packet. “I should have done this last time,” he murmured, then rolled the latex over Tezuka’s cock. He kissed the head, then took it into his mouth.

“Stop!” Tezuka whispered desperately. Inui jerked back so quickly he almost lost his balance.

“Sorry!” he blurted out. “I’m sorry, Tezuka, I should have asked, I apologize--”

“I’m going to fall,” Tezuka said. It was only then that Inui noticed how badly his legs were shaking.

Inui helped guide Tezuka to the ground, then lay on his side between his spread legs, twisting his back to poise his mouth over Tezuka’s cock. He took a breath. “Is this--”

“Yes,” Tezuka gasped. He spread his legs even further as Inui clamped his hands on his hips and took him in again.

Inui felt tiny tremors of disbelief erupt all over his skin as he pleasured Tezuka. No one, not one person he knew, would believe him if he told them where he was right now. No one would believe the reality of Tezuka’s cock in his mouth, Tezuka’s hand in his hair. Inui moaned as he thought of how Tezuka must look right now, how Tezuka would look in full daylight, writhing and shaking as Inui drew him into his throat.

It was over too quickly. Inui let Tezuka ride his orgasm out, then carefully pulled the condom off and tied the end. He glanced up; he’d expected to see Tezuka’s head tilted back, looking at the stars as he recovered, but instead the glint of Tezuka’s glasses was directed at Inui himself. Arousal stretched to unbearable limits, he jolted to his knees and tore at the fastenings on his own pants.

The hand around his cock wasn’t satisfying; he’d thought he was wound up enough to come with some gentle fondling, but something held him back. He pulled it out, hoping that the additional freedom of movement would help, and also that Tezuka would know enough to get out of the way. The grass stains would be difficult enough to explain to his mother.

When Tezuka’s hand wrapped around his wrist, halting his frantic movements, Inui nearly slapped it away. If Tezuka’s other hand hadn’t been tipping his face up to look at him, he would have. Tezuka leaned forward and kissed him, gently at first, but harder and harder as Inui responded ferociously, his glasses digging into the bridge of Inui’s nose.

“We’re partners,” Tezuka stated as he pulled back. “Let me do this.”

Inui shuddered and let Tezuka draw his hand away. “Use your hand,” he said, and groaned when Tezuka did just that, shifting around to press himself against Inui’s back. The position reminded Inui of the very first pornographic picture he’d ever seen, and he clutched Tezuka’s thigh, staring blindly up at the stars.

Once again, it was over too quickly. Inui slumped against Tezuka, using him for support as Tezuka wrung the last few spasms of pleasure from him. He kissed the shell of Tezuka’s ear and was rewarded by Tezuka’s shiver and the hot breath against his neck. “We need to do this on a bed,” he murmured.

Tezuka nodded against his shoulder. “We should come to an arrangement.”

“A time when our parents aren’t home,” Inui agreed, thought processes fuzzy from the afterglow. “I want to see you naked.” Tezuka went still against him. Inui gulped, emerging from the mental fog he’d been lost in. “Was that... too forward?”

Tezuka shook his head no and kissed him again. Inui hummed in pleasure and gently disengaged Tezuka’s hand from his cock. “Let’s discuss the particulars later,” he said. “Right now, we should clean up. If I don’t start moving soon, there is a high probability that I’ll fall asleep here, and it would be bad if someone found us like this.”

“Yes,” Tezuka said, wiping his hand on the grass and rising slowly to his feet. It might have been a trick of the starlight, but Inui thought he saw the corners of Tezuka’s mouth turn up slightly. “Let’s not get careless.”

#6: Prince of Tennis, Inui/Tezuka for 30_lemons

Sat, 28 Oct 2006 07:36:56 GMT

Title: End of an Era
Fandom: Prince of Tennis, which is owned by Konomi Takeshi and various manga publishing houses. I am not gaining any tangible benefit from writing and posting this; it's just for fun.
Pairing: Inui/Tezuka
Rating: NC-17
Notes: For 30_lemons challenge #22. Bottoms Up, or, "Surprise! Guess's Who's on Top Tonight?" I originally intended for this to fit the "sexuality of terror" challenge, but it didn't come out quite the way I wanted it to. Therefore, I just stuck it under this theme instead. I don't subscribe to that whole "you are always the top/bottom" bullshit, but Tezuka does tend to be submissive in bed the way I see him.

This came about from the intersection of several different factors: wanting to write in a style that I don't usually do and which does not come naturally to me; contemplating emasculation and why it never comes up in yaoi fiction; contemplating the codependent relationship between performer and audience; mourning the dearth of bad sex in fandom; listening to Pansy Division's "He Whipped My Ass in Tennis (Then I Fucked His Ass in Bed)." It turned out rather more serious than the song, but whatever.

I guess I can start putting these lemons into a timeline now. This one comes sometime after post #5, which follows post #4 (which could be almost anywhere, really), and they all occur sometime after post #3.

Blither blather, you just want the smut. Here it is.

It's nothing like you thought it would be.

In your fantasies, your victory against Tezuka always takes place during your third year of middle school. You would score the final point with a precisely-calculated serve in front of the entire tennis team. Ryuuzaki would nod her approval and Fuji would stroke his chin; Kaidoh would keep quiet, but his eyes would say everything. Tezuka would approach you at the net, look you in the eye and shake your hand. You would smile and say it was a good game, and wouldn't that be perfectly understated after all the years you've spent chasing after him?

In reality, you're two weeks from graduating high school. You watch as Tezuka dives for a wild ball, a fluke you hit after almost tripping on your own feet dashing after Tezuka's return. It would have landed half a centimeter outside the line, but Tezuka doesn’t see that. He stretches and his racquet barely touches the ball, but it's enough to count. You've won, 35-33 in a tiebreak.

People are talking as Tezuka picks himself up off the ground, but they're not the people from your dreams. They're middle-school freshmen from Seigaku, Ginka, Yamabuki and Fudomine, and they know they've just seen a great match, but not one of them knows how hard you worked to make it this great. Ryuuzaki is retired, Fuji doesn't care about tennis anymore, and Kaidoh is out on a date with his girlfriend. There is no suitable witness for the end of this era in your life.

Tezuka brushes himself off and approaches the net and shakes your hand. He grips too hard; his eyes flash behind his glasses. You try to say something, anything, but your tongue feels numb.

He stalks off the court and you follow. The onlookers part for you, whispering to each other. He finds his bag and you find yours, and you put your racquets away, side by side with kilometers between you.

"Who are you aiming for next?" he asks suddenly. You blink and frown as you zip your bag and stand.

"What do you mean?" you answer. He stands too and looks you in the eye. You feel your skin tighten and burn at the fire in his gaze.

"Who is your next opponent?"

Now his question makes sense, but you don't have an answer anymore. Five minutes ago, he was the end goal of all your tennis days, and every action you took was carefully designed to bring you that one step closer to beating him; now that the moment has arrived and passed, the future is blank before you. "I don't know," is the best you can come up with. He presses his lips together, then turns without another word and heads for the exit.

You wait for the bus and follow him to the back when it comes. He takes a window seat and sets his bag down on the seat next to him; you set your bag next to his, and take the seat next to that. The bus jolts to life. You place your hands on your knees and take deep breaths, construct numerous scenarios for reconciliation and find all of them unsatisfactory. Damage control is your only option.

"Tezuka," you say. The friendship you have is not worth your pride. "If I hadn't tripped--"

"You played well," he snaps.

You glance at him, then quickly away. There is no point in winning the battle if that victory loses you the war. Tezuka is interested in you because you present a challenge, but challenging someone and defeating them are two entirely different things. Your extracurricular relationship already emasculates him, no matter how enjoyable he finds the experience, and his pride runs strong and deep. The probability is high that he won't stand for being beaten in two areas. Losing his companionship is a scenario you have often taken into consideration when predicting your future, but you never considered that the fulfillment of your oldest fantasy could lead to the dissolution of your most passionate one.

It's your stop. You would have missed it, had someone else not pulled the string. You stand up, and he stands up with you. "Are your parents home?" he asks.

Your mouth goes dry, and you shake your head no. He nods, slipping by you towards the front of the bus. You follow him off, then walk next to him for the five minutes it takes to get to your building. Your hands are steady as you unlock the door to your apartment, but your insides are quivering. You barely get your shoes off before he has you pressed against the wall, tongue in your mouth.

Your arms go around him and pull him close as he pushes your glasses to rest on top of your head. You suck on his tongue, your eyes slipping shut only to open again when he bites your bottom lip, hard. He's looking at you. You moan and can't look away, even as he attacks your mouth with an intensity that almost frightens you.

He pulls away suddenly, still holding your gaze, and shrugs your hands off of his shoulders. A jerk of his head and you’re following him down the hall to your bedroom.

It's blurry from that point on, not only visually. He rolls over you like the first rush of incendiary gas during a volcanic eruption, sudden and deadly. In what seems like no time at all he's pulling off your shorts and pressing your wrists to the bed when you try to return the favor. You move your fingers toward the hem of your own shirt, but he stops you then, too, and reaches out for the lubricant and condom you've stored in the space between the mattress and the bedframe.

You watch his hands move--uncapping the bottle, you guess--but look away toward the wall at the sound of his zipper. Ironically, you feel more exposed in this half-clothed state than you ever have while fully naked. You want to tug your shirt down, cover yourself, but your logical mind tells you how foolish you're being. It's nothing Tezuka hasn't seen, touched, or tasted before, after all. You shift your legs closer together, but are not surprised when Tezuka worms a hand between them and shoves them apart. It's not difficult to calculate what he plans to do.

You feel ice form in your stomach as an epiphany slams into you: he must have wanted to dominate all this time. There are any number of people, male and female, who would submit to him much more easily and gracefully than you do. Once he realizes this, you will become vestigial, and he will cut you out of his life at the first sign of infection.

"Inui," he says, and you look back at him. He plants one hand on your chest and presses between your legs with the other. He's never done this before, and it shows when a finger enters you in one harsh push. Even the lubricant on it can't stop the rasping pain as it forces its way past your resisting muscles. You try to relax, but it's been so long since the last time you were penetrated that you find it nearly impossible.

Your arousal fades to almost nothing, but he doesn't seem to notice, slipping in another finger beside the first as your muscles unclench. He scissors them with jerky motions, and each one hurts more and more. You want to take his wrist, calm him down, instruct him. Instead, you grip the pillow with both hands and try to breathe.

He takes them out, and your skin prickles with anxiety; more than anything, you wish you could see his expression. You expect him to order you onto your stomach, but he doesn't. He hooks his hands underneath your knees and pushes up and over, pressing them almost to your chest. You're no acrobat and it makes your back ache, but you still use your own hands to hold yourself in the position so he can line himself up. You wince and squeeze your eyes shut as he shoves in, bite your lip and your tongue.

You don't like this. You don't like this. It's too full, your entire body feels full of him and there's no room left for you to breathe. He pushes and pushes until he's all the way in and you feel yourself tear.

"Look at me," he growls, and your eyes snap open. He replaces your hands with his own and starts a slow but powerful rhythm, forcing the breath from your lungs with every thrust. You pant open-mouthed as he wraps one of your legs around his waist and leans forward, his face blurry. He plants his free hand by your head; the other one forces your other leg even farther, putting strain on your hamstring. It hurts, and you must have made some noise because he pauses and takes his hand away, letting your leg rest on his shoulder.

You choke out his name in a voice you don’t recognize as his cock grazes your prostate. It's not enough to get you off, you're relatively certain you can't come in this position, but it does feel good. Your hand slips down your body, bypassing your cock and balls entirely to settle on the place where he is driving mercilessly into you. The skin feels stretched and abraded, and you can also feel the thick wetness of your own blood.

He doesn't hit it again, but small sounds escape from your mouth anyway as you take hold of the pillow once again. You turn your head to the side and swallow, try to quell the shame welling up in your chest. This is nothing like that other time with that other man. That man only fucked you. Tezuka is consuming you. Even with this inexpert attempt at topping, he has you, more completely than he ever has on the courts. Tezuka is like that, though, always surpassing his data. You focus on the outline of his arm, dark against the cream of your walls, and wait for him to come.

He bumps your leg off his shoulder and you wrap it around his waist, because even though you’re limp and aching and embarrassed, your skin still hums with his touch. He drops down to rest on his elbows, and the thrusts change to undulations, barely any friction at all now. He slides one hand underneath your face and forces your gaze upward. He uses the other to help hold it in place, and then his head drops just a little more and his eyes come into focus, full to the brim.

"Don't stop looking at me," he says. Pleads. So many fragments fall into place: your victory on the courts, the upcoming graduation, your divergent plans for university. You understand, finally. It seems you are not vestigial after all.

You say the only thing that makes sense in your topsy-turvy reality. His eyes widen and his movements stop completely. You grab his hips and pull him into a rhythm again, use your legs to help force him in and out of you. He gasps your name as he finally joins in, pushing himself back up to his hands for more leverage. You repeat your words, and he shouts and throws his head back and comes.

Your hands keep their pace, extracting more noise from him as he slowly collapses down onto you. When all he has left are shivers, you stop. Your legs fall slack and you drape your arms around him.

His hands curl around your shoulders; he swallows and sets his forehead against the junction of your collarbones. "I hurt you," he says after he has regained his breath.

There is no reason to lie, so you nod. He is heavy and it's hard to breathe. Both of you are shaking, but you, at least, feel more at ease than you have in perhaps years. Things have settled between the two of you, and in the most favorable way.

He slips out of you; you sigh as the feeling of fullness finally, finally ceases. He rolls away from you to sit at the edge of the bed. You sit up, or rather try to. Your legs feel as though they will never close properly again. You fall back to the bed, hurting everywhere. He breathes in deeply, lets it out slowly.

"Inui. Did I..." He doesn't finish the sentence, but you know what he's asking. You turn onto your side, gingerly, and brush your fingers against the small of his back.

"I didn't enjoy it," you answer, "but I wouldn't have let you do it if I'd had any objections, Tezuka." He sighs, relief and disappointment mingled. "It has nothing to do with you," you continue, "I simply don't like being penetrated."

He reaches back and tangles your fingers together. "I do," he says quietly.

You pull your joined hands towards you and rub his knuckles against your cheek. "That's good to know." You kiss the second joint of his thumb, then let his hand go. The silence that follows is deep and peaceful; the only movement is that of his index finger against your jaw.

"You surprised me today," he says after a time, glancing over his shoulder at you.

"So did you," you answer.

He strokes your face, then down your neck. "Do you want me to..."

"I don't think I can right now," you answer. "Later." You try to scoot closer to him and cringe. "Much later."

He stands and fixes his clothing, tosses the condom in the trash. "I'll get the aspirin," he says.

#5: Prince of Tennis, Inui/Tezuka for 30 Lemons

Mon, 11 Sep 2006 00:05:55 GMT

Title: (as of yet, there is no title)
Fandom: Prince of Tennis, which is owned by Konomi Takeshi and various manga publishing houses. I am not gaining any tangible benefit from writing and posting this; it's just for fun.
Pairing: Inui/Tezuka
Rating: R-NC-17
Notes: For 30_lemons challenge #15: The Bordello, or, "Dude Looks Like a Lady." Beware a rather liberal interpretation of the theme. Also, uh. I'm sorry, Inui. And there is no plot. Suggestions for a title are more than welcome.

Inui's parents would never know, but Tezuka had a set of keys to their apartment. Inui had given him the keys several weeks ago, and Tezuka had made use of them every few days, in between cram school sessions and the occasional tennis game. Supposedly, he was there to study for the upcoming college entrance exams. In reality, he studied with Oishi every day at lunch. He could never be sure of how much he'd get done with Inui around.

Tezuka was infinitely grateful that he didn't share a single class with Inui, and that tennis had already ended for the year when they'd started this. Their recent study sessions always seemed to end with Inui's hands in Tezuka's pants. Some days, they never even opened a book. Tezuka could keep his focus when Inui wasn't around but when he was, he found his eyes invariably drawn to Inui's hands, and his mind drawn to what he could do with them.

He unlocked the door quickly and stepped inside, slipping the keys back into his bag. Locking the door behind him, he toed off his shoes, set them next to Inui's in the entrance hall and padded into the living room in his socks. "Inui?" he called, not seeing him in the common areas of the apartment.

"I'm here, Tezuka," Inui answered, his voice muffled. "In my bedroom."

Tezuka's skin heated as he made his way down the hall. They only ever studied at Inui's kitchen table; the bedroom was reserved for other activities.

The door was shut. Tezuka frowned as he knocked. They usually didn't shut the door until Tezuka was pressed up against it. Inui didn’t answer at first, so Tezuka knocked again. This time he heard Inui's voice beckoning him in, so he opened the door, stepped inside and shut it behind him. Heart pounding, he looked up at Inui.

And stared. Then he stared some more.

"I lost a bet," Inui said eventually, his calm tone belied by his bright red ears.

After a few more moments spent wavering between bemusement and horror, Tezuka set his bag by the door and asked, "A bet?"

"With Mizuki," Inui clarified, and suddenly it all made sense, if anything could make sense after finding his... thing of some months dressed in what looked to be a St. Rudolph's girl's school uniform.

Inui Sadaharu did not make a pretty woman. If anything, he made a terrifyingly ugly one. The blouse was stretched far too tightly around his shoulders and chest, the buttons barely holding it closed. The skirt was likewise too small, bunching up in all the wrong places and clearly cutting into Inui's lack of a waist. It wasn't even a tennis skirt. The knee-high stockings emphasized Inui's muscular calves, making them look distorted and grotesque, and the shoes--where were the shoes?

"They don't make them in my size," Inui said, and Tezuka's eyes snapped back up to his face. He frowned. Mizuki was nothing if not thorough, so Tezuka supposed he couldn’t be surprised at the deep red lipstick staining Inui's mouth, and the matching blush on his cheeks. But really, the scarlet eyeshadow looming up from behind Inui's glasses was a bit too much.

"What kind of bet?" he asked, folding his arms. He was Tezuka Kunimitsu, and he did not back down, no matter how embarrassing the situation.

"...I'd rather not say," Inui answered. "But one of the conditions of my loss was that I show myself like this to one other person, and you were a marginally better choice than my parents." He shifted his weight, drawing Tezuka's attention to the space between the top of the stockings and the bottom of the skirt. "I apologize, Tezuka. I am now 100% humiliated."

They stood there for a time, Inui tugging at the skirt every few seconds and Tezuka trying to pinpoint what exactly was disturbing him about Inui’s thighs, besides the obvious.

"I intend to recover the negatives from Mizuki's dorm this weekend," Inui said desperately. "Would you like to come with me? No, of course not, you have consistantly shown zero propensity for delinquent activity, there is no reason you would--"

"Inui," Tezuka said as it finally dawned on him.

Inui paused, interrupted mid-rant. "Yes?"

"Did you shave your legs?"

"No."

Tezuka stared at Inui for a long moment. Inui coughed and adjusted his glasses.

"...I waxed."

Inui bent over and tugged his right stocking down. The top button of his blouse popped off, flying off into who knew where. "Actually, that is the one redeeming factor of this... this."

"You liked waxing your legs?" Tezuka asked. No matter how many strange things he discovered about Inui, there always seemed to be more lurking in the shadows.

"No!" Inui glanced up at Tezuka, clearly reevaluating his sanity. "That was actually quite painful and I have no desire to repeat the experience. Once the sting fades, though, it feels... different. Nice."

Inui pulled the stocking off his foot and ran a hand up his calf. His very smooth, very shiny calf. He sat down in his desk chair to remove the other one, then unzipped the skirt and started on the buttons of the blouse. Tezuka watched him rub his legs together and thought he saw a flash of panty. "In my estimation, it is 89% more pleasant to touch a bare leg than a hairy one."

"Really."

Inui slumped back in the chair and held out one leg to Tezuka, a slow grin spreading on his face that Tezuka found far too distracting. Tezuka stepped forward and took hold of his ankle. His eyes widened. He ran his hand down the underside of Inui’s calf to his knee, then back up. He repeated the process several times, then brought his other hand up to join the first, settling Inui’s ankle on his shoulder. He frowned. How had he missed just how long Inui’s legs were?

"A bare leg is," Inui swallowed, "is also more sensitive than a hairy one, probably due to the removal of dead epithelial cells from the surface of the skin." Tezuka rested his hands on Inui's thigh and let his thumbs graze the back of his knee. Inui tilted his head back and curled his fingers around the side of the chair. His other leg hooked Tezuka at the small of his back and pulled him forward.

Tezuka quickly removed his glasses and shirt and tossed them onto Inui's bed, then ran his hands down Inui's thigh. Inui made a small sound as Tezuka's fingers delved under the skirt and slipped around the waistband of the panties. After a few minutes of squirming and tugging, they were off as well, flung into some distant corner of Inui’s room, and Tezuka closed his eyes and enjoyed the sensation of Inui's rough hands and smooth legs on his torso. He leaned down and kissed Inui, slowly, one hand on the desk for balance and the other rubbing the underside of Inui's thigh. His knee pressed into Inui's groin and Tezuka swallowed his moan.

"Ah, Tezuka," Inui breathed as they parted, and Tezuka had never thought the sound of his own name could excite him like that. Inui's hands slid up from Tezuka’s chest to his shoulders, and his mouth slid down to Tezuka’s throat. He laved Tezuka's jugular with his tongue and nipped it with his teeth, the onslaught gradually trailing up to Tezuka's ear as Inui guided him to his knees.

Inui tilted his head up and kissed him again when Tezuka was settled in between his legs. Tezuka let him taste every corner of his mouth, eyes falling shut, one hand fondling Inui to full hardness while the other kneaded his thigh.

Inui broke away for a moment to search one of the desk drawers and soon slipped a condom packet into Tezuka’s hand. His hands slid into Tezuka's hair and tugged on it, forcing Tezuka's head into his still-skirt-covered lap. Tezuka shuddered as Inui's erection pressed into his cheek. He mouthed it through the cloth as he unzipped his jeans to relieve a bit of the pressure on himself, then ripped open the packet. Inui let out a breath and tugged again. Tezuka flipped up the skirt, rolled on the condom and got to work.

Tezuka could almost hear his grandfather’s voice telling him that a real man would never submit so easily. There was something about this, though--the familiar smell and feel of Inui in his mouth, Inui's hands in his hair, directing his movements. He let his own hands rub up and down Inui’s legs, feeling the muscles twitch whenever Tezuka did something particularly pleasurable.

"Tezuka," Inui grit out, "your hand. Use your hand."

Almost without conscious thought, Tezuka wrapped his left hand around the portion of Inui’s erection that he couldn"t take in. He let his other hand wander up Inui's broad back and felt the sweat there pool and drip down to his wrist. Inui's legs shifted constantly as he held himself back from thrusting into Tezuka’s mouth; he had to be close, and the thought sent a wave of heat through Tezuka as well.

"Yeah," Inui sighed, hands sliding out of Tezuka's hair to rest on his shoulders. "Mmm. Just like--oh, yes."

Inui's fingers dug painfully into Tezuka's shoulders, and then his whole body spasmed, legs squeezing Tezuka's ribs and heels digging into his pelvis. Tezuka kept his mouth on Inui and let him ride the orgasm out, then pulled away with a wet sound that made him shiver. Inui had his head tipped back, panting through a smile. His fingers carded through Tezuka’s hair, the backs of his hands occasionally brushing across Tezuka’s cheeks. Tezuka closed his eyes and gently ran his fingers over Inui’s kneecaps.

"Tezuka," Inui murmured. He tilted Tezuka’s face up and kissed his eyelid, then the corner of his mouth. "Now you. I want to see you."

Tezuka slipped a hand into his underwear and worked himself hard. He kept his eyes closed against Inui's intense gaze--he could deal with Inui watching him, he'd dealt with that for years, but somehow, watching Inui watch him... he couldn't. He let Inui kiss his face and stroke his his hair, and it only took a few moments before he came with a grunt, free hand clenching onto Inui's thigh. Leaning his cheek against that same thigh, he listened to the tattoo of his heartbeat as Inui curled forward and tightened his legs, cradling Tezuka with his body.

"Ah, Tezuka," Inui whispered, smoothing his hands down Tezuka's back. Anything else he might have said or done was cut off by the sound of a door opening and closing, followed by the sound of a pleasant female voice calling Inui's given name. Inui jerked, suddenly rigid in his chair. "Shit," he said. "My mother's home early."

Inui was at his nightstand in a flash, plucking a tissue from the dispenser and wrapping it around the condom, which he tossed into the trash.

"Sadaharu," said Inui's mother from somewhere else in the apartment. "Are you here?"

"I'm in here, Mom. Welcome home," Inui called back as he yanked the skirt down and off. Tezuka rose, took several tissues and cleaned himself up as best he could.

"Are those Tezuka-kun's shoes in the entrance hall?" Closer now, probably heading towards Inui's room. Tezuka tossed the tissues and felt around on the bed for his glasses.

"Hello, Inui-san," he called as Inui rummaged through his dresser in search of pants. "Please pardon me for intruding upon your home."

"Please don't think anything of it, Tezuka-kun," she called back, sounding even closer than before.

"We're studying," Inui said quickly as the footsteps stopped right outside the door. "Hang on, we're almost done with this problem."

"All right, but come right out when you’re done." Her voice faded, the last word only barely audible.

Inui sighed as he got himself into jeans and a t-shirt. Tezuka finished buttoning his own shirt. He watched as Inui bundled up the girl's clothing and hid it under his bed. With that out of the way, Inui wiped his hands on his pants, took a deep breath and headed for the door.

"Inui, wait," Tezuka said, but Inui was already out of the room. Tezuka frowned. He heard Inui greet his mother, and then there was a moment of silence.

"Sadaharu?" she asked. "Is that makeup on your face?"

Tezuka quietly slipped down the hall to the bathroom and washed up. Bad enough that Inui-san thought her son was raiding her cosmetics drawer; she didn't need to know where else that lipstick had ended up.

#4: Prince of Tennis, Inui/Tezuka for 30lemons

Tue, 11 Jul 2006 19:45:22 GMT

Title: An Imperfect Simulation
Fandom: Prince of Tennis, which is owned by Konomi Takeshi and various manga publishing houses. I am not gaining any tangible benefit from writing and posting this; it's just for fun.
Pairing: Inui/Tezuka
Rating: R-NC-17
Notes: For 30_lemons challenge #2: The Audience. It may not come off well in the fic, but both participants are assumed to be in their third year of high school, so 17-18 years of age. Also, beware the not-quite-sex.

It was a beautiful day, to say the least. The sun was shining, the grass was green. Birds chirped in the trees, singing their happy little songs in defiance of everything dark and depressing, and anybody who was anybody was playing tennis. Everyone else was either watching a match, studying, or, in the case of one particular person, watching something else entirely.

The watcher leaned forward slightly in his chair. The two young men on the screen had finally settled onto the bed, and things were about to get interesting. Disappointingly, though, the men simply started chatting about tennis. The conversation progressed to one of their friends (a tennis player), and then back to tennis. The watcher frowned. While he approved of their choice of topics, he had neither the time nor the patience to wait for this verbal/mental foreplay to draw the two to the inevitable conclusion of this encounter.

Fortunately, electronic voyeurism meant he could fast-forward to the good parts. A few clicks of the mouse moved things along. One of the men, a science teacher named Inui Sadaharu, held an arm out to his partner, all-star tennis player Tezuka Kunimitsu. The two spoke quietly for a moment, their words indecipherable to the watcher’s ears, and then Tezuka tucked himself into Inui’s side and laid his head on his shoulder.

The watcher clicked the mouse again and observed as Inui linked his fingers with Tezuka’s. He kissed his partner’s hand, then pulled him closer and kissed him gently on the lips, then twice more. They sighed when they parted and went back to their previous positions.

The peaceful moment was not to last. Inui, his ardor raised by their kiss, rubbed Tezuka’s side and murmured into his ear. Then he pounced, pinning his partner to the bed and kissing him passionately. Their pleasured moans surged from the speakers with increasing frequency, and the watcher spread his legs slightly, imagining Tezuka’s hands clawing at his shoulders and back, instead of the man on the screen’s. He rubbed the inner seam of his jeans, but didn’t dare go further, not when he could feel a pair of eyes burning into his own back.

Tezuka and Inui’s makeout session was over all too soon. They settled back into their cuddle, but only for an instant. With twin cries of delight, they lifted up the covers and slid under them. The watcher couldn’t see what followed; fortunately, he’d been blessed with an active and vivid imagination.

The sheets bucked and bounced as if there were an entire rodeo (including clowns) underneath them, and occasionally lifted up to reveal various entwined limbs. The watcher quickly calculated the possibilities--the positioning was wrong for oral sex, and the movements were too wild for a 69 or reciprocated handjob. That left frottage or anal sex, the latter of which was the watcher’s preferred choice this time. He closed his eyes, listened to the sounds and visualized.

They would both be naked. Inui would be on top of Tezuka, who would be lying spread-eagle on his stomach. He would grip Tezuka’s hip and pull him up slightly, just enough to rub his cock teasingly in between the cheeks of Tezuka’s ass. Tezuka would struggle, trying to force Inui to penetrate him, but his position and the press of Inui’s body would prevent him from gaining the needed leverage. He would still be loose and slick from their many previous bouts of lovemaking that day, so Inui would only need to lubricate himself with a few quick strokes.

Inui would wait until Tezuka glared at him over his shoulder--that annoyed look that could mean anything from “fuck me now, damnit” to “Momoshiro, 20 laps!” to “Inui, if you call me one more time today I will track you down and stab you with your own phone.” Then Inui would press a kiss to Tezuka’s shoulder while simultaneously sliding the full length of his cock into him.

The noises from the monitor subsided, and the watcher opened his eyes to see a sated Tezuka lay his head on Inui’s chest. Inui slid a hand beneath his husband’s neck, looking decidedly smug, and then they both fell asleep. The watcher clicked on the “Pause” button just as two green “+3500”s floated into the air above Inui and Tezuka’s heads. He leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes and smiled.

“I still don’t understand the appeal of that game,” the real Tezuka said from somewhere behind him. The real Inui opened his eyes. 87% chance Tezuka was sitting on the floor with his textbooks, still too nervous and unsure of their status to sit on Inui’s bed. Inui spun his computer chair around to face him.

It was a most satisfying sight--not only was he correct in his assessment of Tezuka’s position, but Tezuka had just the slightest hint of a blush on his cheeks. It was both highly unusual and very sexy. He licked his lips, and Tezuka shifted, history text firmly in place on his lap. Good data. Very good data.

“It’s simple, actually,” Inui said. “In ‘The Sims,’ my chances of success are practically 100%. I can get what I want, when I want, and as many times as I want it, within certain parameters.”

“Then it’s pointless,” Tezuka reasoned. “There is no purpose in a game that cannot be lost.”

“You are 79% correct,” Inui admitted. “However, there is a certain appeal to instant gratification, and I find the voyeuristic aspect of the game stimulating. Compelling, even.” He smirked as an evil thought struck him. “I wonder: if I asked you to at some unspecified point in the future, would you show me your masturbatory practices?”

To Inui’s disappointment, Tezuka’s blush did not intensify. Instead, he snapped his textbook shut and set it to the side. “Are you saying that you would prefer to watch me alone?” Tezuka stood, dusted himself off and sat back down, this time on the edge of Inui’s bed. Then he shot Inui the Annoyed Look, and Inui’s mouth went dry.

Inui was 99.8% certain that was an invitation. He rose from his seat, crossed the room and gave Tezuka exactly what he was asking for. Though there were no fireworks and the process was a great deal messier than pixels could really emulate, Inui found himself agreeing with Tezuka that voyeurism lacked a certain... spark, that could only be fully enjoyed with a living, corporeal partner.

Afterwards, Tezuka dozed, and Inui watched him sleep, thoroughly sated and content with the world. He watched the green “++” float into the air above Tezuka’s head and reminded himself to check their relationship level when he woke up.

Inui blinked, then rubbed his eyes and groaned. Maybe he did play that game too much.

#3: Prince of Tennis, Inui/Tezuka for 30lemons

Sun, 25 Jun 2006 04:57:57 GMT

Title: Ueno Park
Fandom: Prince of Tennis, which is owned by Konomi Takeshi and various manga publishing houses. I am not gaining any tangible benefit from writing and posting this; it's just for fun.
Pairing: Inui/Tezuka
Rating: NC-17
Notes: For 30_lemons challenge #1: Anonymity, or, "Taken by the Faceless Stranger." It may not come off well in the fic, but both participants are assumed to be in their third year of high school, so 17-18 years of age. Also, this may be continued at a later date--there's quite a bit of plot that could occur, but we likes the smut, precioussssssss. ~~In addition, I loathe the introduction, so that will hopefully be changed.~~

There was a place you could go, a public bathroom deep in Ueno Park. A man would enter it late at night, lock the door and wait. There would only be a few people in the park at that time, and occasionally one would try to open it. If they didn’t jiggle the handle just right, it would remain locked and the intruder would dash off to find a free restroom. If they did know the secret of the door, it would open, and the man would slip inside. Some time later, one or both of the men would exit the room, readjusting their belts and finger-combing their hair.

Tezuka knew this. He’d seen it happen multiple times. He knew that they were having sex, that they were fucking, and that was why he watched, hidden in the shadows of the nearby sakura trees. He’d lost count of the nights he’d come here--the first time had been an accident, a chance glimpse of a side of life he’d never even known existed. Afterwards, he’d been drawn to this spot at every availible opportunity, always looking but never participating. It was becoming a problem, and Tezuka Kunimitsu always faced his problems head-on.

He shifted slightly and waited for the last man to exit the room. His parents thought he was spending the night at Oishi’s to study. Oishi had never heard of such a plan. But Oishi was dependable--his parents wouldn’t bother to check up on them, and would just call his mobile if there was an emergency. He’d planned this night carefully. Months of curiosity, research, trying things out on himself to get an idea of what it might feel like.

He took a deep breath and told himself that he was ready, fully prepared, and that there was little to no chance of encountering any of his classmates from Seishun High School. It was too late at night, and Ueno was too far away.

At last, the door opened and a man staggered out, straightening his tie. He patted down his suit and took a deep breath, then strode away towards the edge of the park. Probably heading back to the office, possibly home to his wife and children. Tezuka wondered if that was his own future.

Once the man was safely out of sight, Tezuka rose from the bench and walked to the room as casually as he could. He locked the door and looked around. It was much the same as any other public restroom Tezuka had ever been in--Western-style toilet, sink, dingy but unbroken mirror. The ordinariness of the place unnerved Tezuka. He took a deep breath and identified the smell of sex. He licked his lips and thought he tasted it, felt his body start to stir in response.

Along with his response came the taste of bile at the back of his throat. He walked over to the toilet, crossed his arms on the tank and leaned his forehead on them. Deep breaths. Tezuka Kunimitsu did not throw up, no matter how shot his nerves were, and he did not run away. He knew what he wanted, and he had come here tonight to experience it.

Once he was sufficiently calm, he pulled the tube of lubricant from his pocket and unfastened his pants. He quickly and efficiently lubricated and stretched himself, letting the familiar motions and sensations calm him. This may have been his first time performing such an act, but Tezuka knew enough to realize that his partner would likely be selfish when it came to pleasure--he was not about to leave such a task to a stranger. He washed his hands afterwarrds, then fixed his clothing and bent over the toilet again. A few more breaths, in the nose and out the mouth.

There was a sound at the door. Tezuka froze as the handle slowly turned. He lifted his head and looked toward the man entering the room, but but snapped his eyes shut before he saw anything more than his sneakers. He didn’t want to know who this person was. He didn’t care.

The man paused as if shocked. Tezuka let his head fall forward. “I’m ready,” he stated, his face burning. “So you can just...”

The sound of the door closing echoed throughout the room, and Tezuka swallowed hard at the quieter sound of the lock. “Are you certain?” the man asked. In response, Tezuka attempted to unbuckle his belt one-handed, telling himself the voice was not familiar whatsoever.

A long moment later, Tezuka heard the man walk over to stand behind him. He was still fumbling with getting his pants down, so the man took the task from him, sliding the jeans and boxers down to mid-thigh. Tezuka thought he felt tennis calluses, but fiercely shoved the thought away. He shuddered as the man rubbed his thumb over Tezuka’s anus, testing his preparation. There was the sound of a button unsnapping, a zipper, flesh on flesh, and Tezuka thought he would hyperventilate. Then the sound of ripping foil and the smell of latex, and Tezuka realized he’d forgotten something very important, and how could he have dreamed he was ready for this?

“I’ll go slow,” the man promised. Tezuka felt a large hand on his hip, a thumb spreading him open, and then--

It was exactly like Tezuka’s earlier explorations, and yet nothing like them. The pain and the sensation of fullness were completely expected. He’d already discovered he enjoyed the friction, a major factor in his decision to go through with this, and it was easy to force his muscles to relax. But he’d always entered himself at his own pace, and the man was going just slightly too fast. He’d never been able to simulate the feel of hipbones pressing against him, or how organic the penetration would feel. The man’s arousal smelled so different from Tezuka’s own. And then there was the knowledge--a man was behind him, over him, inside him. Tezuka almost sobbed; this was his future.

The man rubbed the back of Tezuka’s neck soothingly. “Shh, breathe with me,” he whispered, and Tezuka did, feeling tension seep away with each exhale. He braced himself on the tank and nodded. The man grasped Tezuka’s hip with his right hand and placed the other on the tank, then started to move. “Oh, you’re tight,” he murmured, “moreso than approximately 88% of my other partners--”

Tezuka thrust back against him, earning a small breathless cry from them both. The man stopped talking after that, and the sounds of their sex echoed through the room. Tezuka moved his free hand down to touch himself and keened quietly at the sensation. The man suddenly stopped, but before Tezuka could question him, the man pushed and pulled at his body, rearranging him, then started moving again. Tezuka’s breath caught in his throat: there it was, a sensation he’d given himself many times before, but never quite like this. He shook with it, and cried out as the man gave it to him again.

“Shh, quiet, shh,” the man whispered desperately. “There are still police patrolling around here.”

“I can’t,” Tezuka moaned back, tugging on himself even more fiercely. If he stopped, if either of them stopped, he thought he’d go mad. Too many months of watching, wondering, dreading what he might discover if he dared take this leap. He could taste the bile again and gritted his teeth against the next inevitable noise.

He felt something bump against his mouth and opened his eyes. The man was holding a bare arm to his face, offering it to him. Understanding, Tezuka bit down, hard. The man fucked him roughly, and Tezuka shouted into his skin as he orgasmed, the taste of sweat banishing the sickness. He continued to moan as the man rode him to his own orgasm.

The flash of heat inside of Tezuka surprised him, and his eyes widened as he felt the man shudder against him. The man pressed his forehead to Tezuka’s shoulder and groaned quietly as the spasms subsided. Tezuka released the man’s arm and licked his dry lips, staring down into the toilet bowl. The toilet bowl that had his semen splashed all over it. He reached out for the toilet paper.

By the time the man had come back to himself, Tezuka was wiping up the last vestiges of their sex. He felt the man pull out of him and stumble backwards, breathing heavily. Tezuka’s own breaths were carefully controlled as he tossed the wad of paper into the toilet and pulled up his pants. He didn’t look at the man as he refastened his clothing, and kept his eyes carefully on his own hair as he fixed it in the mirror. The man didn’t say anything, and for that he was grateful. He slipped out of the room, gulped in fresh air, and then left the park as quickly as he could.

#2: XXXHolic, Doumeki/Watanuki

Sun, 25 Jun 2006 04:31:39 GMT

Title: No title as of yet.
Fandom: XXXHolic, which is owned by CLAMP and various manga publishing houses. I wrote this purely for fun and am not receiving any tangible compensation for doing so.
Pairing: Doumeki/Watanuki
Rating: PG-15-R-ish
Notes: Chronologically, this is supposed to follow this thing. However, the tones are so different that they may as well be completely separate. Pretend that this one was written for a series called AngstAngstAngstHolic. Beware the present-tense and Watanuki's rambling.

It takes him more time than it should to get to the door and open it, and there’s Doumeki on the other side, hands in the pockets of his school uniform. He’s not smirking, for once, nothing to show that he might be getting just the tiniest bit of enjoyment from watching Kimihiro squirm. It takes Kimihiro more time than it should to stand aside and let Doumeki in to toe off his shoes, silent as his given name. The snick of the automatic lock seems very loud and very final as they step into Kimihiro’s studio apartment.

He’s pulled out the futon, of course, just like he knew he would. Doumeki glances at it, then just stands there, looking around Kimihiro’s apartment like it’s nothing special. It isn’t, Kimihiro knows, but it’s home and would Doumeki please stop standing and staring and kiss him already? But Doumeki just looks at him with his stupid implacable face until it starts getting uncomfortable, and then he walks over to the window which overlooks the alley behind Kimihiro’s apartment building.

“Salt?” he asks, poking at the line of white granules on the ledge. Kimihiro fumes. What else would it be? Sugar? Flour? Cocaine? And he wants to say it, but there’s something big stuck in his throat. Why is Doumeki standing there, hands clenched in his pockets, looking out the window with no view, when he could be kissing Kimihiro?

That bastard, he realizes suddenly, he’s waiting for me. He’s going to make me ask for it, when he almost had me begging for it earlier today. He can almost feel enamel flaking off his teeth as he grinds them. Fine, then. He stalks over behind Doumeki and turns him around, searching his face for some sign that the other boy isn’t laughing at him again.

Doumeki won’t meet his gaze. What the hell. If he can’t look Kimihiro in the eye, why is he even here? Doumeki can’t possibly be nervous--the asshole had no qualms about seducing him earlier--at lunch, for gods’ sakes, in a classroom where anyone could have walked in and seen them! Where Himawari-chan could have... and anyway if Doumeki’s nervous about this, he could just go home. It’s never too late to change his mind, is it? Something in Kimihiro worries that Doumeki already has. Probably decided he’s too good for him, and damn if that thought doesn’t piss Kimihiro off again.

“You,” he says, then swallows. Doumeki’s eyes drop to the movement of his lips and throat, bared by the crew-cut collar of the T-shirt he’s wearing now. Kimihiro scowls. Damnit, he’s trying to say something important here! But again, he can’t form the words. It’s the look in Doumeki’s eyes that’s stopping him this time, hungry as any spirit.

After a long moment, Doumeki looks back up and asks, “I?”

Kimihiro presses his lips together and his hand tightens on Doumeki’s shoulder. “You can’t look down on me,” he says. “For this,” he almost adds, because there are a lot of things Doumeki could realistically look down on him for. Really, there’s no way he can ever compete with Doumeki: he outclasses Kimihiro in every possible category. He doesn’t like girls, not even super-cute girls like Himawari-chan, but they flock to him anyway. He doesn’t need to put up with obsessive spirits dogging his every move, but he can still get rid of them. Talk about unfair. Hell if Kimihiro’s ever gonna admit any of that, though.

He’s caught off-guard again when Doumeki immediately answers, “I don’t.” His eyes widen minutely and search Doumeki’s desperately. Doumeki is laughing at him again, he just knows it, but his search turns up nothing but a nervous teenage boy with no trace of humor anywhere on his face.

Part of him wants to get it over with as quickly as possible. It would be so easy to just drop to his knees right here and suck the other boy off, Doumeki’s hands gripping the ledge to keep himself standing and his head pressed back against the window to keep himself quiet. But then, Kimihiro’s been wondering what it would be like. Would it be better if it weren’t so hurried, if they kissed as much beforehand as Kimihiro always wanted but never had the chance to?

So instead of giving himself sore knees and a sore jaw, Kimihiro grabs Doumeki’s hand and leads him the two meters or so to his futon. He pushes Doumeki down to sit on the edge and kneels between his spread legs, taking in the lost look on Doumeki’s face with just the tiniest bit of apprehension. It’s not every day he has Doumeki at his mercy, and because of that fact his idea of what to do now is hazy at best. He figures he might as well start with what he knows they both like, so he removes his glasses and sets them on the floor, out of harm’s way, then leans forward and kisses Doumeki.

Doumeki’s hands immediately come up to grasp at his shoulderblades, and Kimihiro frowns and tries to shrug them off because he’s doing it too hard, damnit, it’s not like they haven’t done this a thousand times before and Doumeki should know better by now. He’s about to yell at Doumeki again when the other boy lets go of his shoulders, hands dropping to his waist instead. Doumeki falls back onto the futon and pulls Kimihiro with him so that they are sprawled together. Kimihiro takes a moment to recover his breath, then reattaches his lips to Doumeki’s. He sighs as Doumeki’s hands creep up his back again, under his shirt this time, and returns the favor by undoing the top few buttons of Doumeki’s uniform jacket as they shuffle awkwardly against each other.

Before he realizes what’s happening, Doumeki’s head is resting on the pillow and they are both shirtless, chests warm against each other and the slightly-chilly air in the apartment. I should probably get on with this, he thinks, but when he draws back, Doumeki’s mouth latches onto his neck and he forgets what he was thinking.

It’s almost twenty minutes before he remembers and can garner the willpower to pry Doumeki away from his collarbone. Damn it, why is he letting Doumeki call all the shots again? He shifts down Doumeki’s body, but before he can do more than fiddle with the fly on Doumeki’s pants Doumeki hooks his arms under Kimihiro’s and pulls him back up.

“Hey!” Kimihiro squawks as Doumeki plies his mouth with more kisses. “You do realize--” The rest of Kimihiro’s sentence is cut off when Doumeki slides a hand over his mouth and stares him straight in the eye. Kimihiro raises an eyebrow as if to say “What?” And really, what? Even if it is their first time doing this lying down, it can’t be that bad already.

“Shut up,” Doumeki says, breath slowing down. He removes his hand from Kimihiro’s mouth, only to wrap it around Kimihiro’s shoulders and use his free hand to tuck Kimihiro’s head under his chin. Kimihiro squirms against Doumeki’s grip as his guts coil with tension. Always trust your instincts, his parents had told him, and right now his instincts are telling him something he has no idea how to respond to. He snorts to cover it up, as if Doumeki’s ever payed attention to how he’s feeling.

“You don’t...” Doumeki pauses. “We don’t have to do this anymore.”

Kimihiro stills and squeezes his eyes shut. “What the hell are you talking about?” is what he wants to say, but what comes out is a thoroughly undignified “Bwuh?”

“Idiot,” Doumeki scoffs.

“Am not.” There’s a long silence after that, but Kimihiro knows it’s not over yet. He can’t stand it, because he has no idea what Doumeki is getting at. Doumeki’s always so straightforward, but somehow Kimihiro still can’t figure out how he thinks, how he sees Kimihiro. It’s pissed him off since he got to know the guy, but now... his hands are shaking a little on Doumeki’s chest, and it’s not from anger.

“There’s nothing keeping me around you, you know,” Doumeki says suddenly. “There’s nothing that says I need to even look at you again.”

Kimihiro feels cold all over. He opens his eyes and stares at the expanse of faded white cotton covering the futon. “Then why bother?” he asks dully.

“Because I want to,” Doumeki replies simply, “and it--this--should be the same for you.”

As the pieces fall into place in one part of Kimihiro’s brain, another part notices that Doumeki smells really sweaty. Some of it is old, probably from archery club practice, some of it is from the past half-hour, and some of it... some of it he can watch forming under Doumeki’s arm, close enough to see even without his glasses. He can feel Doumeki’s heart pounding right next to his own, and hear the strange, high-pitched echo of it in the big artery in Doumeki’s neck. Doumeki’s breath shifts his hair around as he sighs, and Kimihiro closes his eyes and breathes with him.

There’s nothing about Kimihiro that needs this, either, and there’s certainly no obligation involved. Sure, maybe he does owe Doumeki lunch for saving his neck sometimes, but he has his limits, damnit! Yuuko-san would say there was “hitsuzen” involved, but she says that about everything, and Kimihiro doesn’t believe in it anyway. If there was really only one path one’s life could take, he wouldn’t look forward to each new step the way he does now.

That jerk, Kimihiro realizes, he’s going to make me say it, even though he has to have figured it out by now. I mean, if I’ve known for so long...

But there’s a chance Doumeki needs to hear it, even if he already knows. Kimihiro himself had needed to hear it all those long months ago, that Doumeki wasn’t protecting him because of some cosmic moral obligation or sense of charity, and he hates the thought that Doumeki’s been thinking that of him, all this time.

As if he could fake this feeling. He exhales noisily and runs a hand up Doumeki’s side. “And you call me an idiot,” he mutters.

He feels Doumeki tense, and then the other boy shoves Kimihiro off of him. Kimihiro lands heavily next to Doumeki and belatedly realizes that maybe he really is the idiot here. Doumeki’s scooting away from him toward the edge of the futon, ready to leave and never come back, and damn if Kimihiro’s going to let that happen over some stupid misunderstanding! So he says “Wait,” just as Doumeki swings his legs down to the floor.

Words have power, he remembers, and he’s stunned by how Doumeki freezes the instant he speaks. He doesn’t turn around, but he’s there, and that means he’s listening. Kimihiro suddenly realizes that Doumeki has always listened to him--the important stuff, anyway. The thought overwhelms him.

“That wasn’t what I meant to say,” he says, finally. Doumeki doesn’t answer, so he just babbles on. “Well, I mean, you are an idiot, but not because of... this. You’re always going and getting yourself hurt for me, or in trouble or something, and that’s really, really stupid, Doumeki. You don’t need to do that kind of thing.”

Doumeki turns around then, and Kimihiro continues, glaring at the dark blobs he guesses are Doumeki’s eyes. “What, you think I didn’t get along OK before you started hanging around? Sure, the spirits are annoying, and I’ve had some close calls, but don’t go thinking you’re some knight in shining armor or something. I’m not a fucking princess.”

“You sure complain like one.”

Kimihiro wants to yell at Doumeki for that, take comfort in the teeny-tiny moment of normalcy that’s just popped up, but he knows that if he stops now he’ll never be able to start again. “And another thing,” he continues as if Doumeki hadn’t spoken at all, “Yuuko-san’s never sent me on a job I couldn’t handle. If you weren’t around, she’d just send me on easier jobs.”

“Oh, please. You’d be ghost food without her.”

“That’s not the point!” Kimihiro snaps, flailing his arms around because sometimes words just cannot express how pissed off he is. “The point is, I don’t need you, Doumeki. I don’t need you. And if I don’t need you, why the hell would I do these things with you? Why the hell are you in my apartment right now? Just think for a second, OK?”

Kimihiro pants heavily as he finishes his rant, still glaring. He refuses to reach for his glasses, despite not being able to read Doumeki’s expression through the fuzziness of myopia. It’s not like being able to see would make it any easier to tell what that asshole’s thinking anyway.

When the silence continues for longer than he can stand, Kimihiro snorts in disgust. “So,” he asks, “can I suck you off now, or what?”

OK, so maybe that was kind of lame, but if the way Doumeki’s kissing him is any indication, he doesn’t mind.

#1: XXXHolic, Doumeki/Watanuki

Sun, 25 Jun 2006 04:22:05 GMT

Title: No title as of yet
Fandom: XXXHolic, which is owned by CLAMP and various manga publishing houses. I wrote this purely for fun and am not receiving any tangible compensation for doing so.
Pairing: Doumeki/Watanuki
Rating: R-NC-17
Notes: A lighthearted blowjob in an empty classroom. This and its sequel were both inspired by Volume 6 of the manga and written before Volume 7 come out in the United States.

If there was one thing Shizuka had learned about Watanuki in the time he’d known him, it was that the other boy was physically incapable of shutting up in his presence. It was always “Oh, it’s you” in front of Kunogi, or “faster” on their way to some place or another, or “you asshole” after Shizuka had beaten him in yet another verbal spar. Or, as was the case now, “Oh--it’s--you! Faster, you asshole!” as Shizuka was on his knees in front of him, giving him head.

Shizuka glared up at him, wishing he’d restrict his vocal emissions to nns or ahs or maybe just plain silence for a change so he could concentrate and not worry about bringing in a curious teacher or student. Not that anyone was inside on a lovely day like this, but still. Principle.

Noise aside, it was just a bit satisfying to look up and see Watanuki arch into the classroom wall behind him, uniform pants around his knees, biting his bottom lip, hands alternately scrabbling at the wall and grabbing at Shizuka’s hair. Shizuka sucked extra-hard for a moment and the hands stayed on his head, a wordless cry echoing around the room, far too loudly for Shizuka’s comfort. He could almost see a stray third-year down the hall perk her head up and come to investigate.

That did it. Next time, Watanuki got gagged.

At least Watanuki had enough patience not to choke him. Shizuka could feel him holding back now, shaking with the effort. Well, that’s what Shizuka’s hands were there for. He applied just a little more pressure to Watanuki’s hips, pressing them back into the wall, and the shaking subsided as Watanuki regained a modicum of control. Then he applied just a little more pressure with his tongue and it was all out the window.

“Ahhhhhh! Hurry, hurry up you bastard, lunch is almost over--” Shizuka narrowed his eyes. For someone who claimed not to take orders, he was awfully keen on giving them.

Shizuka wondered for the umpteenth time why he was here. He could barely even justify to himself why he’d kissed Watanuki the first time, let alone come back and done things like this over and over. Maybe that “hitsuzen” stuff had something to do with it, but Shizuka liked to think that fate wouldn’t bother mapping out such a mundane thing as a blowjob between friends. Sure, Watanuki never left him hanging (“No way in hell I’m indebting myself to you this way too,” he’d said the first time they’d gone this far, looking far more vulnerable on the floor of that supply closet than his words and tone would admit), but when it came down to it, there was no tangible reason for Shizuka to do this in the first place, especially if Watanuki was going to get them in trouble with his stupid overactive vocal cords.

That thought firmly in mind (amplified to drown out the voice that wanted Watanuki on a bed in an empty house so he could be as loud as he wanted), Shizuka sucked harder, trying to get Watanuki off as quickly as possible. At this rate, he probably wouldn’t even get a handjob before the lunch period ended. He tried to draw back slightly to catch his breath before going for the home run, but Watanuki used the grip in his hair to pull Shizuka’s mouth further onto him instead. Shizuka snorted in irritation and tried to pull away again, but again Watanuki’s desperate hands prevented him from doing so. Now a little pissed off, Shizuka used his own hands to pry his mouth off of Watanuki’s cock, despite the other boy’s vocal and manual resistance. Fine, then. Next time, Watanuki got gagged and bound.

“Do you want the rest of this blowjob or not?” Shizuka growled as he finally got free, voice the tiniest bit hoarse. Watanuki’s hands in his hair urged him forward still. Selfish, Watanuki was always so selfish. Who had whose face in whose crotch now?

“Damn it,” Watanuki panted as he realized that Shizuka really had stopped. “Doumeki, bastard, don’t leave me like this.”

They stared at each other for a long moment. Shizuka considered doing just that, leaving Watanuki aching like this all afternoon, wondered how it would feel to sit at his desk a few rooms over and daydream Watanuki’s frustration. Thought about Kunogi noticing Watanuki’s distress, innocently asking if there was anything she could do to help; imagined Watanuki’s probable instant death from an overload of perverted thoughts Found he didn’t like the idea as much as he thought he would. He stood and nibbled at Watanuki’s lips with his own slightly sticky ones. Watanuki immediately slid his tongue into Shizuka’s mouth and moaned, his hands dropping from Shizuka’s hair to his shoulders and jamming their bodies tightly together.

Shizuka slipped his arms around Watanuki’s waist and kissed him back with equal fervor, this time relishing the small muffled noises rising from Watanuki’s throat. He’d been surprised when this whole thing had started to find that he loved kissing, the slick and slide and heat of it, couldn’t get enough of it, and had been equally surprised to find that Watanuki loved it too.

He pulled back to tease Watanuki’s lips with little sucks and bites as he shifted over to the side. Watanuki’s glasses were askew, and as he opened his eyes Shizuka could the desperation in them, the plea which was the one thing Watanuki refused to say aloud. Shizuka checked his positioning--no way was he walking around the rest of the day with a stain on his uniform--then muffled Watanuki’s loud cry with his mouth as his hand closed around Watanuki’s cock.

Watanuki sobbed into Shizuka’s mouth as Shizuka worked him, the spit from earlier making things easy. It didn’t take long--Watanuki was too worked up to hold back, and in a matter of moments he was sagging against the wall as he came, his release painting the linoleum floor in front of him and Shizuka’s hand. Shizuka kept him from sliding to the floor with the arm still around his waist and just looked at him: face flushed red from hairline to collar, eyes closed, mouth hanging open--no noise coming out of it, for once, and Shizuka surprised himself again by missing it.

But most noticeably, Watanuki was relaxed. Shizuka had stumbled upon him taking a nap on the roof of the school once before they’d gotten to know each other, and had been struck by how tense his face was even in sleep. Right after orgasm, though, Watanuki’s face was soft and unguarded. As he cracked his eyes open Shizuka slipped forward and kissed him, and his lips were soft and unguarded too.

“Oh...” Watanuki breathed as they parted, smiling slightly in what Shizuka knew had to be an unconcious gesture. Watanuki made a point of frowning as much as he could around Shizuka, and maybe that smile was another reason Shizuka kept doing this. Just as he was moving in for another kiss, though, a shrill bell rang, signaling the end of lunch.

Shizuka let go of Watanuki and rushed to the teacher’s desk. He ignored the loud thump of Watanuki’s still-mostly-boneless body hitting the floor and the resulting curses as he rummaged through the drawers for the paper towels Yamamoto-sensei always kept there. Finding his target in the bottom of the second drawer he tried, he quickly tore off a few sheets and wiped his hand clean with them, then rushed back over to the mess on the floor and wiped that up too. Finally, after he’d buried the soiled paper towels in the very bottom of the wastebasket and returned the roll to its proper location, he turned his attention to Watanuki, who by now had managed to stand and start fixing his clothing.

“You didn’t need to drop me,” Watanuki muttered, glaring at Shizuka as he zipped up his pants.

“Why should I be responsible for idiots who don’t know enough to catch themselves when they fall?” Shizuka retorted, his previous irritation coming back into the forefront of his mind. He was still aroused, damn it, and there was no way he’d be able to get rid of that until he got home. Two hours of classes, and then archery practice, another three hours, and even then he only had his own hand to look forward to.

“I am not an idiot!” Watanuki yelled. “I just wasn’t expecting it.”

“An idiot and a ninny, I see.”

“I’m not a ninny either!”

“Look, why are you complaining?” Shizuka put his hands on his hips and stalked towards Watanuki to whisper in his ear. “You’re not the one who has to do without.” He could hear footsteps in the hall.

“Well, you started too late,” Watanuki muttered back, eyes gleaming with self-righteousness. Shizuka opened his mouth to make a witty retort, but shut it as he realized there was no point, not really. He spun on he heel and turned to go. People were starting to filter in, and he needed to get back to his own classroom before afternoon classes started, no matter how much he hated letting Watanuki get the last word.

“Uh,” he heard Watanuki say from behind him. He continued on, ignoring Watanuki until he felt a hand grab his elbow. “Wait a minute!”

“What is it?” Shizuka snapped, spinning back around to face him.

Watanuki matched his glare with one of his own, took a deep breath and said, “You know where my apartment is, right?”

“Yeah,” Shizuka answered, brow furrowing.

“Come over there after school,” Watanuki said. “Yuuko-san gave me the day off today, and I’m not the kind of guy who’d just...”

He trailed off. Shizuka nodded slowly, numb shock and elation taking turns to make his stomach flip. “I’ll be there,” he said.

They stared at each other for a moment more, and then Shizuka smirked and leaned in close, a wicked plan forming in his mind. “Set your futon up before I get there,” he whispered. Watanuki gulped, shivering slightly, but Shizuka knew he’d do it, no matter how much he complained about it. He headed back towards the door and called over his shoulder, “And make some of those calamari fritters. I didn’t get to eat all my lunch today.”

“Do I look like a waiter?” Watanuki all but screamed. Shizuka ignored him and exited the classroom, pausing just outside to greet Kunogi. Watanuki rushed over to join them, always eager to spend time with the girl of his dreams.

“Oh, Doumeki-kun!” she exclaimed after the initial hello, “your lips!”

Shizuka blinked, but didn’t flinch as the reached up to poke at them, her pretty face twisted in concern. “What’s wrong with them?”

“They’re so swollen!” Shizuka blinked again. From what they’d been doing? He’d never noticed. He wondered how many other people had, and what they’d thought, but realized he didn’t really care. Watanuki’s tomato-red flush told him the other boy did care, though, very much. It was gratifying to know he had such an effect on him.

Kunogi followed his gaze, blinked as she took in Watanuki’s expression, the redness of his own lips that Shizuka had always noticed but never spoken of. Then she looked back at Shizuka and smiled. And with that smile, he realized that she’d just figured them out. “Did you eat something you were allergic to?” she asked, all bubbles and sparkles.

Shizuka nodded, deciding to play along, if only to keep Watanuki from dying of embarassment. After all the times Shizuka had saved his ass, it would be an awful waste. “This idiot put mango in my bento,” he answered, inclining his head in Watanuki’s direction. Kunogi nodded, and Shizuka knew that she knew that he knew she knew. He wondered whether Watanuki knew that he knew that she knew that he knew she knew, but decided that was probably too many knews for the fool to handle. He was so blind around her, even the first knew was probably too much.

“I did no--” Watanuki started, then abruptly changed his story mid-sentence. “Uh, yeah, I didn’t know about it. I’m a little allergic too,” he pointed to his own lips sheepishly, “but not as bad as he is.”

“It’s not a good idea to eat things that you’re allergic to, even if it’s only a little bit, Watanuki-kun,” she chided, and Shizuka realized with a start that though he knew she knew, he had no idea how she felt about it. The thought that she disapproved bothered him more than he wanted to admit. He didn’t have quite the same relationship with her that he did with Watanuki, he did genuinely like her. She was a good friend, if even more unreadable than Shizuka himself was. “But,” she continued, bright smile reappearing on her face, “sometimes it’s so good that you just can’t help yourself, can you?”

“Sounds about right,” Shizuka replied as Watanuki choked and turned even redder. Kunogi, he decided, was his second-favorite person in the world. “See you later. I gotta get to class.”

“Have a good afternoon, Doumeki-kun!” Kunogi called as he left.

Shizuka paused and looked over his shoulder. “Oh, I will,” he said, catching Watanuki’s gaze and holding it. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Watanuki sputtered something unintelligible that drowned out Kunogi’s giggle, but Shizuka paid it no mind as he made his way back to his classroom. Whatever it was, he’d hear it all and more after practice.