Keigo sat in Tezuka’s kitchen and reviewed the circumstances. Tezuka’s parents and grandfather had taken a week’s vacation to visit his aunt, the grandfather’s only other child. So, for a week, Tezuka was in sole possession of the house.

To be perfectly frank, Keigo was nearly slain with envy. He really thought he might sell his soul for the glorious peaceful silence of a house to himself for just twenty-four hours, let alone a full week.

Tezuka, however, apparently wanted company, and had invited Keigo home with him at the end of this Thursday’s fishing. He had offered to cook whatever of their catch was suitable to the purpose, having packed along a small thermal bag to bring the fish back in. Tezuka was currently engaged in poaching the fish with ginger shoots. This otherwise blameless activity was holding all of Keigo’s attention, because the look in Tezuka’s eyes at one or two points during the afternoon indicated to him that his fishing partner had, to put it euphemistically, plans for the evening.

Keigo decided it was about time to test his hypothesis. He leaned back in the kitchen’s sole chair, which he had, of course, appropriated.

“Just ginger?” he asked.

“You had something else in mind?” Tezuka inquired, without turning.

“Just wondering whether ginseng or anything similar was going to make an appearance,” Keigo drawled. That got Tezuka to turn around, and he left the fish for a moment to come and stand over Keigo. He reached out and trailed his fingers down the underside of Keigo’s jaw.

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” he stated, softly. Keigo’s eyes lidded, and he gave Tezuka a lazy smile.

“Perhaps not,” he murmured. Hypothesis confirmed, he decided, as Tezuka returned to preparing dinner.

The fish was excellent.

He accepted Tezuka’s invitation to see his room as demurely as possible, and almost laughed at the tiny smile Tezuka showed him that said, yes, they both knew exactly what was going on, but it was amusing to play out the game of manners anyway. When they got there, though, it was Tezuka’s turn to chuckle, because Keigo immediately made for his bookshelves and couldn’t resist critiquing the collection.

“…and not nearly enough epic poetry. Really, Tezuka, I’m not suggesting you take up Milton, but with your taste for history I would at least expect Virgil.” He paused. “Nietzsche, hm? Now that’s one I wouldn’t have thought of you.”

“Even when the mouth lies, the way it looks still tells the truth,” Tezuka quoted in German. Keigo turned to find him lying on his bed, looking at the ceiling. He came to stand beside the bed.

“I suppose it does,” he agreed, looking down. At the moment, Tezuka’s mouth was both soft and serious. Tezuka held out a hand to him, and Keigo took it and let himself be pulled onto the bed. He plucked off Tezuka’s glasses as Tezuka leaned over him. Tezuka didn’t comment.

“Keigo. Will you let me go slowly this time?” he asked, instead. Keigo grinned.

“You want a long game, Tezuka?” He stretched, provocatively. “We can do that.”

Tezuka’s mouth was still soft and serious as he kissed Keigo, and it took Keigo entirely by surprise when Tezuka’s hand slid between his legs and stroked.

“And here I thought you said slow,” he gasped, arching into that unexpected heat.

“I did,” Tezuka murmured against his lips. Keigo shivered.

“Aaaahh… You could have just said you wanted to tease me,” he pointed out a bit breathlessly. Tezuka’s hand stilled.

“I don’t.” Keigo eyed him skeptically, and he shook his head. “The point of teasing is to frustrate.” A wry smile curved his mouth. “That’s Fuji’s forte, not mine. What I want is to pleasure you, Keigo.”

Keigo lay, looking up at the clear, piercing eyes above him. He had never said in so many words that he was a dedicated sensualist, but it wouldn’t have been that hard to figure out from their conversations. Especially not after the three week long debate over Schiller. And this, his rival, his companion, his friend, the one who saw him, and touched him, and understood, wanted him happy, pleased. Pleasured.

Keigo closed his eyes and whispered, “Kunimitsu.”

Kunimitsu’s mouth found his again, tongue curling around his own and drawing him out, and Tezuka’s hand was moving again, fondling him, and this time Keigo gave himself over to the heat without hesitation.

Kunimitsu made fairly short work of their clothes, but missed no chance to stroke Keigo’s skin, trace the lines of bone and muscle. Keigo basked in the glow of those touches, purring as he stretched into the space Kunimitsu’s hands sketched for his body. His gaze followed as Tezuka drew a little away, at last, reaching for the bedside stand.

And then he had to pause and blink.

A diffuser. Normally, the cup on top held water, and a few drops of oil or flower petals. Somehow, as he watched Kunimitsu dip his fingertips into it, he doubted that was water in there now. He laughed softly, and bent one leg as Kunimitsu reached under him, slick fingers slipping between his cheeks.

Warm.

Keigo sighed as the warmth stroked him, not entering but circling, massaging. Languid heat washed over him, seeping out from that gentle touch, loosening his whole body.

When two fingers finally slid into him it pulled a long, low moan from his throat. They passed gently, so gently, over the place the flashed fire up his spine, and Keigo tensed, pressing into it. Kunimitsu leaned down against him, speaking low in his ear.

“Relax. Relax for me, Keigo, and just feel. Please.”

After a long, shuddering moment, Keigo managed to let the tension go again, and Kunimitsu’s fingers moved, slowly, and it was suddenly… more.

Not fire but lava, not a flare but a presence, and Keigo sank down into sensation that didn’t build but sustained. And now Kunimitsu’s tongue slid down the side of his neck, lapped over his nipples, brushed warm and velvety over his stomach. It was all Keigo could do to keep breathing as Kunimitsu’s fingers left him and returned, hot, now, inside him. The silky pleasure was building again, burning again, and Keigo drew Kunimitsu’s mouth back up to his.

“More?” Kunimitsu asked, voice husky. A long, powerful shudder rippled through Keigo’s body.

“Yes.”

When Kunimitsu drew him up onto his knees, Keigo found that he needed to lean against Kunimitsu’s support, behind him, because his muscles were uninterested in holding him up. He let his head fall back with a long, harsh breath as Kunimitsu passed one hand down his chest, down his stomach, to grasp and stroke him. The stretch and pressure of Kunimitsu thrusting into him, slow, slow and hard, drowned his senses again in thick, hot pleasure. Individual sensation was lost. He couldn’t have said immediately what was in front of his eyes, could only hear Kunimitsu’s low moan beside his ear, could only feel heat sweeping up every nerve and Kunimitsu’s body against him, holding him, driving him under…

…the heat.

Kunimitsu’s arms were still around him when Keigo caught his breath again. They loosened when he stirred, but he only turned until he could rest against Kunimitsu’s shoulder, and after a moment the arms draped around him again.

“You’re right. You don’t tease,” Keigo murmured. A wordless sound of agreement answered him. Keigo looked up and surprised a look on Kunimitsu’s face that bore some resemblance to his expression when he won a match. Fiercely satisfied.

Keigo thought about that automatic comparison for a moment, and decided perhaps it wasn’t so automatic after all. Kunimitsu looked like he had succeeded in something that mattered to him, and Keigo didn’t really think that drowning his lover in pleasure would merit quite that expression. A long game, Keigo had said earlier. Was this a longer game than he’d thought? He combed through his memories of recent interactions between them, and then further back, and then still further.

At last, he leaned up on one elbow and brushed Kunimitsu’s hair back from his face so he could look him in the eye.

“You’ve been… courting me,” he asserted. “Since the spring, haven’t you?” Still eyes looked up at him.

“I took the opportunity that presented itself.”

Keigo decided that was as good as an admission, considering the source.

“All for this?” he wanted to know.

“When I saw you, at the lake, I wondered if we could give each other some peace, as well as the balance we already had,” Kunimitsu explained.

Keigo brushed his fingertips over Kunimitsu’s lips.

“Peace?” he asked. Kunimitsu ran his fingers through Keigo’s hair and smiled.

“Yes.”

“You’re completely mad, you realize that, of course,” Keigo told him, conversationally.

“Perhaps,” his lover replied with every evidence of serenity. Keigo laughed, and slid back down to lie against him.

“Kunimitsu,” he whispered.

End

A/N: Ginseng has an old reputation as an aphrodisiac.