Challenge

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Branch

Niou arrives at Rikkai and is delighted to find he may have met his match in Yagyuu, and they both may have met their captain in Yukimura. The team that forms around Yukimura breaks and recovers, and forges on to Nationals. Divergent Future based only on the maga through 237; manga spoilers throughout. Yagyuu/Niou and Yukimura/Sanada/Yanagi, also Sanada/Kirihara.

Ink Burns

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

This is a work of fanfiction, produced according to the principles of transformative fair use as put forward in US copyright law, and abiding by the custom and practice of fan-produced work in Japan, where the source texts were created. No author is in any way affiliated with any of the creators of the source texts, nor with the companies who distribute their products, nor any other rights holder, and these stories were not authorized by either the creators or the producers. Ink Burns is a fan site and the material here is freely provided for the enjoyment of fellow fan-community members; there is no commercial infringement.

This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 US license at the Ink Burns fanfiction archive (http://www.branchandroot.net/archive/).

"Challenge - Chapter One" published on 2004-06-16 13:32:00.

"Challenge - Chapter Two" published on 2004-06-16 15:39:58.

"Challenge - Chapter Three" published on 2004-06-16 15:50:56.

"Challenge - Chapter Four" published on 2004-06-17 15:57:46.

"Challenge - Chapter Five" published on 2004-06-18 18:30:22.

"Challenge - Chapter Six" published on 2004-06-19 18:42:33.

"Challenge - Chapter Seven" published on 2004-06-20 19:23:10.

"Nutshell" published on 2004-06-23 01:06:36.

"Water" published on 2004-06-23 02:38:07.

"Challenge - Chapter Eight" published on 2004-06-20 19:30:55.

"Challenge - Chapter Nine" published on 2004-06-20 19:38:37.

"Challenge - Chapter Ten" published on 2004-06-22 19:53:15.

"Earth Over Thunder" published on 2004-06-23 03:19:11.

"Glory" published on 2004-06-24 12:23:28.

"Water Over Fire" published on 2004-06-25 12:30:11.

"Resolution" published on 2004-06-25 12:39:57.

"Temper" published on 2004-06-27 12:43:53.

"Contrary" published on 2004-06-28 14:55:58.

"Earth Over Heaven" published on 2004-07-01 18:33:12.

"Restraint" published on 2004-07-01 18:45:49.

"Need" published on 2004-07-02 18:52:06.

"The Continuation of War" published on 2004-07-07 18:55:22.

"Credit" published on 2004-07-08 19:24:35.

"Dislocated" published on 2004-07-11 19:33:45.

"Cloud to Cloud" published on 2004-07-13 19:43:55.

"Fly" published on 2004-08-07 19:47:17.

"Circle" published on 2004-08-08 19:54:07.

Attributions can be made by author's name and a link to the archive.

This ebook edition was published on September 6, 2019 by the Ink Burns fanfiction archive.

Cover illustration is "Dubrovnik bei Mondlicht" by Eduard Kasparides, public domain (http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Eduard_Kasparides_Dubrovnik_bei_Mondlicht_1915.jpg).

Cover design by Branch.

Challenge - Chapter One

Niou enters junior high and encounters a wonderful new game. Drama, I-3

Niou Masaharu liked seeing people disconcerted. The expression itself amused him, and the knowledge that he had been the one to put it on somebody's face gave him a nice, warm glow of accomplishment. And, while he liked playing with people who appreciated his art and style, in order to get the full effect it was best to target the straightlaced and serious.

Thus, after spending a month or so observing his fellow first years it was as natural as sunrise that he should choose Yagyuu Hiroshi as his first major target.

Yagyuu was prim and proper, respectful and reserved. His appearance and his work were uniformly precise and neat. He spoke to everyone, from the teachers to his study partners to the girls who made eyes at him, in exactly the right fashion and degree for a good student with little interest in entanglements, either friendly or romantic.

He was ideal.

Masaharu had indulged in a little petty theft with every expectation of a handsome return on his effort. The contrast would be especially piquant, when that still face broke into an expression of shock, and possibly even turned red. It was a shame he couldn't get rid of the glasses, in order to get the full effect of the eyes widening, but perfection was rare. Masaharu accepted this, while taking pleasure in coming as close as possible. This one should be fairly close, albeit on a small scale.

He was, therefore, very surprised when Yagyuu, upon discovering what had been substituted for one of his books, merely flipped through a few pages of extremely explicit erotic postcards before tucking them back into his bag without so much as a raised brow. Masaharu was still trying to assimilate this when Yagyuu paced over to his desk.

"Niou-kun, if it isn't too much trouble, might I ask for the return of my dictionary?" Yagyuu asked, quite calmly.

When Masaharu actually processed the request, and the fact that Yagyuu seemed to have no intention of returning the postcards, he broke into a grin of utter delight. He produced the dictionary with a slight flourish.

"Why, of course, Yagyuu. You only had to ask." How wonderful. He did love a good challenge.

Yagyuu's resigned sigh as he accepted the book made Masaharu wonder for a second whether he had said that last out loud. But no. If Yagyuu had figured out who was responsible for the little trick so quickly, he likely knew just by Masaharu's expression what he'd let himself in for.

Masaharu whistled through the halls for the rest of the day.

Yagyuu surprised him again by inviting Masaharu to play a set with him after the tennis club's afternoon practice was done. He was not particularly surprised when Yagyuu won handily. Masaharu had already tagged Yagyuu as one of the strongest players in their year, short of The Miraculous Three. In another year, Yagyuu's speed ball would probably be unbelievable.

So Masaharu wondered, as they packed up, what the point of this game had been. Did Yagyuu not have his measure already? Given his obviously sharp observational skills that seemed unlikely. On the other hand, Masaharu knew that plenty of people were taken in by his rough and casual attitude. But this one was obviously no stranger to deceptive fronts, himself, if the go-round with the pictures was any indication. It was a puzzle.

Masaharu liked puzzles, too.

As they started off their respective ways, Yagyuu looked at him, glasses flashing and concealing whatever expression might be behind them.

"It pays to attend to the important things, Niou-kun," he said, in the tone of someone quoting an aphorism in Literature class. And then he was gone.

Masaharu's eyes narrowed as he looked after his classmate. So. If he wasn't mistaken, the point of the game had actually been to suggest that, not only was Yagyuu a better player, but that he was better because he did not indulge in unimportant things. Like, say, tricks and provocations.

Well then. Masaharu felt his lips curving in the smile that made even his friends nervous. Perhaps he wasn't the only one who liked a challenge?

Very brief experiment confirmed that Masaharu was unlikely to catch Yagyuu up on the tennis court. Not, at any rate, by conventional means. Yagyuu just had that extra edge of technique. So Masaharu settled down to observe and analyze, looking for other means. And if no one else knew what to make of the brilliant grins he occasionally couldn't help bestowing on Yagyuu, that was fine with him. This one would last him for months, possibly even years.

That was the part that no one seemed to understand. Yes, Masaharu loved his tricks just for the waves they caused. But the deception or manipulation itself was only the tail end of the thing. The real heart of it was understanding; the trick was simply the proof that he had understood correctly. And, of course, stirring people up made for even more opportunities to observe and understand. It was Masaharu's own awareness of how central understanding was that allowed him to turn it around—to conceal himself while indulging his taste for unsettling people. Most of the time it was lamentably easy.

Yagyuu Hiroshi was not easy to understand. Nor was he easy to unsettle.

Masaharu thought he just might be in love.

So, he checked off on his mental list, sex didn't so much as make Yagyuu blush. Encouraging his admirers, which Masaharu spent a week doing to great effect, didn't discommode him in the least. He was unfailingly polite to the most shrilly besotted girls. Masaharu added "inhuman patience" to his list of Yagyuu's defenses.

After some consideration, and some more covert practice to pull it off, he played a set against Yagyuu while imitating his style and moves. That disturbed just about anyone, at least for a while. Yagyuu merely increased the power of his shots until his last speed ball blew the racquet out of Masaharu's hands. Irritated, perhaps, but not disturbed. Oh well. The exercise wasn't without a productive aspect; Yagyuu's moves were a nice addition to Masaharu's repertoire.

Indeed, he had occasion to use it within the week. Toshiyuki had it coming. Really, Masaharu considered it his duty to the club to keep that kind from getting too far above themselves. So, after spending the match hammering him with one drive after another, just as Toshiyuki was starting to get his stance right to return them, Masaharu gave him a curving slice instead. Wavering, attempting to shift his balance fast enough to return it, Toshiyuki stepped right on the stray ball Masaharu had spent half a game maneuvering him in front of.

Such a shame that the first years were so much laxer about collecting balls for each other than they were for the second and third years.

Toshiyuki went down hard and lay, wheezing. Masaharu sauntered to the net and propped himself on one of the posts.

"Are you all right?" he inquired, light and mocking.

Toshiyuki wheezed some more, and Masaharu watched with great satisfaction as he tottered over to the benches. Now, maybe, he'd shut up about what a great all around player he was going to be.

"Such an extreme measure was unnecessary, Niou-kun," Yagyuu's level voice said behind him. Masaharu tossed a look over his shoulder, and noted that Yagyuu's mouth was actually a little tight. Interesting.

"I only do things like that to people who really annoy me," he returned with a thin, lazy smile. Yagyuu's brow arched.

"Really?" he asked, all polite skepticism.

"Some people annoy me just by breathing," Masaharu admitted. He stretched, vastly pleased. Not only had the matter with Toshiyuki worked out precisely, but for some reason it had bothered Yagyuu.

Now, the question was, why?

Because Masaharu had used one of Yagyuu's moves to do it? It seemed unlikely, since it hadn't bothered Yagyuu when Masaharu had used them against him. But perhaps he didn't want anyone thinking that he had actually shown that move to Masaharu, that he had participated in any way in a trick like this.

Perhaps because it was a teammate? But Yagyuu had watched him pull things just as vicious on classmates and never blinked. Masaharu spent a happy moment recalling the rather lurid love confession to the teacher that he had inserted into the English homework Hidenori was called upon to read aloud. It would never have worked if Hidenori had been good enough in English to actually think about the content of what he was reading, but knowing that he wasn't was, after all, exactly why Masaharu had chosen that tactic. Did Yagyuu feel more protective of the tennis club than general schoolmates? Was that, perhaps, the reason he was so courteously distant toward them all, because otherwise he would care too much?

Masaharu was positive that Yagyuu's smooth front hid some kind of passion behind it. No one played tennis the way he did without passion.

When Masaharu knew what kind, then he would have the key to unsettle The Unflappable One.

They were all playing doubles, and Masaharu was getting bored. It was all Yukimura's fault. He had mentioned to the captain that, while the Regulars were well supplied with excellent singles players, their best doubles pair would be retiring soon, and wouldn't it be a good idea to find out who could be promoted to fill that space? And, before you could blink, here they all were, with a rotation drawn up to see who might play well with whom. Because when Yukimura spoke like that, all quiet and reasonable and commanding, everyone did what he said, including the captain, who, Masaharu couldn't help noticing, seemed a little afraid of Yukimura.

Masaharu spared a sneer, before hitting a surprise drive to set his current partner up with a nice, smashable lob. Surely, even Akashi couldn't miss that one.

Most of his partners were incompetent, and the others were boring. The only one Masaharu had enjoyed his game with was Jackal, because, after a very brief shake-down, he had settled at the baseline and prevented the other side from scoring and let Masaharu toy with their opponents to his heart's content. But he'd only gotten to play with Jackal twice so far.

It was times like this that he wished Yukimura wasn't so damn easy-going most of the time. Any trick that didn't involve tennis would roll right off that sunny charm he used to wind the club around his finger, and any trick that did involve tennis was right out of the question. If he tried it, Yukimura would probably have the nerve to give him instructions for improvement, after he finished mopping the court with Masaharu.

Never even mind that, if he did attempt to put something over on Yukimura, Sanada, who had no sense of humor Masaharu could detect, would skin him. Possibly for the purpose of making Yukimura a new pair of house slippers. Sanada was that kind of bloody minded, iron bastard, and anyone with eyes could see that he had a mother-hen complex over Yukimura. It went strangely with his hot temper, not to mention Yukimura's greater skill, but Masaharu figured that was probably half the point—Yukimura could harness Sanada's temper.

No, he decided, there was no hope for it. They were all stuck doing whatever Yukimura wanted. He aimed his last shot at his opponent's toe, which at least elicited a nice yowl, and sulked.

Well, at least he was in good time to watch Yagyuu play his next match.

Yagyuu playing doubles was a curious thing, to Masaharu's eye. After a couple weeks of doubles work, Yagyuu was getting a reputation as a frightening observer and analyst, because he tended to call aloud advice and directions to his partners regarding how to respond to the other pair. He wasn't up to Yanagi's level, but Masaharu would admit he did keep an impressive eye on his opponents.

The strange part was that he never seemed to so much as glance at his partner. Even if he was at the net, he seemed to know, without looking, where his partner was and what he was doing. He never said anything about that, which might explain why no one else had noticed yet; he just acted on the knowledge. Masaharu was fascinated.

Yagyuu's matches tended to go pretty quickly, since it was still first-years playing first-years.

The second-year keeping an eye on them apparently agreed, since he looked at his roster, shrugged, and flipped to the next day's page.

"Next!" he called. "Yagami-Ishida pair against Yagyuu-Niou pair!"

Masaharu blinked, and then smiled like a fox. His birthday present was here seven whole months early.

Yagyuu turned to look him up and down before shrugging minimally. "Perhaps you would be best suited to a forward position, Niou-kun?" he offered.

"Ever the gentleman," Masaharu laughed, moving up.

As the focus of the match descended on them, though, he stopped laughing. His eyes widened and his teeth set. It had nothing to do with his opponents, though they weren't too shabby a pair, and everything to do with what was standing behind him. Facing Yagyuu across the net he had noticed the intensity of Yagyuu's game, the flare of focus and passion pressed under the smooth glass of Yagyuu's manners and restraint. Playing on the same side as him was like standing next to a lightning strike. A charged, ringing atmosphere enfolded him. He could feel Yagyuu's presence in it, like a weight. When he slid aside, before Yagyuu even called it, to let a drive sizzle past, ending the first game, Masaharu shot a pleased look over his shoulder and got an edged smile in return. Whatever Yagyuu did to keep track of his partners, it made him less careful of his distant front.

Masaharu was absolutely exhilarated. He knew he was showing himself more clearly than usual, too, and couldn't quite bring himself to care.

They swept away the other pair in a whirlwind, and the second-year watching goggled a little until Masaharu gave him a sharp grin. Then he twitched.

"Winners, Yagyuu-Niou pair, 6-0," he announced a bit blankly.

Masaharu was laughing again, under his breath, as he and Yagyuu walked off the court. He was positive, now, that he was playing with fire by seeking to unsettle Yagyuu.

So much the better.

"See you later, Yagyuu," he murmured as they packed up. "Maybe we can play together again, some time."

TBC

Challenge - Chapter Two

Niou and Yagyuu become a doubles pair, and the game continues. Drama, I-3

True to Masaharu's prediction, or perhaps it had been a threat, he and Yagyuu played together more and more frequently over the next weeks. They, and the other two Masaharu had noticed as the best among the first years, always excepting the Glorious Three, worked their way through the ranks of the second years' various doubles pairs undefeated. Masaharu was finally enjoying himself, even if their opponent pairs still weren't much of a challenge. Only the remaining Regular pair could even take them two out of three.

The fourth of their little party, Marui, preened amusingly about that.

They learned fairly quickly that it was best to keep the styles mixed. Yagyuu with Jackal had excellent communication, and immense power, but a vital spark was missing. Masaharu added this to his list of Yagyuu-notes, that Yagyuu's aggression on the court didn't show equally with every partner. Masaharu and Marui spent more time in competition with each other than with their opponents. As long as they kept it mixed up, though, they walked right over just about everyone.

They didn't get really slaughtered until the Munificent Three decided to get in on the action. Masaharu wasn't the only one who was surprised that they could sweep the court in doubles almost as thoroughly as they did in singles.

Since winning was clearly out of the question, Masaharu concentrated on losing by a reasonable margin, and took the opportunity to observe their various combinations.

Sanada played baseline for Yukimura; no surprises there. In something of the same fashion, Yanagi played cautious to Sanada's aggressive, making no effort to contain Sanada but clearly understanding him well enough to pick up any openings. The combination that really dazzled Masaharu, though, was Yanagi and Yukimura, because the speed and flexibility of their play was astonishing. By now everyone was getting used to the supernatural accuracy of Yanagi's data, and it applied well to doubles. But this was the first time Masaharu had seen Yukimura play doubles, and it was clear he had that same instinct for his partners that Yagyuu did. He never looked; he always knew.

Masaharu couldn't help but grin, even though that match left him flat on his back. Maybe, if he could find the key, if he could really understand Yagyuu, the two of them could play like that.

After an exceedingly brief consultation with the new captain, Yukimura called their little gang of four over.

"We have one seasoned doubles pair who will be playing as Regulars for the upcoming year," he told them. "It would be difficult to choose a single pair from the four of you to take the second doubles slot, and since you work smoothly as a unit, we aren't going to. I would like to select the pair best suited to a given school, as we play next year, shifting as necessary. Will that be acceptable to all of you?"

Masaharu opened his mouth to ask a pointed question about why it was Yukimura making all these decisions and announcing them, and not the captain standing, silent and uncomfortable, behind the Trinity. He closed it again, with a smooth look, at Sanada's burning glare.

"Quite acceptable, Yukimura-kun," Yagyuu answered, coolly. Jackal nodded. Marui eyed Masaharu.

"It is extremely unlikely that the Niou-Marui pair will be called for," Yanagi murmured. Masaharu wondered if he was the only one who heard the sardonic edge. Marui merely blew a bubble of gum and shrugged.

"Sounds fine to me," he said, though Masaharu was fairly sure he was a bit annoyed not to be playing singles. Well, Marui could play singles with him, and that would keep their self-proclaimed genius busy. For himself, Masaharu waved a hand toward Yagyuu.

"What he said."

Yukimura looked at him, head tipped to one side, for a long moment before he nodded. Masaharu had the unnerving, and unusual, sensation that Yukimura knew about the competition of wills and ingenuity between Masaharu and Yagyuu. And had chosen to permit it.

Honestly, he was starting to wonder why they hadn't just made Yukimura captain this year and had done with it.

Their faculty advisor was the only stumbling block to the plan.

"This is... irregular, Yukimura-kun," the man said, disapproval dripping from his voice. All four of the doubles crew looked back at him with equal disfavor.

Yukimura smiled.

"Perhaps," he allowed, "but it will ensure the best possible performance of the Rikkai team."

"I am not as sure of that."

Masaharu stopped paying attention to the blowhard and started paying attention to Yagyuu. He was standing close enough for Masaharu to feel the tension slowly winding up that straight, poised frame. It was noticeable enough for Masaharu to wonder whether it was all because of the insult to their abilities, or if there was some other element.

"There is a proper way of doing things, Yukimura-kun, and this is not the way our team does things," the advisor concluded.

Afterward, Masaharu always remembered that as the moment they all found out what it meant to have Yukimura as their captain, even if he didn't have the title yet.

Yukimura's eyes narrowed and glinted, the smile fading as his mouth hardened.

"You may continue to think that, if you wish to be remembered as the one responsible for Rikkai's loss at Nationals this coming year," he stated, and the husky voice was chill and precise as a surgical scalpel. "I do not think you wish that, though. You will understand, therefore, that I will lead this team to victory. And you will not interfere."

Masaharu felt his jaw dropping, and noticed, distantly, that he wasn't alone. Even he didn't talk to the teachers like that. Yukimura's forms were perfectly courteous... except that he was definitely giving orders. And whatever resistance the advisor might have been able to muster in face of that cold, diamond sharp surety folded when Sanada stepped to Yukimura's shoulder and added his own, much less subtle, glare to Yukimura's.

As the advisor hemmed and hawed and retreated, Yagyuu let out a breath that caught Masaharu's attention again. All the febrile tension had drained out of him, and he was looking at Yukimura. For the nth time, Masaharu damned the glasses that concealed half the nuances of Yagyuu's expression, but the line of his mouth was suddenly uncertain, almost trembling.

Yukimura turned back to them.

"Please don't be concerned. The reservations of outsiders will not affect you, and after a few wins I expect even those will fade." His voice was gentle again, to match the warmth of the look he always gave the team.

Yagyuu bowed slightly. "We will not fail, Yukimura-san," he stated, quiet but definite.

It was only by a great effort of will that Masaharu kept from gaping again. Yagyuu was always proper, of course, but proper was not the same as respectful. What he had just heard, for the first time, Masaharu realized, was respect. Yukimura was, of course, adept at bending people to his hand; Masaharu had watched him do it all season. But he'd never expected Yagyuu to succumb. Not the reserved, self-sufficient, distant Yagyuu Hiroshi.

So why now?

He chewed over the question as they returned to practice, and every interaction between Yagyuu and Yukimura added to his bemusement. Yagyuu wasn't fawning, the way a lot of the less talented players did; he wasn't treating Yukimura like some kind of avatar. He was simply attentive and respectful and...

...at ease.

Masaharu was so boggled he missed a swing and Marui snapped at him. Masaharu swiped the bubble out of Marui's mouth with the next ball and went back to pondering.

At ease, as if some defensive tightness had loosened. Masaharu considered that thought. Defensive? Certainly, Yukimura had defended them, and quite sharply, too. Was Yagyuu reacting to that? But why would he feel he needed defense against a teacher, for crying out loud? All the teachers thought he was perfect.

Of course, the thought came to him, the opinion was not mutual. Now that he had something to compare it to, he could see the pattern of contempt in the way Yagyuu dealt with the teachers. Hostility, even, albeit muffled under those perfectly correct manners. A grin spread over Masaharu's face as he contemplated it.

Yagyuu, the Perfect Gentleman, the apple of the administrative eye, had a problem with authority.

Masaharu chuckled out loud, earning a wary look from Marui. He loved irony almost as much as he loved a challenge, and this one was magnificent. He wondered what had happened to set Yagyuu so against order-giving adults, and to cause him to conceal his dislike so strenuously. No surprise that Yukimura had captured his allegiance, after defending them from one of the enemy so vigorously.

Now, now Masaharu thought he had the key.

TBC

Challenge - Chapter Three

Stress in school gives Niou the break in the game he's been looking for. Drama, I-4

Masaharu was glad he waited for the right moment to turn his new key, though, because very shortly the entire school was enveloped in upset. If he hadn't been inconvenienced by it, he would have basked in it. As was, there were a few annoyances countervailing his amusement and he considered the whole thing a break-even proposition.

Marui took exception more vigorously.

"Curriculum review!" he snarled, hitting his ball to balance on the net and then kicking the net to dislodge it. "One stupid administrator steps on his dick, and suddenly the entire school has tests piled up past our eyes. Why are the students suffering for this?"

"It's the nature of the beast," Yagyuu pointed out. "The provost embarrassed someone senior to him in the administration of our schools. His senior is, in turn, embarrassing the provost in as all-encompassing a manner as he can manage. We're simply the medium of his revenge. The fitness tests would," he added, less evenly than usual, "be a reasonable and even admirable step, if our preparedness was really in any question."

Noting the teeth behind that statement, Masaharu placed odds with himself that whatever had happened to Yagyuu was the same shape as what was happening now. Had he played the part of the provost? Or just been caught in the wheels that time, too?

"In any case," Jackal put in, "it's probably a good idea to brush up on any weak subjects. We don't want this affecting our team standing."

Masaharu grunted, and cocked an eye at Yagyuu. They were class-mates, after all, and the help closest to hand.

"Social Studies for Science?" he offered.

"Reasonable," Yagyuu approved after a moment. Masaharu did like it, that Yagyuu never backed down from any potential challenge or trap.

"You know, it's a little scary when you two do that," Marui told them. At two sets of raised brows he elaborated. "There's probably a paragraph or two of explanation that you didn't bother with, because you both already knew what you meant. Doubles Syndrome usually takes a little longer to set in, you know? You two are made for it. Lucky break, for you, there was such a push for doubles this year, or you might never have known."

Masaharu threw back his head and laughed; he couldn't help it. "Yes, it would undoubtedly have taken longer, otherwise," he said, with a sly look at Yagyuu. "Fortuitous coincidence, that."

"Fortuitous?" Yagyuu raised a brow at him. "Really?"

Masaharu grinned, pleased. He also liked Yagyuu's subtlety. Their two doubles-mates would probably take it for genteel teasing, suggesting that Masaharu had sought Yagyuu out. Which was true enough. But, to Masaharu, it was another barb of challenge, asking whether he thought he could actually one-up his own doubles partner.

"Fortuitous," he confirmed. "It brought so many important things to light."

He had the distinct impression that Yagyuu's eyes had narrowed. He gave back a limpid look, telling his target that, yes, he had discovered things Yagyuu would consider important that were not tennis. Important things had been the terms of the challenge, after all.

And it only made the challenge brighter, for Yagyuu to know he was coming.

It was a busy winter, while the entire school studied madly for totally superfluous tests. Masaharu supposed the third-years probably didn't notice the difference, but everyone else, including all the teachers, were thrown into a flurry. He observed the tiny, subtle signs of tension under Yagyuu's customary coolness whenever a teacher tipped over the edge of hysteria in class. He experimented with little tricks to focus the fuss on himself rather than on the "good students" the teachers increasingly relied on to keep control of the disgruntled student body and get everyone ready. Little things, like switching the rats for the final behavioral lab and seeing how long it took everyone to notice, so as not to actually trigger a complete breakdown. Well, not in anyone but Hikashi-sensei, who had really had it coming. And, when the focus shifted, he watched the tiny lines at the corners of Yagyuu's mouth, and between his brows, fade to smoothness again, and smiled, and planned.

Mad flurry was not, they all learned, considered sufficient cause to slack off of tennis practice. Not by Yukimura, at any rate, and his steel determination dragged everyone else in his wake. The Regular members became a team of units: the doubles pair, the doubles team, the Mad Three. And the captain, almost an afterthought at times. It was only natural that they should fall into study groups along the same lines.

Masaharu and Yagyuu, as agreed, traded assistance, Masaharu tutoring in Social Studies and Yagyuu in Science.

With three weeks to go before the tests, Masaharu decided the time was right. Yagyuu should be stressed enough to crack, but not quite enough to seriously break Masaharu in turn.

"You know," he remarked, balling up a successfully completed sheet of study questions and batting it into the air, "you should consider teaching as a career, if you don't want to go pro." He watched Yagyuu's shoulders stiffen.

"Really?"

"Well you're sure a lot better at teaching this than Hikashi-sensei," Masaharu said. Then he offered a lazy smile to his study partner. "But being a teacher wouldn't give you enough protection, would it?"

Yagyuu's pencil stilled.

"I have to congratulate you on your camouflage, Yagyuu," Masaharu continued, casually. "I don't think a single one of them has figured out how nervous they make you. Or how much you'd like to rip their hearts out for that." He stood and stretched, body welcoming the movement after over an hour of inactivity. "Gotta say, though, I like my way better. It's more fun to make them nervous."

Yagyuu's head lifted, slowly, to look at him straight on. "Lack of control is your forte, Niou-kun, not mine," he said, dead level.

"True, in a way," Masaharu agreed, softly, "but it could be." He prowled around the end of the low table, and Yagyuu watched him come without so much as a twitch. "How often do you want to just let go, Yagyuu?" he murmured. "How often do you want to let the teeth show and watch them flinch back? How often do you want to hammer all of your opponents into the dirt, not just the ones across a tennis net? How often do you want to laugh after you've done it?"

Yagyuu could hardly be breathing, he was so still. Masaharu knelt over Yagyuu's folded legs, and delicately plucked off those frustrating glasses. Yagyuu's eyes were narrow, ice-colored, glinting with danger. Masaharu smiled, entranced.

"I know how much you want to," he breathed. "I can see it."

That assertion was the last straw, as he'd half expected it would be to someone who put so much effort into such a smooth, grippless front. There was a blurred moment of motion, and then Masaharu's back hit the floor, violently enough to drive the air from his lungs. The hand holding the glasses was pinned, hard, to the floor beside him, and Yagyuu's other hand was on his shoulder, thumb curled rather tightly over his throat.

"Do you really know?" Yagyuu asked, low and harsh. "Do you really want to?"

Rage blazed in Yagyuu's pale eyes, and his expression, for once, was raw and open. Sharp, sweet thrill swept through Masaharu to see that unleashed passion, the thrill for which he had played this game. He had touched this actinic blaze in the calm Yagyuu; he had found the way to call it out. Oh, yes, he wanted to see this more often.

To do that, though, the first step was to keep Yagyuu from doing him serious bodily harm. So Masaharu did the last thing Yagyuu probably expected at this point. He relaxed under Yagyuu's hold, let his head drop back on the floor, baring his throat, lowered his lashes over his eyes.

He had known from the start that Yagyuu liked a challenge as much as he did; the corollary was, often, that Yagyuu would not pursue an opponent who offered no resistance.

His faith in his own ability to understand another person was once again vindicated, as Yagyuu's grip gradually loosened, and his weight left Masaharu. When Masaharu opened his eyes, meeting Yagyuu's gaze was still rather like standing in the way of a laser, so he lay still for another few moments just to be on the safe side. He sat up, slowly, when Yagyuu made no further move, and offered back the glasses with a slight quirk of his mouth. He was pleased, though a bit surprised, when Yagyuu simply held them. Squinting at the lenses to try and tell their strength, Masaharu decided he must be close enough to be in focus.

Yagyuu was eyeing him like a tiger trying to decide whether some sharp-clawed creature would be more trouble than lunch was worth. Masaharu gave him a brilliant, wolverine's smile, and he snorted.

"What," Yagyuu enunciated, precisely, "was that in service of?"

"Why, my partner's sanity and well being, of course," Masaharu said, easily.

The ice-flash glare narrowed again.

"And my own entertainment," Masaharu admitted. "Did you know that you're magnificent when you drop that bland mask of yours?"

Yagyuu blinked.

"Beautiful like lightning," Masaharu murmured, hearing his own voice go just a bit dreamy and not really caring. The exaltation of being amidst or around that kind of powerful, unruly, brilliant violence was something he treasured. He found it so rarely, and the chaos sparked by his little deceptions was really nothing to it. "You should do it more often," he concluded.

Yagyuu made a scoffing noise and turned, abruptly, away.

"What did happen?" Masaharu asked, quietly. Yagyuu's spine straightened with a nearly audible snap. "The better I know what it was," Masaharu pointed out, "the better I can turn it aside from you."

If the wolverine had suddenly asserted it was a butterfly, the tiger might have given it a similar look to the one Yagyuu was now giving Masaharu.

"And the better I can turn it aside," Masaharu continued, reasonably, "the more often you're likely to let go. It works out for everyone. Well," he added, thoughtfully, "perhaps not our opponents, so much. But that's their problem."

Yagyuu had several gradations of socially polite smiles, but this was the first time Masaharu had seen one so clearly rooted in suppressed laughter. Yagyuu toyed with his glasses, for a few moments, looking pensive. Masaharu thought he might be considering the case of Hikashi-sensei, who would not be teaching again for a while after Masaharu had arranged for a good deal of extra caffeine to find its way into the man's morning coffee and then switched the colors on all his notes and tabs. Just the colors. The resulting cognitive dissonance had produced a very nice little breakdown. No matter how wound up the man was getting, Hikashi-sensei should never have tried to make an example of Masaharu's failures of scientific knowledge, especially when Masaharu had already been in a foul temper from losing three sets in a row to Yanagi. Totally aside from Masaharu's personal satisfaction, the incident probably made for good credentials right now.

"It was a science teacher, actually," Yagyuu said at last. Ah, irony struck again. Masaharu congratulated himself on the accuracy of his instincts; perhaps Yagyuu was rubbing off on him. "I showed, a little too clearly, that I was better at the material than he would probably ever be. He took exception."

There was another stretch of silence, which Masaharu refrained from breaking.

"I spent the rest of the year pulling ridiculous punishments for the slightest infraction, and rapidly became a pariah among the students. None of them wanted anything to splash on them. I can't," Yagyuu said, thinly, "quite blame them."

"Thus the Perfect Boy front," Masaharu murmured, chin in one hand. Yagyuu inclined his head. Masaharu considered for a long moment before he decided not to bother asking whether Yagyuu had been one of those students who liked his teachers and was liked by them, previous to this rude awakening. He was fairly sure it was true; only betrayal would drive the fury he'd seen in Yagyuu's eyes. He leaned forward and touched Yagyuu's chin, ever so lightly, with his fingertips, to make his partner look around.

"It won't happen again," he stated. "If you'll let me."

"Let you what is the question," Yagyuu noted, but amusement flickered in those clear, cutting eyes. "It could be interesting, I suppose."

"Eminently," Masaharu agreed, compressing his exhilaration at all the wonderful, new possibilities into a gleaming grin.

TBC

Challenge - Chapter Four

Niou and Yagyuu settle into their partnership. Drama, I-3

It hadn't taken any time at all to figure out that the months between when the third-years retired and when the school year ended were a time when the clubs could reorder themselves. A time to establish the new pecking order before another crop of first-years arrived, and everyone pecked on them. The tradition was a bit disrupted, this year, but, with the tests past and winter thawing, Masaharu started keeping an eye out. It had occurred to him that some of the very most and very least perceptive among the newly senior second-years might try something with either Jackal or Yagyuu, hoping to establish themselves as superior before the tournaments started and the doubles team's win record made them untouchable. The mannerly ones were the obvious targets.

Masaharu didn't know whether he was pleased or disappointed that it only took one incident to warn all like-minded sorts off of Yagyuu.

He had been waiting for it, and was in good time to turn a sharp eye on his partner when Nishio accosted him.

"Just because you're a quarter of a Regular, don't think you can give yourself too many airs," the older student told Yagyuu, with a not very concealed sneer. "There are balls all over D court; clear them off so we can get more practice games going."

Now that Masaharu knew what he was looking at, it was easy to see the tension in Yagyuu's straight shoulders, the moment of hesitation and calculation over how much he would uncover himself by resisting. While the calculation was lovely, the hesitation wasn't at all what Masaharu wanted to see in Yagyuu. No, it just wouldn't do.

"You want a game, hm?" he asked, strolling past Yagyuu's shoulder. "That's good. It means you're free to play one with me. Aren't you? Senpai." He had called people bastards in a warmer tone of voice, and Nishio gaped a bit to hear just how contemptuously Masaharu was addressing him. Masaharu scooped up a couple extra balls and sauntered onto a free court. He only had to wait long enough for Nishio to realize just how many people had heard the exchange. Ah, pride. It was such a wonderful motivator. It backed people into such tiny, little corners.

He served fairly gently, but his first return sang past Nishio's ear, missing by mere centimeters.

"Damn," Masaharu commented, mildly, "I guess Yanagi was right when he said I needed to work more on pinpointing. My precision is definitely a little shaky. Glad you were around to help me with this. It's good to see senpai who take their positions in the club so seriously." He smiled, slow and cold, as Nishio's eyes widened.

It was an excellent game, altogether, Masaharu thought. And good practice, too. Yanagi really was right; he clipped Nishio several times when he hadn't intended to. Though, on reflection, toward the end that might have been because Nishio himself was shaking so hard. Still. He should be able to allow for that kind of thing.

Masaharu moseyed back to Yagyuu, and ran a critical eye over him. Good; the tension was gone. And, while Yagyuu shook his head at Masaharu, there was a tiny quirk to his mouth. Maybe next time Masaharu would be able to convince him to participate.

"You do realize," Masaharu murmured, "that you can be polite while still smashing them into jelly."

"I'll take that under consideration, Niou-kun," Yagyuu said, coolly.

Masaharu grinned, and saluted his partner with his racquet, before going in search of something inanimate he could use for practice. Moving targets could wait a little, perhaps.

"Niou."

Slightly to his surprise, Masaharu found himself stopping as if his feet had stuck to the ground. He'd heard Yukimura use his there-is-no-possibility-I-will-not-be-obeyed voice on other people; this was the first time it had been used on him. That absolute surety really did have a remarkable effect, he reflected, turning. Something about the harmonics went straight to the spine.

Yukimura was looking at him measuringly. Masaharu raised his brows.

"Was that entirely necessary?" Yukimura asked. Since he sounded like he wanted a serious answer, Masaharu gave him one.

"Yes."

A corner of Yukimura's mouth curled up.

"Succinct," he noted, before he sighed and laid a hand on Masaharu's shoulder. "Defend your partner; it's an admirable motive. And small lessons in caution will be good for everyone. But I will not have members of my club harmed."

Masaharu thought about the way Yukimura had phrased himself. There were some interesting possibilities embedded.

"And if it takes more than a little lesson to get the point across?" he asked, testing. Yukimura's eyes narrowed and darkened.

"Then tell me. Our team will win; any member of this club who cannot support that goal wholeheartedly does not belong here."

Masaharu was lost, for a moment, in admiration of Yukimura's subtlety. Their vice-captain would not, of course, condone injury to those under his command. Of course, once someone left the club, that prohibition would no longer apply. And then Masaharu could do whatever he felt was called for. And everyone would toe the line when word of that got around. He'd been right earlier in the year; Yukimura did understand him. In fact, he chose, knowingly, to use Masaharu's games, like Sanada's temper, to his own ends. Masaharu appreciated that kind of playing with fire.

"Whatever you say," Masaharu agreed, easily. Yukimura's expression turned dry as he let Masaharu go.

"Come on," he directed, "I'll serve to you for your target practice— make it difficult enough to be worthwhile."

For several reasons, Masaharu was happy to note that not all the new first-years were inclined to roll over for the older students. Still, he had to wonder about the extent some of them took it to.

"What's up?" Marui asked, as he and Jackal arrived to find just about the entire club gathered around a single court.

"One of the first-years challenged Yanagi, Sanada and Yukimura, right in a row," Masaharu told them. "Have to admit, the kid has guts. Not too many brains, maybe, but plenty of guts."

"He's still standing?" Jackal asked, sounding intrigued. To date he was one of the few who could manage that feat; Masaharu swore he had extra lungs tucked away somewhere.

"Yes. He's actually very good," Yagyuu noted. Yukimura's return flashed past his challenger's foot. "Not good enough to win," Yagyuu added, "but quite skilled."

"Yanagi drove him absolutely frothing mad," Masaharu put in, "but the kid actually got one game off Sanada. The iron face unbent enough to look a bit impressed."

The first-year didn't quite manage to finish the game standing, instead sprawling full length on the court in a futile effort to return Yukimura's last serve. That did not seem to stymie him, though, and he raised burning eyes to the victors and spat that he would be the best.

"I think Niou was right about the guts to brains ratio," Marui commented, punctuating his judgment with a bubble.

"He will be an impressive player, though," Jackal pointed out.

Masaharu grunted in response, distracted by the flash of red in the first-year's eyes. That was different. An anger reaction?

"He will be joining us," Yagyuu predicted, quietly. When the other three turned to him in surprise he nodded toward the court. "Look at Yukimura-san."

Sure enough, while Yanagi looked contemplative, and Sanada looked saturnine, just as usual, Yukimura had the gleam in his eyes and the faint curve to his mouth that meant he had found something interesting. He stepped over the net, took the newcomer's wrist and pulled him to his feet.

"Try, then," he answered the boy's assertion. "I'll look forward to it."

The first-year seemed a bit taken aback by this approval. Or, Masaharu thought, perhaps by becoming the focus of Yukimura's full attention.

"I believe Yagyuu is right," Jackal said, thoughtfully. "I only hope Yukimura can keep such a wild player in hand."

"That," Masaharu predicted in turn, "will not be a problem."

Later in the day's practice, he tracked down Yanagi.

"So, O Master of All Data, who's the kid?" he asked, slouching against the fence next to their data wizard. Yanagi looked amused.

"I take it Yagyuu noticed Seiichi's interest?" At Masaharu's sidelong look he added, "The chance is about eighty-five percent that he will correctly gauge what Seiichi is thinking at any given moment."

"One of these days," Masaharu sighed, "I'm going to get used to you doing that."

"Our challenger is Kirihara Akaya," Yanagi told him. "He has some impressive experience already. His greatest weakness at present is his temper, as I expect you noticed." Now it was Yanagi's turn to shoot Masaharu a sideways look; Masaharu grinned into the distance. "He will be a good addition to the team, if he can gain some control and refine his skills. I estimate the latter will take six months."

Masaharu made a note of the fact that Yanagi did not hazard a guess how long the former might take.

This year's round of tournaments had finally started. And Masaharu was bored again.

"Yagyuu-Niou pair, 6-0!"

"When are we going to get a decent challenge?" Masaharu grumbled as they fished out water and ignored their totally unnecessary towels.

"These are only the district preliminaries, Niou-kun," Yagyuu pointed out. "I doubt there will be much, here. Are you in such a rush to court the possibility of defeat?"

"What?" Masaharu tipped back his head to grin at Yagyuu. "I want to see my partner shine. Where's the crime in that?"

"Most codes of law would likely consider it to lie in your definition of 'shine'," Yagyuu noted, but his tone was light.

"Do I want to know what you two are talking about?" Marui asked, as they watched Sanada tearing through his opponent like a tall, dark bandsaw.

"See? Marui wants to see too," Masaharu blithely reinterpreted, ignoring the sudden choke that had Marui scraping bubblegum off his nose. "And we do have one more team to play today..." He trailed off, suggestively.

"Hmm." Yagyuu looked down at him, and Masaharu would have laid odds that his eyes were glinting behind those glasses. "I suppose they are our opponents, after all. Perhaps, a little."

Marui eyed them both for a long moment before declaring, "I want to be very clear that whatever is about to happen is not my fault in any way."

Masaharu smiled at him broadly enough to make him edge toward Jackal. "Of course not."

Masaharu was aware that the bounce in his step as they moved to their next match was drawing attention. He didn't care in the least. Though he did have a bad moment when Yukimura drew them aside just before they went out. He wasn't going to stop them, was he?

"Niou, I think it would be a good idea if you let Yagyuu set the pace of this match," Yukimura suggested. Masaharu gave him a patient look. It was abundantly obvious that their vice-captain was, tactfully, saying he didn't want them to draw this match out the way Masaharu had been doing in an effort to entertain himself.

"You know, you could just say you don't want me to play with my food," he pointed out.

Yukimura laughed. "I'll remember that," he promised.

"Is there a particular reason we should take this one quickly, Yukimura-san?" Yagyuu asked.

"This is one of the stronger teams here," Yukimura told them. "It would be a good thing, both for Rikkai as a whole, and for the doubles team in particular, if you were to make an impression, here."

Masaharu and Yagyuu looked at each other. Masaharu chuckled. Yagyuu adjusted his glasses.

"Of course," he murmured.

"Enjoy yourselves," Yukimura told them, with the sharp smile he wore when he played.

Masaharu could barely hide his glee as he observed the subtle relaxation in his partner, shoulders looser, breath deeper, head higher. The bright, furious sense of Yagyuu's presence pooled around him, charged the space between them, snapped across the net to lick at their victims. Masaharu shivered, delighting in it.

When Yagyuu let go, the smoothness of his front turned fluid and hot as molten glass, and, even if it burned to touch, Masaharu loved to immerse himself in it.

They took the set, 6-0, in a glorious sweep of speed. And Masaharu almost laughed out loud when Yagyuu congratulated their opponents, quite straight-faced, on a good game.

"What did I tell you?" he asked, as they strolled back to the benches. "Jelly."

Yagyuu laughed, low in his throat, danger and fury satiated for the moment, leaving him languid until he regathered himself.

"As you say, Niou-kun."

It was probably a good thing, Masaharu reflected, that Yagyuu had clued the doubles team in about Yukimura's fascination with Kirihara. Otherwise they might have wondered what on earth their leader was doing spending so much time on a non-Regular now that the tournament season was in full swing. As it was, they quietly made space for him among them. Masaharu, in particular, liked to watch him practicing, especially with The Exalted Three. Admittedly, Kirihara didn't have Yagyuu's brilliant purity, when he let go. For Kirihara it was something more shadowed. But Masaharu enjoyed watching it all the same.

He toyed, for a while, with the idea that the kid genuinely was possessed. Whatever it was that happened, when his eyes went red, it both freed his reserves and seemed to detach his brain. Masaharu certainly couldn't come up with any other explanation for the way Kirihara played such a deliberately dirty game when he was like that, even against Yukimura.

Yukimura, of course, took it all in stride, though he'd had to have a word with Sanada to keep him from pounding Kirihara into a pulp the first time he'd seen it happen. Masaharu sniffed at the memory. As if Yukimura couldn't do it perfectly well himself, if he thought it needed doing. Though, he glanced at Yagyuu, standing at the fence beside him, he supposed there could be reasons for defending someone stronger.

This afternoon looked like a quicker match than usual. Yukimura was getting used to that sudden change in Kirihara's level, probably. In fact... Masaharu eyed the return shots Yukimura was making.

"Yagyuu," he said, on an inquiring note.

"Yes," his partner agreed, "Yukimura-san is reflecting Kirihara-kun's body shots, though he returns them just shy of actually striking. He's provoking him."

Masaharu whistled. If he'd ever doubted Yukimura had a cold streak, this would have disabused him of the idea. The last ball skipped between Kirihara's feet, and he stumbled to his knees and stayed there, panting and shaking, probably with anger. Yukimura came around the net, but this time he did not pull Kirihara back up. He knelt down in front of him, grabbed his chin, and forced his head up to meet Yukimura's eyes.

"You will never defeat me," Yukimura told him, low and sharp, "unless you can control that strength instead of merely letting it loose. Do you hear me?"

"I..." Kirihara swallowed with some difficulty, green gaze wide and clear, "I hear you, Yukimura-fukubuchou."

Yukimura nodded, and released him, dropping the towel he had picked up on his way past the benches over Kirihara's head.

"Remember it."

As he walked away, Masaharu and Yagyuu shared a look and moved toward the motionless Kirihara.

"You really managed to put your foot in it today, kiddo," Masaharu observed, mussing Kirihara's hair through the towel. Kirihara swatted at his hand and emerged with a petulant look. Masaharu shook his head. Half the time, being around Kirihara was like sitting next to a ticking bomb, and the other half it was like having a bratty but cute little brother. Possession really seemed as reasonable an explanation as any other. He hauled Kirihara over to a bench to clear the court.

"Will you listen to what Yukimura-san says?" Yagyuu asked, gently, passing over a water bottle. Kirihara blinked up at him, caught in the middle of drinking.

"Of course," he said, a little blankly, as if wondering what other course of action there could be. Yagyuu smiled, satisfied, and Masaharu chuckled.

"He's something else, isn't he?" he remarked, only a touch ruefully.

The three of them shared slightly sheepish grins before the captain called all the Regulars to gather around.

TBC

Challenge - Chapter Five

Niou coaxes Yagyuu into more intimacy; or perhaps it's the other way around. Drama with Porn, I-3

There were times when Masaharu seriously thought Marui Bunta was going to grow up to be a gossip columnist. He had an apparently insatiable curiosity about other people's personal lives.

"So, what do you guys think?" Marui asked one day, while the doubles team was cooling down, nodding at The Magnificent Three over by the fence. "Are they hooked up, or what?"

"Marui," Jackal said, disapprovingly. Masaharu laughed. The usual doubles pairs really had come down to one casual sort and one straightlaced sort each...

"Possibly," Yagyuu answered, adjusting his glasses.

Jackal's brows rose, and Masaharu frankly goggled at his partner.

"If so, however, I suspect all three must be involved," Yagyuu continued, serenely. "Together the three of them have a stability that no two do alone."

"Kinky," Marui said, with a bubble for emphasis.

"And here I thought you were completely indifferent," Masaharu marveled, a bit sardonically. "You never give any of your fanclub the time of day."

"As opposed to your attempts to corrupt yours into delinquency?" Yagyuu inquired, with a tiny smile. "The shrillness is a bit off-putting. That does not make me blind, nor does it mean I have no appreciation for beauty of body or of heart."

Masaharu blinked. Marui snickered, and nudged Masaharu in the ribs.

"I told you you shouldn't have switched the labels on the water and acetone before Yonomi-sensei's dry-ice demonstration. He's just getting you back for messing up his favorite class."

"Yonomi-sensei deserved it," Masaharu defended himself. He shared a speaking look with his partner. Yes, Masaharu would be more careful not to interrupt experiments that interested Yagyuu. No, Yagyuu wasn't actually angry. He'd known that already, really. If Yagyuu had gotten angry with him he certainly wouldn't have shown it by adopting methods so close to Masaharu's own. Masaharu grinned.

The corruption proceeded apace.

Masaharu and Yagyuu had kept up their winter habit of studying together. It was comfortable and familiar, and it gave Masaharu a chance to keep working on Yagyuu's self-restraint. His goal was to get Yagyuu to cut off a teacher at the knees. He felt it would be a healthy step forward in his partner's personal development.

And it would be fun as hell to watch.

He did his best to be a good example, and he was reasonably sure that Yagyuu liked watching him stir things up, but it was still good to have it confirmed. Even if the form of that confirmation was slightly disconcerting.

They were working through a section on the Edo period, and Masaharu was giving his interpretation of Toyotomi Hideyoshi's foundational policies, which was rather more colorful than the official one.

"Really a brilliant social engineer, and an utterly cold-hearted bastard. Think about the strictures on who can do what. I mean, it looks worst for the peasants, but consider what he did to the samurai with the same move. Effectively, you can have weapons or you can have food, but you can't have both. Stabilized the economy and contained the warriors with one fell swoop." Masaharu stretched out a little more comfortably on the floor beside the low table Yagyuu sat at so straight and upright. "Absolutely brilliant bastard; you've got to admire a mind like that."

Yagyuu paused in his note-taking, and tapped the end of his pen against the table. Masaharu tilted a brow; that was what Yagyuu did when he was evaluating some thought or person.

"Niou-kun, you asked me once what had happened to me," Yagyuu said, thoughtfully. "What was it that happened to you? Not that the results aren't entertaining to watch, when you rake people over trying to find bits of gold in the gravel. But what gave you such a taste for people of extremes?"

Masaharu blinked, never having heard his proclivities framed quite that way, before. Then he shrugged.

"It's always been like that. Some people are fascinated by fire; the brilliance, and destructiveness, and beauty. It's the same for me, only it's people. Fire is mindless; people have intention and direction. And I can come closer to the burning."

Yagyuu slowly removed his glasses, and polished them, pale eyes resting on Masaharu.

"Are you saying," Yagyuu asked, after a long, contemplative pause, "that you're a metaphorical pyromaniac?" He looked amused.

"Good description," Masaharu agreed, folding his arms behind his head. Yagyuu regarded him, eyes sharp and curious.

"You know, I've wondered, if it was passion you wanted to call out of me, why you never tried seduction."

Masaharu blinked some more. He'd thought the answer to that was self-evident.

"Because sex didn't work," he said. "It was the first thing I tried, and it didn't unsettle you at all. Could have knocked me over with a feather, at the time," he admitted, just a bit disgruntled at the memory. Thinking it over, he had to add, "If I thought I could get you to let go all the way, I would in a second."

"Would you really?" Yagyuu wondered, softly. His gaze was somehow both piercing and distant, and Masaharu heard questions behind the question. Would you really want to and Could you really handle it, among others.

"Oh, yes," he answered all of them, mouth curling.

"Hm." Yagyuu replaced his glasses. "So. Do you have an opinion of Tokugawa Ieyasu to add for this section?"

As Masaharu held forth on genealogical slight of hand, he also tucked away some intriguing new ideas for later examination.

The tournament matches started to heat up a little, as they entered Regionals. To keep everyone on their toes, Yukimura colluded with Yanagi to put together a training schedule to make a slave-driver blanch. The only open times were provided solely to include Kirihara.

By now the entire club had a pretty good idea of what next year's team would look like.

For once Kirihara seemed to be struggling. He appeared to have taken Yukimura's edict about control to heart, but it was clear that holding back his own rage was both alien to him and draining. Masaharu, personally, considered most of that control a waste of time, but then it wasn't the dearest desire of his heart to defeat Yukimura at tennis. To each his own.

Sanada approved, though. Masaharu noticed him taking Kirihara aside, while Yanagi and Yukimura were busy playing he and Jackal, to help Kirihara with his footwork. That was the day Masaharu decided Sanada had a soft spot for ambition and drive. Kirihara definitely had those, in spades. It did explain, perhaps, why Sanada accepted Yukimura's superiority so easily, when he was so taken up with achieving victory over absolutely everyone else.

Draped over a bench, after a grueling marathon of singles matches within the team, Masaharu watched Kirihara and Sanada going at it hammer and tongs, still. They were both nuts. Masaharu loved tennis, and he loved winning, and he deeply loved playing with Yagyuu, but some people just took the whole thing beyond any degree of sanity. Even Jackal was looking worn out after today.

Marui was still standing, but only because he was so pleased with his new shot that it acted on him like a sugar high. Masaharu expected him to crash any second. The day he'd perfected that startling ball that rolled along the net, he'd been bouncing off the walls for the rest of practice.

"Pure genius, that's what it is!" he'd proclaimed, grinning too hard to even blow bubbles. Jackal had smiled, tolerantly, on his partner's antics. Kirihara, on the other hand, had snorted.

"Pure showing off," he'd corrected, only to be jumped on and pummeled by Marui. Masaharu had watched with a smirk; he'd only kept his mouth shut because he knew Kirihara could be counted on to say it first.

Now Marui came to the rest of them after a mere dozen runs through his new move.

"Looks like the little spitfire's improving," he said, flopping down and stealing Yagyuu's towel. Jackal plucked it out of his hand, replacing it with Marui's own, without a word. Yagyuu accepted his back with a nod.

"Seventeen percent improvement over the last month," Yanagi specified from where he was fishing his water bottle out of the cooler. "Though I'm not sure he believes it."

Masaharu had to admit, for someone who was so sure he would make it to the top, the kid did seem prone to crises of confidence. Indeed, when the game finally ended, Kirihara slumped on his bench looking quite glum, head hanging almost to his knees as he caught his breath. The doubles team were having a quick conference of looks to decide who should speak to him first, when Yukimura made the issue moot by going to Kirihara himself.

"You're doing well," he said, gently. Kirihara's look up was a bit wry.

"It doesn't feel like it," he admitted. Yukimura smiled down at him and touched his shoulder.

"It's hard to tell from inside the game, sometimes. So trust my judgment from outside of it. You are making good progress, Akaya."

Kirihara's eyes widened before he ducked his head. The doubles team exchanged amused looks. For all that Yukimura was Kirihara's prime target, or possibly because of it, he seemed especially susceptible to the warmth that Yukimura lavished on his team to go along with his ruthless demands. It was really kind of cute.

Masaharu caught a similar look passing among The Glorious Three. He was particularly interested to note the hint of affection in Sanada's eyes, and the faint softening of his mouth as he regarded Kirihara and Yukimura.

Well, well. Here he'd thought Sanada would be the jealous sort. He did so love how unpredictable his teammates could be.

Some things about Yagyuu were unpredictable, and then some things weren't. After turning over the intriguing thoughts one of their study sessions had left him with, Masaharu had decided that he had better choose the setting carefully, to act on his conclusions. Otherwise, Yagyuu's entirely predictable personal privacy would likely deep six the entire thing.

Long consideration led him to decide on Yagyuu's room. It was handy, being where more than half their study sessions took place anyway, and he'd observed that Yagyuu tended to be a little less tense inside those walls, as if they took the place of his outermost layer. That should help, too.

Then it was just a matter of waiting for the right opportunity.

He chose two days after they played Seigaku. After Yanagi's report on Seigaku's impressive second-year singles player, their captain had taken the Singles Three slot and been soundly trounced by one Tezuka Kunimitsu. Tezuka had apparently caught Sanada's interest, as he had spent all the next practices working against the team's strongest singles players to polish his techniques, hoping that they would come up against Seigaku again at Nationals. This, of course, included Yagyuu. Masaharu had noted months ago that Yagyuu relaxed in a very particular way after playing Sanada, possibly because he used more raw strength against Sanada than any other player.

"I take it," Yagyuu commented, as they dumped their bags by the table, "that it isn't a review of spectography you have on your mind today, Niou-kun?"

Yagyuu's intuition was a match for anyone else's analysis, Masaharu reflected.

"Not in the least," he admitted, approaching his partner. Yagyuu smiled, and watched him come.

Face to face, Yagyuu was a bit taller; though, Masaharu supposed, if he ever stood like he had a poker where his spine should be, they would likely be the same height. He reached out and, delicately, removed Yagyuu's glasses. A signal, a symbol, a talisman, but more than anything else an intense desire to see Yagyuu Hiroshi's eyes.

Those eyes were gleaming like ice in the sun, and Masaharu felt the frisson that came when they played.

"Would you let go all the way, Yagyuu?" he whispered. "If I asked you to?"

One of Yagyuu's hands wove into Masaharu's hair, tipped his head back a little.

"Yes, I think so," his partner answered, softly. He bent his head, and his lips moved over Masaharu's neck, warm, seeking. Masaharu shivered, leaning against Yagyuu. The touch of his lips moved up, found Masaharu's mouth, changed.

Yagyuu's arm locked around Masaharu, pulling his body hard against his partner's, and Yagyuu's mouth covered his, pressing, parting, demanding. Masaharu breathed in the weight of Yagyuu's desire and gave it back as a low moan that Yagyuu wrapped his tongue around. He gave himself over to the crushing strength of Yagyuu's hold and was held so tightly he barely noticed when Yagyuu lowered him to the bed.

The complete lack of hesitation in his partner's hands, as they undid clothing washed a wave of clear, brilliant heat through Masaharu. This was what he wanted: to see Yagyuu throw away the restraints he fastened around himself. He stretched, under Yagyuu's hands, reached up to touch, felt himself pressed down to the bed by the flash of Yagyuu's eyes.

Yagyuu's gaze held him in place, and he panted for breath under it, as Yagyuu's hand closed around his cock, and Masaharu shuddered violently at the gentle stroke of powerful fingers. His partner's skin slid against his like water against the shore, but he felt as if it was Yagyuu who was solid, and he who was fluid, melted, surging with the pull of his partner's gravity. Masaharu let himself fall into the hot, flickering pleasure of Yagyuu's hand on him, and Yagyuu's kiss set the pace of it, tasting of slow, wet slides. Masaharu's entire body flexed into it, quickly lost in the sharpness of Yagyuu's movement, rushing, speeding heat crashing through his veins, wringing him over and over, until it slowed, collapsed into Yagyuu's hand on him and Yagyuu's body leaning over his, Yagyuu's breath drowning his. Lassitude folded around him, warm with the strength of Yagyuu's touch.

Masaharu smiled, surprised, in a somewhat lightheaded way, that Yagyuu's passion could emerge without the danger that was its stamp at other times. A little surprised, as well, that it could thrill and please him so deeply without that edge.

Yagyuu stirred against him, and pale eyes, edge softened with satisfaction, examined him. "So?" his partner asked, pleasure and humor in his tone. Masaharu chuckled, a bit hoarsely.

"Any time you want," he murmured.

"Danger addict," Yagyuu accused. Masaharu blinked.

"But you're not," he objected. As Yagyuu's brow tilted, he shook his head. "I know when you're dangerous, Yagyuu. You weren't dangerous to me just now."

Yagyuu considered this assertion for a few breaths, and then leaned down to kiss Masaharu long and deep, pressing him down, hard, to the bed, as if to hold him still long enough to breathe him in. Masaharu took the point perfectly well.

"Are you sure?" Yagyuu asked, against Masaharu's lips.

"What if I want you to consume me, though?" Masaharu shot back. "Like a fire."

"Danger addict," Yagyuu said, much more definitely this time.

"You worry too much," Masaharu grinned. "I won't ever lose myself in you, Yagyuu."

TBC

A/N: Check here for one of the most comprehensive accounts of Hideyoshi I've found online; very evenhanded.

Challenge - Chapter Six

Niou has an idea for a trick. Drama with Peculiar Romance, I-3

Sanada was being a bear.

And a bear with a sore paw, at that. Masaharu was seriously considering doing something to loosen him up a bit. The only thing holding him back was trying to plan how to remain alive afterwards.

Rather to everyone's surprise, except, possibly, Yanagi's, and he had warned Sanada, Sanada had lost a game to Hyoutei's new ace, Atobe Keigo. Sanada was now bound and determined to even the score. If they didn't come up against Hyoutei at Nationals, Masaharu suspected Sanada would ask for an unofficial match just for his personal satisfaction.

His suggestion that Sanada now had two excellent opponents to play against, and wasn't that nice, had been met with such a glare he'd sworn he smelled singed hair in its wake.

Yukimura, standing behind Sanada, had raised a hand to cover his grin.

Those two were currently playing, and to Masaharu's eye it was now Sanada who could use a little extra control. He wasn't pacing himself well at all. Sure enough, he dropped the last game faster than usual, and Yagyuu, standing next to Masaharu, shook his head.

"That, Niou-kun, is why I will not let you draw me out as often as you would like," he commented. "One of us must keep a relatively cool head or we will lose in exactly that manner." Masaharu raised his brows at his partner.

"You think I couldn't?" he asked, slightly offended. It wasn't as if he were out of control. Well, not seriously. He caught the glint of a sidelong look from behind Yagyuu's glasses, and his partner's mouth curved subtly.

"Could you stay cool while you watched me let go?" he asked, softly.

Well, all right, Masaharu admitted, as a pleasant shiver tracked down his spine, that was a point. Still.

"If I really had to," he answered, seriously.

Yagyuu tipped his head to the side. "I'll remember that, then," he said. Masaharu smiled; that sounded... promising.

Sanada tossed his racquet onto the bench in front of them, and his empty hands clenched, convulsively.

"Sanada," Yukimura said, setting a hand on his arm. His voice was low, close to commanding but also soothing in its very evenness. Masaharu watched Sanada's fists loosen, and was impressed once again by Yukimura's fine touch with his team.

"Yukimura," Sanada started, an apologetic edge to the deep voice. Yukimura's hand tightened, stopping him.

"You will win," he said with certainty. Sanada looked down at him, expression lightening, and dipped his head slightly. Yukimura raised his voice again. "Yagyuu, you and Sanada are up next."

Yagyuu moved forward, fingers trailing ever so lightly over Masaharu's wrist in passing. Masaharu suppressed his reaction, sternly, but couldn't hold back a grin. Who would have thought that Yagyuu would be an incorrigible tease? Yukimura came to stand next to Masaharu, and eyed him closely as the next match started. A breath of laughter escaped him.

"So, he finally caught you, did he?" he asked, eyes sparkling.

Masaharu, caught flatfooted, had to grope for an answer for several moments. "I would have said it the other way around," he managed, at last.

"He's been after you since late spring," Yukimura told him, conversationally.

Masaharu blinked. He had? Thinking back over it, though... he had instigated things, yes, but Yagyuu had incited him to do so. Yukimura tugged on the slim tail of hair that Masaharu kept expressly to annoy the daylights out of the uniform sticklers at school.

"Has the Trickster been tricked?" he asked, with a warm smile to take the sting out of the question. "There was a reason Yagyuu accepted you as his primary partner, Niou. You make a good pair. But your partnership won't last if you underestimate his penchant for misdirection."

"Mmm," Masaharu agreed, fighting down a flush.

"Ah, now I've embarrassed you," Yukimura said, sounding penitent. "But the two of you work well together, Niou. I don't want you to fail; either on the court or off it."

"We'll try not to," Masaharu assured him, relaxing a little as he reminded himself to respect his partner's depth of sneakiness from now on.

The Perfect Gentleman, he supposed, would, after all, be indirect about getting things he wanted. What mattered was that he wanted Masaharu, and, by extension, the things Masaharu led him on to do. A grin resurfaced.

Knowing that Yagyuu wanted unrestraint would definitely help in future plans.

Masaharu lazed in a pool of autumn sunlight feeling remarkably at peace with the world.

Rikkai had taken Nationals, as per expectation, and Sanada had gotten his chance to even the score with Atobe. Which only meant that now they both had a reason to stalk each other, but that was Sanada's concern, and he seemed pleased enough.

The third years had retired, and Yukimura Seiichi was finally captain in name as well as fact. As Akaya had brashly, if accurately, put it, "It's about time!" Relaxed from the tension of the tournament season, the team was consolidating.

And best of all, at least right at this moment, Yagyuu had just taken a great deal of pleasure in running his tongue over every especially sensetive area of Masaharu's skin. Quite slowly. The net result being that Masaharu was lying in the sun, in a tangle of white cotton sheets, with no desire to move any time in the near future. How Yagyuu mustered the motivation to get up, even for a shower, was really beyond him.

His partner returned, toweling off his hair. Masaharu chuckled to see it so unaccustomedly ruffled, and spiky with moisture.

"What's amusing you now?" Yagyuu asked.

"Your hair looks better messy," Masaharu told him.

"You, of course, would think so."

Some thought was tapping Masaharu's shoulder. Something having to do with Yagyuu. He found himself recalling past observations or occasions.

...practicing Yagyuu's particular shots...

...understanding his revulsion of authority...

...accepting that his underhandedness equaled Masaharu's own...

...noting that their height difference was due to posture...

...drowning in sharp, ice colored eyes, the same color as Masaharu's...

Masaharu's grin widened, notch by notch, as the outline of a superb game blossomed in his mind's eye.

"Niou-kun?" his partner asked, sounding a bit wary. Masaharu looked at him with glowing delight.

"Yagyuu, I have the best idea," he declared.

The only real sticking point was hair color. Light to dark was easy enough, but the other way around wasn't, and Yagyuu flatly refused to bleach a single strand. In the end, Masaharu found a yearmate whose brother's best friend worked with someone who knew something that would do it. Masaharu considered the expense worth it, and swore his fellow student to secrecy on pain of Masaharu's ingenuity.

"You're sure this won't be permanent?" Yagyuu pressed.

"The guy promised the enzyme base, on it's own, won't do a thing," Masaharu explained, patiently. "It requires the reactant, and once the neutralizer is applied, that's that, nothing else happens."

Thus it was, a few days later, that Masaharu packed up an exceedingly well-pressed uniform and the non-prescription glasses with reflective coating. Apparently that was a somewhat unusual combination to request, since the optometrist's assistant had given him a slightly odd look. He and Yagyuu left their houses early and met at the house of the yearmate who had put them in touch with the obliging makeup artist. When they emerged, half an hour later, their grinning fellow waved them on ahead. He had sworn up and down not to come near them all day, lest he give the deception away, in return for which he was permitted, tomorrow, to brag about having been in the know.

Masaharu drew himself up very straight, which made the walk come on its own. He glanced at the figure slouching insouciantly along beside him and compressed a grin into Yagyuu's faint smile. Yes, he thought this would work. 'He' might be a bit tamer than usual, today, but the glint in those narrow eyes would definitely pass for the genuine article. As they walked he dusted off the manners that one teacher after another had tried, with ultimate futility, to get him to use, greeting the occasional classmate with cool courtesy.

The best part would be seeing all their faces, when the switch was revealed.

Classes started without incident, Masaharu opened the day's first book, and nearly strained himself suppressing hysterical laughter. Tucked in between the pages they had been assigned to read was a postcard.

An extremely explicit postcard featuring two naked individuals in the middle of an extremely personal act.

A postcard which, unless he was greatly mistaken, came from the book he had slipped into Yagyuu's bag early last year, hoping to disconcert him. He never had returned it, had he? He glanced over to see his partner leaning back in his chair, hands tucked in his pockets, and a downright evil grin on his face. Schooling his own expression carefully, Masaharu tucked the card into his bag.

Yes, this was definitely going to work.

He went through the day feeling like a hunter behind a blind, the blind of Yagyuu's impenetrable manners. From that vantage he finally had the inexpressible delight of seeing his partner point out to their literature teacher, shriveled old prune of a martinet that he was, that the love poems of the Man'yoshu centered on distrust, not faith, and that he should really stop trying to convince them of such romantic drivel. For one glorious moment, Masaharu thought Sugawara-sensei would have heart failure on the spot. After a long look at the razor sharp smile 'Niou' was sporting, the teacher chose to ignore the insolence and move right along.

Ah, the benefits of a reputation, he thought, looking on Yagyuu with fondness concealed by the glasses he wore.

It wasn't until one of the most loud-mouthed of the second-year tennis club members discovered that the new roll of grip tape he was bragging about over lunch had been replaced with an equally long roll of super sour bubble gum that Masaharu had to excuse himself to the bathroom where he could indulge his laughing fit unnoticed. When he returned, he passed his partner's desk.

"Are you finished for the day, Niou-kun?" he inquired, mildly. Yagyuu stretched like a cat, mouth quirking.

"For now, I suppose," he allowed.

Masaharu made sure to incline his head in reassurance to the grateful looks he was collecting from their classmates.

Then came tennis practice. They had both wondered whether it would be possible to fool their teammates. Masaharu now thought it would be, and when Yagyuu raised a brow at him he nodded in return.

Well, it was possible to fool some of their teammates. Marui, Jackal and Sanada clearly didn't suspect a thing. After the first hour, though Yanagi and Yukimura were giving them curious looks. Akaya joined in not long after. Masaharu had expected Yanagi, at least. When it came down to it, he simply wasn't as strong in Yagyuu's shots as Yagyuu was, and there was no real way to hide Yagyuu's bone-deep awareness of where his partner was on the court, which was not characteristic of Masaharu.

It was a fascinating exercise, all the same. Yagyuu was often their game-maker, and standing back in the way his partner normally did suddenly gave Masaharu a new perspective on their teammates. Marui, for instance, was clearly the game-maker for his pair, something Masaharu had never quite noticed while playing in close to him, up at the net. Now he thought he understood why Yagyuu kept such a close eye on their volatile "genius". Masaharu found himself slipping, almost unawares, into Yagyuu's pattern of play, watching and waiting for the crushing chance, rather than pressing in and harrying their opponents. As, in fact, Yagyuu, in his position as 'Niou', was doing at this moment. Quite enthusiastically.

When Yanagi moved over to Yukimura and leaned down to say something in his ear, Masaharu thought the game was up, but Yukimura smiled, slowly, and looked over at them. He shook his head and replied to Yanagi, without looking away. Yanagi shrugged. Neither of them said anything, and for once Akaya seemed reluctant to stick his neck out.

Masaharu had always known Yukimura had a fine sense of humor.

The next day, Masaharu felt, strongly deserved a gold star on his calendar. Their accommodating yearmate had spread the word as fast as gossip could travel, and Masaharu strolled the halls, savoring the utterly pole-axed expressions on at least half their denizens. It took a little while before anyone got up the nerve to ask if it was true.

"Why, whatever do you mean?" Masaharu returned, smiling innocently.

Rumor galloped on twice as fast after that.

Yukimura was chuckling when they got to practice, and clapped a hand on each of their shoulders.

"You do have a talent for creating disruption," he noted. Sanada rolled his eyes, exasperated, and Akaya just about pounced on them.

"It was! I was right!"

"Enough games, though," Yukimura ordered. "We have work to do. Everyone on the courts!"

"I was right, too, you know," Masaharu murmured to Yagyuu as they dispersed.

"About what?" his partner inquired, cool as ever behind his precision and glasses.

"You are magnificent when you let go."

"Narcissist," Yagyuu accused him, lightly, fingertips brushing Masaharu's hand.

TBC

Challenge - Chapter Seven

Disaster strikes for the whole team. Drama with Angst, I-4

After such a golden autumn, no one expected what happened in the heart of winter. Yukimura himself said afterwards that he had thought the tingling was merely pinched nerves, and had made an appointment with his doctor. At the time, all Masaharu knew was that he heard his captain's voice falter, saw his partner's head snap up, heard Sanada's sharp exclamation, found himself running, with the rest of the team, to where Yukimura had crumpled to the ground.

"He's still breathing, but his pulse is uneven," Yanagi reported, tense, as Jackal sprinted for the cell phone in his bag and called an ambulance. "I didn't see him hit anything when he fell."

"He didn't," Yagyuu seconded.

"Then what's wrong?" Sanada asked, voice ragged. Yanagi closed a hand, bruisingly tight, on his shoulder.

"I don't know, but you have to keep the club calm until the ambulance gets here," he told their vice-captain.

Sanada's head bent, and Masaharu was close enough to see the muscles of his jaw standing out as he clenched his teeth. He drew in a quick breath and nodded.

"The rest of you, get changed. We're following him to the hospital," he said, tightly, before turning away and calling the club to order, dismissing them for the day.

Masaharu remembered the rest of the day as an appalling blur in which random moments of panic stood out: a paramedic calling urgently for oxygen; Akaya shivering against him as they sat in a waiting room; the date on a sports magazine, three months old; the chill of Yagyuu's hands when Masaharu folded them around a can of coffee.

When a doctor finally emerged, though, it was Yagyuu who took one look at Sanada's hunched form and went to meet him; Yagyuu who explained that Yukimura's parents had been called, but they, his team, were the only ones there for him at the moment; Yagyuu who wormed the diagnosis out of the doctor and carried it back.

Relief made Masaharu lightheaded, as he listened to Yagyuu's account of the information he had extracted. Guillain-Barre, very unlikely to be fatal, Yukimura had already regained consciousness though he was still very weak. Then the bombshell. Up to a year for recovery in severe cases. This was a severe case.

The team stared at each other, stunned. Their captain would be away from them? Most likely the entire year? The sight of Yukimura being wheeled past, pale and still, wiped away any lingering fantasies of a quick return, though.

It was too much for Sanada, who called after him with a promise that the team would wait for its captain, would remain undefeated for him. A promise like a charm for Yukimura's recovery; if they kept faith for him, surely he would return. Masaharu could see the tremors running through Sanada's body, see the terrible tension in his bowed head and tight fists. Yanagi stepped to his side, clasped his shoulder, and, when Sanada looked up, nodded firmly, giving himself to the promise as well. Akaya, the baby of the team, who would now be playing in every match when the new year began, stepped forward, and nodded, just a touch tremulously. The doubles players, with barely a glance at each other, stepped forward as one.

The tension drained out of Sanada, and he closed his eyes, swaying slightly against Yanagi's supporting hand.

"Thank you," he whispered.

The team slowly regathered themselves, leaning on each other more heavily, now that the one who had lifted them all up was gone. The winter was a nightmare, as one month, and then two crawled by, and Yukimura remained hospitalized, largely paralyzed, often on respirators. The mood of the team darkened, and Masaharu began to wish for the new year to start so that they would have outsiders to take out their accumulated stress on. Even when Yukimura began to regain some strength, and the worst fear lifted, the prognosis remained poor. He would be a long time recovering.

In March, Sanada and Yanagi drew up a tentative training schedule, which included, to everyone's initial dismay, weight training. Wrist weights, to be precise, worn all the time. The vast complaints of Masaharu's shoulders indicated that it was a good idea, in a sadistic kind of way.

"We'll work up from lighter weights to heavier ones," Yanagi explained, as he handed the pocketed bands out. "Thanks to our location, we have always had to face most of our strongest competition twice: once at Regionals and again at Nationals. The schedule aims for peak performance starting toward the end of Regionals."

The mood was somewhat lightened by the gathering to move Yukimura back home, during Spring Break. He was coherent, and smiling, and pleased with them. He was also far weaker and clumsier than any of them had ever seen him before.

"It isn't as bad as that," he finally told them, probably exasperated by the dour expressions surrounding him. "Just watch. I'll be back with you for Nationals. I promise." He then proceeded to regale them with descriptions of his physical therapist, who was apparently psychic. She had listened to his goals, taken a long look at him, and utterly forbidden him to go anywhere near a tennis court without her presence.

Masaharu had to snicker at that. "She's got your number," he told his captain, who actually blushed, faintly.

The team started the new school year in a strange mix of hope and fear, confidence and screaming tension, brilliance and darkness. Masaharu couldn't help thinking there would be trouble sooner or later.

The first time Sanada lost his temper, they all knew there would be trouble.

One of the third years, a player who was in the pool of alternates, should any of the Regulars be... absent, made the mistake of trying to excuse his loss to a second year and collected an abrupt and vicious backhand. Silence fell over the court like an iron bar.

"There can be no losses. Not for us. Not this year," Sanada said, cold and hard.

And then Yanagi was there, with a hand on his shoulder, drawing him away, speaking quietly. The doubles players, just switching after a match, drew closer to each other. Masaharu had seen Marui's start of shock, felt Yagyuu, beside him, freezing with a tension he had largely shed over the past year.

"He's totally snapped," Marui murmured.

"Not totally," Jackal objected. "But Sanada has always been a harsher leader than Yukimura; and now he leads alone."

"Indeed," Yagyuu agreed, tone distant and chill.

Jackal and Masaharu exchanged a glance. They would have to shield their more tightly strung partners when possible, and in Yagyuu's case, at least, that would mean keeping him away from Sanada as much as possible when either was on edge.

If they agreed to this.

That knowledge passed among all four of them. They had to choose, and they had to choose now, whether or not to break ranks over this. Either they could seek to restrain Sanada, probably by appealing to Yukimura, or they could accept his ruthlessness in the name of their common goal and give themselves over to his command without question.

Any other options involved breaking from the team, and that was unthinkable.

Yagyuu was the first to voice a decision.

"We will await Yukimura-san's return undefeated," he said, evenly, repeating the promise Sanada had given their captain.

Masaharu nodded. If Yagyuu could handle it, he could certainly handle it.

"This will change who we are," Marui noted. After a long moment of silence, though, he shrugged and blew a bubble. "No losses, hm? I can deal with that."

Jackal nodded without speaking.

"All right, then," Masaharu sighed, and looked around to catch Yanagi's eye. He made a quick gesture to the four of them and nodded. Yanagi smiled with uncommon relief and nodded back, before he returned to soothing Sanada. Akaya, standing beside the bench Sanada had been steered to, arrested Masaharu's gaze before he turned back to his partner.

The pattern hit him with the force of a premonition, as analysis lying latent until triggered sometimes did. This was where there would be a problem. With their youngest, most volatile member, the one who did not have a close supporter within the team.

The one whose restraining voice was now gone, and whose second mentor was sliding headlong into a dangerous frame of mind, and whose other teammates had just agreed to ride along for the trip to hell.

And if there was a damn thing that could be done about it, Masaharu didn't see what it was.

TBC

Nutshell

Takes place during Chapter Seven. Introspective. Yukimura tries to deal with his debilitation over the winter. Angst, I-5

"O God, I could be bounded in a nutshell and count myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams." Hamlet, Act II, Scene 2

He tried to sleep as much as possible.

At first he had made an effort to say awake, instead. To assure himself that, however his body might be failing, his mind was still alert and capable. Thought and coherence made him more than the mannequin he felt like, whenever the nurses had to dress or wash him. Besides, when he was alert he was as far as he could get from the lurking weakness that had pounced on him without warning, and stolen his life in the moment it had stolen his consciousness.

Sometimes he wondered it it had stolen his soul, too, and wished his hands had enough sensitivity to tell him that his body really was still flesh that might be responsive again, and not just flesh colored plastic. Though the latter would, he supposed, make it easier on the nurses.

When he caught his thoughts wandering in those directions, he gave up on alertness. A hospital room offered very little to focus an alert mind on, in any case. For a while, he entertained the speculation that it was deliberate—that the hospital staff had designed these bare, blank, square rooms specifically to depress their patients' minds into a vegetable state so they would be less trouble.

He mentioned this to the staff psychiatrist, in a fit of useless temper, during one of the periods when he could breathe and speak on his own. He actually managed to laugh, the next day, when a stack of audio-books arrived. Those didn't last him very long, but they did suggest that distraction might serve him better than simple alertness.

So then he started replaying tennis matches in his head. He reconstructed them with great attention to detail, going back, and back again, to add all the little things he remembered, the way he might groom a bed of some temperamental flower seedlings. His first match with Sanada, the heaviness of those returns against his racquet, the shock in those hard, brown eyes, the startled softening when Seiichi smiled and thanked him. His first match with Yanagi, the knife-edge precision that almost caught him in a lattice of predictions, the flare of his own curiosity, the falter and then fascination in suddenly blazing hazel eyes when he lunged beyond the cage of prediction. The mutual frustration that always accompanied the blood-red glint in Akaya's eyes. The devilish gleam in Niou's, just before some unsuspecting victim walked into one of his traps. The silent allegiance in the angle of Yagyuu's head when they spoke, and the explosive speed of his shots. Jackal's unbending pride that only showed when he played. The layers of Marui's game, flamboyant over subtle, careless over sharp.

When he ran out of matches, he redesigned his garden, in his mind's eye, wondering whether some honeysuckle would be more trouble than it was worth. It was about time to prune back the wisteria, in any case, before it harmed the maple with its showy burden of flowers and tightening vines.

There were times Akaya reminded him a lot of the maple and wisteria.

When he had his garden growing nicely, in his mind, though, he opened his eyes and the square, bland lines of the hospital ceiling hit him like a fist in the ribs. The stillness of his body made him frantic, panicked. This wasn't how he was supposed to be. The respirator was suddenly obtrusive again, choking him.

His heart-rate finally set off the monitors' alarms, and quick voices surrounded him. He felt a burning spread down his arm, and the world fell away.

After that, he slept as much as he could. After all, nothing else could possibly help him, it was clear now. And he wondered, while drifting between consciousness and unconsciousness, whether he was really alive, lying here without air or earth or movement or the scent of sun on clay, or if the machines just made it appear that he was.

End

Water

Takes place during Chapter Seven. Sanada finds an opponent who can help him improve his game, and, perhaps, offer some much needed distraction from his captain's illness. Yanagi notes, in this, the possible start of a dangerous trend. Drama With Romance and Porn I-4

Sanada Genichirou had promised his friend and captain that their team would not be defeated while Yukimura was gone. After a very little consultation with Yanagi about the teams opposing them in the coming year, Genichirou had decided that, in order to keep that promise, some extra effort was in order. After all, while he knew he could take Atobe, he hadn't played Tezuka in a competitive match in years. The withdrawal of Seigaku's top player from this year's round of inter-school seminars and camps had rumors flying, but there was no solid information on just how disabled or not Tezuka might be, and Genichirou didn't believe in counting on luck.

No matter what that annoying little red-head from Yamabuki might say.

The problem, of course, lay in finding an actual challenge he could advance against. In theory, the high school division welcomed juniors who wanted to improve their skills, whenever time was available; in practice Genichirou was already better than most of them and it would be bad for morale to flaunt the fact. The street courts were useless. Genichirou, personally, thought most of the "professional trainers" were even more so. And it was frowned upon, to track down players from other schools and challenge them outside of competition.

That left the tennis schools, where he might hope to find another talented player or two looking for the same thing he was. And, in fact, luck did appear to be with him, there, as his current match demonstrated.

Sasaki Kouji was definitely a worthwhile opponent. The fact that he was also the current captain of Rikkai's high school team gave Genichirou the pleasant feeling that Rikkai's standards were being held up by someone besides his own team. Sasaki's play was fast and sharp, precise in a way Genichirou rarely saw, and powerful enough to overcome even his strength, so far. It was exactly what he needed.

Sasaki, too, seemed to appreciate a challenging opponent. He treated Genichirou almost as a team member, offering pointers when Genichirou seemed stuck over some particular move, and goading him when he flagged. Genichirou thought well of his dedication, which clearly extended beyond Sasaki's own team to encompass a player who would never be his to direct.

In a way, the absolute effort that Sasaki demanded whenever they played was a break for Genichirou. It left no room for worrying about anything else, pushed down even his fear for Yukimura under the simple focus on the ball, the court, the person across the net.

And if Genichirou felt just a touch guilty, afterwards, for letting himself forget, he needed those brief interludes of peace too desperately to stop. So he just pushed himself harder, gave himself even more totally to the focus of the game, strove that much harder to match Sasaki.

He was getting there. He could see it in Sasaki's own game. He recognized the way Sasaki's eyes brightened, the closer he came, recognized the smile he saw today on his opponent's face, the sudden lightness of Sasaki's movements, calling him, daring him. He recognized his own willing response, his answering speed, recognized the passion that reached over the net to touch his opponent's game.

He recognized it... from playing Yukimura.

The thought snagged in his mind, and the shock of it caught at his feet. The last ball whizzed past a good fifteen centimeters from his racquet.

It didn't help at all when Sasaki pushed back dark, feathery hair with an impatient hand, and gave him exactly the same look Yukimura did when he thought Genichirou was behaving foolishly in some way.

"What was that about, Sanada-kun?" he asked, in the voice of a captain demanding an explanation of his best player.

"Excuse me, Sasaki-san," Genichirou said, as evenly as he could. "Perhaps I'm more tired today than I had thought. Would you mind if we ended here?"

Sasaki gave him a skeptical look, but nodded, letting him keep his silence on whatever the problem really was. That perception and forbearance just twisted Genichirou's heart more sharply, and he withdrew as quickly as he could, leaving Sasaki gazing after him in obvious speculation.

Seiichi...

Normally, at least of late, the visits Genichirou and Renji made to Seiichi were a time when nothing outside the three of them intruded. Today, though, Genichirou found himself rather distracted, despite the fine almost-spring afternoon and despite Seiichi's returning strength, and it had probably been too much to hope for, that Seiichi wouldn't notice it. His observation was sharpening again, as he regained control of his body.

"What are you thinking about?"

Definitely too much to hope for.

"Just a match I played recently," Genichirou answered, trying to stay casual. Which only went to show that he wasn't thinking particularly clearly just then, because Yukimura always wanted to know about interesting matches.

"Who were you playing?" he asked.

"Sasaki Kouji," Genichirou told him, taking an interest in the view out the window.

"The captain of Rikkai's high school team," Renji noted. "How did you arrange a match with him? I thought you decided to stay away from the high school practices."

Genichirou sighed. "You remember the tennis school I started dropping by last month, to see if I could find some stronger players? He plays there too, sometimes."

"Have you won yet?" Yukimura asked, a bit of sparkle lighting his eyes. The implicit assumption that Genichirou would win, sooner or later, made him smile back at his captain for a moment. Then the memory of the match returned to nag at him, and he turned his gaze out the window again.

"Not yet."

"Genichirou." Seiichi was watching him more narrowly, now. "What happened?"

Genichirou never could decide whether he preferred Seiichi's manner, who invariably drew whatever Genichirou was thinking out of him, or Renji's, who rarely asked since he could usually be assumed to know already.

"It..." he sighed. "When we played, he was... I just..."

Light fingers brushed over his lips, and Genichirou paused and looked up, startled, to see Seiichi laughing, quietly.

"Genichirou, you're sputtering," he said. "And while there's a certain rarity value to that, it doesn't tell me what happened."

Genichirou looked down at his hands. "When we played, he reminded me of you," he said, voice low.

Seiichi's brows rose. "My style?"

"No. Nothing that simple." Genichirou felt a sardonic twist curl his mouth. "His... brightness was like yours."

Seiichi was silent for a long moment. "And did it draw you, the way mine does?" he asked at last, softly.

Genichirou flinched. "Seiichi..."

"I can't think of any other reason it would trouble you, since I know you've been fascinated by other players' talent before," Seiichi continued, thoughtfully. "Or is it just that I'm not there right now?"

That was exactly what Genichirou had hoped to get away without saying. What could be more contemptible than seeking a replacement for a friend and lover when he was ill? Self-disgust twisted his stomach.

"Genichirou, you can think yourself into such ridiculous corners, sometimes," Seiichi sighed. "That wasn't what I meant."

Genichirou stared at him, disoriented by such a calm response. Seiichi shook his head, and leaned forward. His hand touched Genichirou's face, coaxing him down to a soft, lingering kiss, and Genichirou's arms found their way around Seiichi, with the helpless protectiveness Seiichi always roused in him. The sweetness of Seiichi's lips moving so gently against his almost made him shudder with how much he had missed his friend's presence and touch.

Seiichi finally drew back and ran his fingers though Genichirou's hair, looking serious. "Does Sasaki make you feel like this?" he whispered.

"No," Genichirou answered, without a shade of doubt or hesitation, and water-gray eyes smiled at him.

"Then I don't see anything to worry about. Have a little faith in yourself, Genichirou," Seiichi admonished. "It's no injury to me, if you want me there enough to see my likeness in other people."

Genichirou blinked at the astonishing common sense of that statement. Renji was laughing, softly, from the other side of Seiichi's bed.

"Seiichi, you have the gift of taking the single action that's more convincing than hours of reasoned debate could ever be," he said. Seiichi, still in the curve of Genichirou's arm, gave Renji a pleased look before continuing.

"As for the rest of it," he said, "you've always been taken up with other strong players, as I shouldn't have to remind you, after last year." Renji chuckled and Genichirou threw him a half glare. "If you want to go to bed with this one, as long as he doesn't presume, where's the problem?"

"I'm sure it would be good stress relief," Renji put in, absolutely straight faced.

That rated a full fledged glare. "Renji," Genichirou growled.

The hand Seiichi pressed over his mouth totally failed to muffle his laugh. That, alone, was enough to reconcile Genichirou to the teasing. He remembered far too clearly the day, not long after Seiichi had come off the respirators for the last time, that some doctor had said, a little too cheerily, that there was only a thirty percent chance of a relapse. He had held Seiichi for over an hour, while his friend shuddered with silent terror against his shoulder. The sight of Seiichi so broken had terrified him in turn, and he'd spent that night curled up in a knot while Renji stroked his hair until he finally fell asleep. Seiichi's smile was still far more fragile than he liked, much of the time, and if his spirit was recovering enough to laugh, Genichirou was content to be the object of fun for him.

"Is this what you've been so tense over?" Renji asked.

Genichirou shrugged agreement. Renji's hand settled on his shoulder.

"Perhaps next time I'll ask sooner," he said.

Which was as close as Yanagi Renji was ever likely to come to admitting that he had miscalculated the cause of Genichirou's reaction. A corner of Genichirou's mouth quirked up.

"That presumes you can get me to answer you," he observed, getting another chuckle from Seiichi.

Renji, though, only turned his hand up to brush the backs of his fingers across Genichirou's cheek. "You'll tell me, if I ask, Genichirou," he said, deep voice both soft and sure.

Genichirou wound his fingers through Renji's and closed his eyes, savoring the closeness of these two who were most important to him. Seiichi was right. Nothing could replace this.

And, now that he wasn't avoiding the thought, he could see perfectly well the glint of appreciation in Sasaki's eyes.

"A much better game today, Sanada-kun," Sasaki told him, clasping his hand over the net. "At this rate you might just overtake me by summer."

"That's certainly my hope, Sasaki-san," Genichirou answered, seriously.

"Hm. Don't work yourself so hard you forget to enjoy this." Sasaki smiled to take away any sting from the admonition.

"I doubt there's any chance of that." Genichirou didn't change expression at all, but Sasaki gave him a considering look anyway and he thought Sasaki had probably heard what hadn't been said.

"Really? When was the last time you played at one of the street courts, just for fun?" Sasaki challenged.

"A long time ago," Genichirou had to admit, as they packed up.

"There's a rather nice one down by my house," Sasaki said, lightly. "You might come check it out."

Genichirou almost laughed, less at the invitation than at the humor that lit Sasaki's pale gray eyes as he made it. The dance of euphemism and innuendo clearly amused him, and for a moment, Sasaki reminded Genichirou far more of Renji than of Seiichi. Genichirou shouldered his bag and gave Sasaki a direct look.

"I would like that."

"I hope you will, Sanada-kun," Sasaki said, voice suddenly much lower, and Genichirou's breath caught. Anticipation feathered through his stomach, as they left. He knew what the offer he had accepted was, knew what he was heading into, but the knowledge had not grown out of anything he had shared with Sasaki. Since they had staked their places together in their first year, he and Renji and Seiichi had traded pieces of themselves back and forth like good books, reading each other's histories and fantasies and footnotes, and pleasure had simply been another added chapter. By comparison he barely had a nodding acquaintance with the man walking beside him. This felt... reckless. Impulsive.

He found, however, as he let Sasaki escort him through a quiet house to a bedroom painted in rather fanciful swirls of green, that he didn't care.

When Sasaki slid a hand around Genichirou's waist, and stroked his hair back with light fingers, Genichirou also found that there were some lines he had to draw for his own peace of mind. He caught Sasaki's hand in his, stilling it as it slipped down his neck.

"Sasaki-san," he said, trying to keep his voice steady, "I don't... I don't think I can take this if you're gentle."

Sasaki's brows rose, and he studied Genichirou for a long moment. He freed his hand and lifted Genichirou's chin the little bit necessary to put them eye to eye. Genichirou returned his gaze, unflinching.

"Who is it?" Sasaki asked, at last. "The one who's gentle with you?"

Now Genichirou closed his eyes, briefly. "Seiichi. Renji."

After a blank moment, Sasaki blinked. "Yukimura and Yanagi?" he asked, and chuckled when Genichirou nodded. "Well, I suppose I owe Nishiki an apology, not that I intend to tell him so. I thought he must have been hallucinating when he said the three of you were together that way." Then his thumb brushed against Genichirou's jaw. "I remember hearing that Yukimura was ill this winter."

"It's getting better," Genichirou said, with no expression. "He can breathe on his own again."

Sasaki inhaled sharply, eyes widening. "That bad?" he asked, softly. When Genichirou nodded again, silent, Sasaki's mouth tightened. And then he pulled Genichirou against him, paying no mind to his stiffness, and, abruptly, Genichirou was too tired to bother with reserve. After a moment's hesitation he let his head drop to Sasaki's shoulder.

"Sanada," Sasaki said, eventually. "Why are you here with me, instead of with them?"

All the reasons tangled together in Genichirou's throat. He laughed a little as he decided on the simplest answer.

"It was your game. Yukimura calls it my strongest weakness, that I get so focused on other strong players, sometimes so focused it hurts my own playing. And you... you're so bright when you play. I touch that through the game, and I want to reach out to it outside of the game too."

"But not gently?" Sasaki asked, a smile in his voice.

Genichirou lifted his head. "Not gently," he agreed.

Sasaki's gaze turned more serious. "I don't like the idea of hurting you, Sanada."

"Good," Genichirou said, one corner of his mouth quirking.

Sasaki threw his head back and laughed. "So," he said at last, tone turning speculative, "rough and slow, then?"

Genichirou felt heat wash over his entire body, and tried not to think about the fact that his face probably showed it. He nodded, and Sasaki's lips curved. His arm tightened, sharply, around Genichirou, and Genichirou shivered a little at the unaccustomed sensation of a larger body pressing against the length of his. Sasaki wasn't, he supposed distantly, really that much taller or significantly more heavily built, but the difference was noticeable like this. And it sent a jolt down his spine when Sasaki's hand tipped his head back before kissing him. The hard demand in it called out a longer shudder, and Genichirou's hands closed tight on Sasaki's back as he answered, opening his mouth under Sasaki's.

He gasped when Sasaki's teeth closed, sharp and stinging, just under his ear, and groaned, sagging against Sasaki, when he sucked there. This was the intensity Genichirou wanted just now, and he threw himself into it and let it close over him, pressing into Sasaki's touch.

Sasaki slipped around behind him, one hand moving between Genichirou's legs, kneading roughly. Genichirou's knees weakened at the sudden rush of sensation, and his hips bucked into Sasaki's hand.

"Or, maybe, not so slow," Sasaki laughed in his ear, undoing Genichirou's pants and sliding a hand inside to touch skin. Genichirou could only moan in answer, leaning against Sasaki as his fingers closed tight and stroked Genichirou hard.

There was barely enough left of his thought process to raise his arms, when Sasaki tugged his shirt off, and those calloused hands skimming over his hips to push down the rest of his clothing drowned that last bit. When Sasaki turned him to face the wall, Genichirou simply leaned on his forearms, trying to recover his breath and listening to the faint rustling behind him.

His breath left him again when he felt the heat of Sasaki's body against his back, and Sasaki's hand, slick, rubbing against his entrance. True to his word, Sasaki was slow, not seeking to press further yet, but his hand was not gentle. He worked his fingers hard against Genichirou's muscles until Genichirou was almost clutching at the wall, moaning at the tingling burn as he opened under that demanding touch. He arched his back, pressing his hips against Sasaki, inviting, and Sasaki accepted. Thumbs spread Genichirou apart as Sasaki pushed into him, slow but unstopping, a long, hard thrust that pressed him full and left Genichirou panting.

"Good?" Sasaki murmured.

"Yes," Genichirou gasped. "Sasaki..."

He lost whatever he had meant to say when Sasaki's still slick hand wrapped around his cock and pumped. His involuntary jerk moved Sasaki a little out of him, and then Sasaki surged forward, chest pressed into Genichirou's back. Not slow any longer, he drove into Genichirou, pounding him against the wall, only Sasaki's own hand, stroking him so roughly, pulling him back again. Genichirou lost himself in the harsh rhythm, hearing his own voice without knowing what he was saying, feeling only the heat and pressure of Sasaki's movement, the swelling rush of pleasure that surged up like a wave and threw him down so hard he almost lost awareness completely.

Leaning about equally on the wall and Sasaki's arms, Genichirou waited for his breath to calm and his pulse to settle just a little before he tried to stand on his own. He could feel a roughness in his throat that told him it was probably a good thing no one else seemed to be home. He heard the same roughness in Sasaki's voice, when he spoke, though his tone was contemplative.

"If I were the only one you were with, I would be more concerned about what you want from me. But I have to admit," he said, running a hand over Genichirou's shoulders, "there's an attraction in someone as strong as you asking for something like this. Was that what you were looking for?"

"Yes," Genichirou murmured.

"Good." Sasaki nipped at the back of his neck, tugging a low noise out of Genichirou. "Let me know the next time you need to be distracted from the world, then."

Genichirou turned, slowly, to look at Sasaki. He was sure he hadn't actually said that that was why he was here, when Sasaki had asked. How did he manage to draw, and be drawn to, such overly-perceptive people? On the other hand, he could hardly deny the truth. So he nodded.

"Thank you."

Genichirou expected Renji to tease him, and, indeed, there were a few comments on the statistics of "early maturation" delivered perfectly deadpan. He did his best not to react, silently blessing his previous practice. It took a while for any other side effects to catch up to him, but they did so with a vengeance the day Renji touched his arm as they were heading out to afternoon practice.

"Genichirou, did you do something to your shoulder?"

"No, why?" Genichirou asked, paying more attention to the start of a match between Akaya and Yagyuu.

"Because it looked like you had a bruise," Renji told him.

Genichirou frowned, sifting back through the last few days for anything that might have caused...

Oh.

He had no idea what expression might be on his face, but both Renji's brows were lifted.

"Genichirou?"

"I'll tell you later. Not here," Genichirou said. After a long moment of scrutiny, Renji accepted that, and moved off.

Genichirou managed to get through practice and all the way home before Renji's patience ran out.

"All right," Renji said, rather clipped, as he closed the bedroom door behind them. "First of all, show me."

Genichirou suppressed a sigh, pulling off his shirt and turning to let Renji take a look at his back. For all the other two might say he was the most overprotective of them, he thought that Renji won hands down once he made a decision to interfere. It just didn't happen very often. Light fingers brushed his skin.

"It seems to be along the bone of the shoulder," Renji reported. "It doesn't hurt?"

"I didn't even know it was there until you told me," Genichirou assured him.

"It probably helps that it's your off hand side. Now. You obviously know where it came from."

Renji, Genichirou reflected, had a talent for demanding information without asking a single question. "It's probably from yesterday, when Sasaki took me up against a tile wall," he said, evenly.

The silence behind him turned resounding.

"Renji..." he started, only to break off as Renji's arms came around his waist. The body at his back was shaking with silent laughter. The strain of suppressing it showed in Renji's voice, too.

"I suppose it's a good thing no one else noticed, while we were changing, then. Can you imagine their expressions...?" Renji broke off, burying his head in Genichirou's shoulder and laughing out loud.

Genichirou growled, wordlessly, and Renji managed to get himself back under control.

"Just be careful, all right?" he said, more seriously.

Genichirou looked back and raised a brow at him.

"I know you can take care of yourself, Genichirou. I mean more than that. Your penchant for violence; it's stronger, lately. Be careful how you handle it." Renji's arms tightened around him.

Genichirou turned in those arms to take Renji's shoulders. "Renji. You can't think I would let it spill onto us."

Deep, hazel eyes looked at him quietly. "I know you wouldn't, normally. I just worry about how much pressure you can take."

Genichirou drew Renji close against him. Yes, Renji was definitely the more overprotective one. "You worry too much," he said, softly, in Renji's ear. "Let me show you?"

"You and Seiichi, and your language of actions," Renji murmured, the laugh back in his voice. "How did I wind up with two such terribly direct people?"

"If I'm so direct and unreflective, you can hardly expect me to have an answer for that," Genichirou pointed out, and closed his mouth on Renji's earlobe.

"Very direct," Renji sighed, leaning into him. "I suppose it has its merits."

It was Genichirou's turn to laugh.

Renji let Genichirou undress him, smiling tolerantly at the care he took. Genichirou had to admit, he didn't often go this slowly, but today he found himself wanting to keep things... tranquil. He knew he wasn't the only one who had been under pressure, nor the only one who still was. He wanted to relax and reassure his friend, to see him stop worrying for a little while. Renji seemed almost bemused, as he lay back on the bed, that Genichirou was spending so long just stroking him, as if to memorize his skin or map the body he already knew.

Renji closed his eyes with a low sigh as Genichirou licked, slowly, at the inside of his wrist. Genichirou knew it was one of Renji's more sensitive spots, and lingered over it. And over the space just under Renji's lowest rib. And the arch of his foot. When he tongued the delicate skin behind Renji's knee, it drew out a soft moan, and Genichirou smiled.

"Enjoying yourself, Genichirou?" Renji asked, archly. The effect was, perhaps, a bit spoiled by the fact that he was spread out, naked, in bed, but not by much. Genichirou was impressed all over again by Renji's poise. He stretched out beside Renji and kissed him until his mouth relaxed from its sardonic curl.

"Enjoying watching your body calm because of me?" he murmured. "Yes, I am."

"Such a taste you have for getting your own way," Renji teased, smiling more gently.

"Now there's a case of the pot and the kettle," Genichirou commented, nibbling on Renji's ear again. "You're every bit as headstrong as I am, Renji, for all you prefer manipulation to force."

"Mmmmmm. It's hard to argue when you're doing that," Renji breathed.

"Then don't. The subject will keep for later." Genichirou kissed him again, slow and deep. "Turn over?"

Renji obliged, stretching out on his stomach, and purred as Genichirou trailed fingers down his spine. The sound he made when Genichirou nipped at his rear was considerably sharper. That was one of the sensitive points his partners didn't get around to as often.

When Genichirou spread him open and ran a soft tongue around his entrance, Renji's hips flexed into Genichirou's hands and he muffled a rough moan against the sheets. Genichirou coaxed Renji with his tongue, teased and soothed him by turns, until Renji was panting, hips raised and legs parted in a wordless invitation. Genichirou reached forward to close a hand around Renji's cock and stroke him slowly. The feeling of that lean, powerful body tightening under his touch, the sound of that cool voice heated and hoarse on the syllables of Genichirou's name, was deeply satisfying, and Genichirou nipped, gently, one last time so that he could watch Renji come undone in his hands.

When the last tension wrung out of Renji's body, Genichirou let him down and curled up against his back, pleased.

"You know," Renji murmured, drowsily, "I can tell without even looking that you have a smug expression on your face, Genichirou."

"Perhaps," Genichirou allowed.

"I'm afraid you'll just have to deal with my worrying, though."

Hadn't he been thinking something about overly-perceptive people, just a while ago, Genichirou mused. "Renji," he said, seriously, leaning up on an elbow and tugging his friend over to look at him, "tell me you don't honestly believe that I would deliberately hurt you or Seiichi."

Renji laid a hand along the side of Genichirou's face. "Never deliberately."

Genichirou relaxed again, and dropped back down to rest against Renji's side.

"Just be careful, Genichirou. Please," Renji said, quietly, against his shoulder.

Genichirou considered this. Obviously, Renji saw some danger, and considered it fairly likely, if he was willing to press Genichirou like this. And he had spent two solid years trusting Renji's calculations of these things. He ran his fingers through Renji's straight, heavy hair and nodded when his friend looked up.

"I promise."

End

Challenge - Chapter Eight

The team starts to recover, and Niou and Yagyuu find another kind of comfort. Drama with Porn, I-4

As the tournament season drew on, the team drew together around the axis Sanada had defined: no losses. And, as they didn't lose, it became more acceptable to them; Sanada's brutal ruthlessness became simply a matter of fact, and they all picked up a tinge of it.

Except Kirihara Akaya. He took on considerably more than a tinge. And by the first time the team watched him destroy an opponent with blinding, methodical speed, it didn't occur to any of them to suggest that Yukimura might not have approved. Their captain was their cause, their beacon, but they were Sanada's team for this season. And he accepted Akaya's rage and destruction without a blink.

The one time Masaharu mentioned it to Yagyuu, his partner had looked at him, one brow lifted over unwinking lenses.

"Perhaps Akaya gives to Sanada some of what I give to you," he suggested. Masaharu sniffed.

"Sanada doesn't deserve the precision of your destruction, and Akaya is too wild to give it to him."

"Perhaps wildness is what he needs." Yagyuu trailed his fingers over Masaharu's collar bone. "I can sympathize. Somewhat."

Masaharu smiled engagingly for his partner, and, the next day, convinced the Japanese teacher that it was really next week and they had already completed Chapter Ten. He rather thought Yagyuu appreciated this contribution to undermining authority.

They visited Yukimura in ones and twos, and found him annoyed that he was not permitted to return to school, and nearly climbing the walls because he was not permitted to return to tennis. Masaharu told him expansive stories of his latest tricks, and Yagyuu brought him class notes. Once Masaharu dropped by to find Yanagi asleep on the couch, and Yukimura, eyes soft, pressing a finger to his lips for quiet. Another time he observed, to his vast amusement, Akaya hauling a glaring Sanada down the walk to Yukimura's house, shoving him inside, closing the door firmly and settling down on the front stoop. He saluted the kid lazily and didn't try to stop in. Sanada could not, he knew, have been resisting that much or the slight Akaya would never have budged him.

Everyone was deeply relieved when Yukimura's physical therapist cleared him to resume light (the word was underlined three times, on his exercise sheet) tennis practice, provided he had a spotter. The team promptly drew up a rota of who could come by after practice, each day.

The stress, and Yagyuu's basic distrust of Sanada's temper, were starting to tell on Masaharu's partner. He found himself, more than once, putting their study sessions on hold to sit behind Yagyuu and press a little of the tension out of his shoulders.

"This isn't good for you," he scolded, mildly. "And," he added, aggrieved, "it isn't good for me, having to play mother hen; that isn't supposed to be my job."

"It doesn't suit you," Yagyuu agreed, blandly.

Masaharu growled at the jab. Though, actually, he was pleased to see Yagyuu's dry humor intact. He didn't like the way this year was wrapping old layers of defense back around his partner's scintillating, luring edges. Today was, apparently, one of the days when Yagyuu could read his mind, because his partner huffed out a faint laugh.

"I know you don't much like my public face, Niou-kun, but it does allow me to keep control of myself and my integrity. I believe you know that has been more than usually necessary, this year."

Well, yes, Masaharu did know that. Just because Yagyuu had agreed to lend himself to Sanada's agenda didn't mean that this, the most self-contained member of their team, had any liking for the way Sanada's obsession dragged them all in its wake, like so many bits of metal after a magnet. So, too, knowing that Sanada's high-handed approach grew out of the frantic worry for their captain that the idiot seemed to be allergic to admitting didn't do a thing to make Yagyuu's reaction any less reflexively hostile. While Masaharu tried to avoid saying so, he had realized long since that Yagyuu's surface compliance allowed him considerable independence of action. He just didn't want to encourage his partner by seeming to approve.

"I know," he agreed, without specifying which part he was agreeing with. Yagyuu's laugh was fuller this time.

Well, there was something Masaharu had been thinking about, that might, in part, answer both Yagyuu's need and his own desire.

Masaharu stepped back from himself a bit, and took a long look at what he was considering doing. He had researched the topic more scrupulously than he usually did anything but history and mathmatics. He was now well acquainted with the theory, and, theoretically, knew what he would be getting himself into. He thought that it would probably be agreeable to Yagyuu's inclinations, and, for himself, the idea fanned subtle waves of sparks down his spine. It was really the last of those thoughts that led him to disregard his lingering trepidation and bend his head until his lips brushed Yagyuu's neck.

"You like being able to control the pace," he observed. Yagyuu's soft breath might have been agreement. "I would let you," Masaharu said, obliquely, "if you want to try."

"Try?" Yagyuu repeated, smoothly. "I do believe I've always succeeded, with you, Niou-kun." His fingers brushed through Masaharu's hair.

"We haven't," Masaharu noted, "tried everything, yet."

His partner froze, and Masaharu smiled against Yagyuu's skin. If he had ever wanted revenge for having been maneuvered into it, that first time, he rather thought he had it now. Yagyuu turned, lifting a hand to Masaharu's face.

"You want that?" he asked, after a long moment of scrutiny.

"Yes," Masaharu answered, simply.

"I don't want to cause you pain," Yagyuu said, unaccustomed hesitance slowing his words. "The lack of restraint you want from me would make it... very likely."

So he hadn't been the only one doing research. "I'm definitely not into pain," Masaharu told his partner, wryly. "But you didn't listen to what I offered. Your pace," he clarified, at Yagyuu's raised brows, "whatever that is."

Yagyuu flicked his glasses off and laid them aside, leaned forward and kissed Masaharu, outlining his lips with a soft tongue.

"I accept," Yagyuu murmured against his mouth.

Masaharu let Yagyuu lay him back on the bed, and sighed under his slow, gentle kisses. His partner's hands were quicker, undoing buttons with the dexterity of significant practice. Masaharu ran his own hands through Yagyuu's hair, taking a certain pleasure in mussing it. Yagyuu was perfectly well aware of this, and paused to give him a put-upon look.

Masaharu didn't buy it for a second.

He did, however, shift, obligingly, so Yagyuu could tug off his clothing. And then he gasped a little at the coolness of Yagyuu's fingers, as they pressed across his skin.

Slowly.

He knew it was entirely deliberate when he looked up into Yagyuu's eyes and saw the teasing light in them, and the grin hovering at the corners of that controlled mouth. He reached up and tapped his partner on the nose, admonishing, but he had, after all, promised to let Yagyuu set the pace. So he let his hand drop back to the sheets and simply breathed, waiting.

At that, the pale eyes widened a little, and Yagyuu's hand brushed over Masaharu's lips, teasing them apart, before Yagyuu's mouth covered his, hard, his other hand slipping behind Masaharu's back to pull them tight together. That was familiar, the sharp, tingling thrill, like licking a battery. To Masaharu, Yagyuu's open presence tasted of lightning.

And he was open, now, as open as his palm sliding over Masaharu's stomach, over his hip, over his rear and up the back of his thigh. Masaharu answered with his own openness, spreading his legs to let Yagyuu lie between them. Yagyuu rocked against him, taking Masaharu's moan into his mouth and trading his own for it.

"Dare I hope you had the foresight to bring along the appropriate accoutrements?" he murmured in Masaharu's ear, the light words undercut by the breathless tone.

"Schoolbag," Masaharu directed.

When Yagyuu's fingers, still cool and now slick, pressed against him, sliding across skin no one else had touched before, Masaharu tossed his head back and snatched in a deep breath. It was so... close. Such an intimate thing, to allow Yagyuu to touch him like this. And then his partner's finger pressed into him, and Masaharu had a new definition of intimacy.

His research had been quite accurate, he thought hazily. It did feel strange. Yagyuu's eyes were sharp on him, watching his face. It was typical of them that he did not ask if Masaharu was all right. What he said, instead, was, "If you need me to stop, tell me."

Masaharu's offer to let him control the pace had, after all, been made in better knowledge of what his partner was like when he cast off his mask than anyone else had. With, a corner of Masaharu's mind had to add, the possible exception of Yukimura, who was obviously omniscient. Yagyuu had told him to break this off, if he had to; if he didn't, Yagyuu would take him at his word, trusting Masaharu's judgment. Curiously enough, that knowledge made Masaharu relax.

And when he relaxed, the sensation of Yagyuu's touch inside of him became less strange and more enticing. Masaharu released a trembling breath, feeling the sleek glide of Yagyuu's fingertip over unaccustomed nerves. Yagyuu moved slowly, very slowly, and his eyes bore down on Masaharu more heavily then his hand. Masaharu thought that, too, was deliberate, because Yagyuu was, by now, well aware that his direct gaze sent sparks dancing through Masaharu's blood at times like this.

Yagyuu's other hand trailed down the inside of Masaharu's thigh, teased lightly between his legs, swept up his chest and back down, and Masaharu was distracted from the idea of what Yagyuu was doing, left only with the feeling. That feeling became heated, as Yagyuu's fingers caressed him, stroked deep into him, until even the ice of Yagyuu's eyes before his seemed to gleam with fire.

And his partner could only be drawing this out from a desire to see Masaharu completely abandoned to his touch, because he was already arching into those fingers, inviting the tingling, electric touch deeper, breathing in soft, pleading sighs as strange, tense pleasure wrapped around the base of his spine like a climbing vine. Masaharu released a choked half laugh when Yagyuu finally bent down to him and kissed a delicate line up the tendon of his neck, drawing his hand back. So precise, his partner, so deliberate, even in release. It was Masaharu who was the wild one, but so rarely. So rarely did he give over his own control this completely. Yagyuu's mouth on his spoke of understanding that gift, and that, even more than Yagyuu's hands on him, washed shivers through Masaharu, melted him back against the sheets, opened him to the pressure of Yagyuu pushing into him.

It stretched him to the edge of pain, but never quite over. It was, perfectly, everything he desired of his partner, every reason he pressed Yagyuu to let himself go, the extremity of sensation that could have been destruction but, to him, was not. Masaharu cried out, voice strained, as his partner began to move, sinking himself under the shock of this heat, barely aware of his hands closed hard on Yagyuu's arms. The soft, heavy pleasure of Yagyuu's hand stroking him slipped around the edges of sensation, twined itself into the harsher heat, and Masaharu clung to the constant of his partner's eyes on him as his body tensed, tensed, and released, waves wrenching muscle and nerve, and fire sweeping him, dropping him down, dazed, panting.

When Yagyuu came to rest beside him, they simply breathed together for a time.

Yagyuu stirred first, pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Thank you," he murmured.

"Entirely my pleasure," Masaharu assured him, voice husky. He lifted a heavy hand to brush back Yagyuu's wonderfully mussed hair.

Heavy...

His eyes focused on what he was actually seeing, and Masaharu abruptly collapsed on Yagyuu's shoulder, howling with laughter. His partner held him, obliging if a bit bemused.

"I understand that it's usual to have some reaction to one's first experience of this sort," he commented, "but I hadn't heard that hysterical mirth was one of the common choices."

"We didn't..." Masaharu gasped, "we didn't take off... the wrist weights...!" He dissolved into cackles again.

Yagyuu's rare, open laugh joined his.

TBC

Challenge - Chapter Nine

For Regionals, the team pulls out all the stops. Drama, I-3

As they started into Regionals, the rumor trickled down from Sanada to the rest of the team. Yukimura was considering surgery.

"Surgery?" Yagyuu asked, sharply. "For Guillain-Barre?"

"It is still fairly experimental," Yanagi admitted, slowly. "But his physical therapist recommended it, as an alternative, she said, to Seiichi hurting himself by pressing his rehabilitation too quickly."

Masaharu didn't know about the others, but he'd had to catch Yukimura from falling more than once, while spotting for his "light" practices, and had to carry him back inside twice. He'd watched the frustration his captain could keep out of his voice but couldn't keep out of his eyes, and shuddered to think what it must be like. For someone who had been in superb control of his body all his life, to suddenly find it unresponsive... well, it made Masaharu a bit more understanding with Sanada's temper and brooding moods.

That therapist definitely had Yukimura's number, he thought.

"If it succeeds, this would bypass much of the necessity for rehabilitation therapy, as much as ninety percent" Yanagi concluded.

"Is it dangerous?" Marui wanted to know.

Yanagi was silent for an ominous moment, before he sighed.

"No surgery is one hundred percent safe. In this case, though, the primary danger is not from the procedure itself. The problem is that the fact of the surgery, the new insult to the body, and the spike in immune reaction that follows, can trigger a relapse."

Double or nothing. Masaharu held that thought against the memory of Yukimura's eyes.

"He'll do it," Yagyuu voiced Masaharu's thought.

"It's still undecided," Yanagi cautioned, but there was little force behind it. He had seen it, too, Masaharu knew; the two who were closest to Yukimura could hardly help but see it.

When Fudoumine took Yamabuki in the second round, Yanagi and Sanada were sure enough of what it would mean to set the final lineups.

"Seigaku is the true threat," Yanagi told them, "they've put together a very strong team this year, and most of our preparation will be geared toward meeting them. I have little doubt we will; Midoriyama won't stand against them, and, while Rokkaku will likely give them a fight, I judge Seigaku the stronger. That does not mean that Fudoumine is negligible. Tachibana Kippei is a very strong player, and their team discipline appears to be extremely tight."

"They also," Sanada put in, "have a habit of front-loading their line-up when they have a strong opponent. Tachibana himself will almost certainly be in Singles Three; that was how they pulled the rug out from under Hyoutei. I will take Singles Three, to meet him for this match."

"Let me."

Everyone looked around to see Akaya sprawled on a bench, looking fixedly at Sanada.

"You got the last two fun ones, Sanada-fukubuchou," he said, with a crooked smile, "let me have this one."

"Will you listen to the mouth on him," Masaharu snorted, swatting Akaya lightly. Akaya pouted at him, and Masaharu shook his head. While Akaya still acted a lot like a totally mannerless kitten with the team, his series of effortless wins this season had given him an extremely contemptuous attitude toward any other players.

"Actually," Yanagi mused, "there could be some benefits to that."

Sanada cocked an eyebrow at him.

"For one, a real challenge will be good for Akaya," Yanagi pointed out, adding a quelling look as Akaya grinned. "For another, it would leave you and I free to take one of the doubles slots. I expect them to field Ibu and Kamio as a pair against us, and while I have little doubt any of our doubles combinations could take them, it would be well to be sure."

"And who, against their other doubles pair?"

"Jackal and Yagyuu, I think."

Masaharu wasn't the only one blinking at that suggestion. The other pair must be power players. Sanada nodded.

"Very well. We'll return to our usual line-up against Seigaku, so don't get too distracted."

Masaharu thought Yanagi worried too much. Or, perhaps, worried about the wrong things. Fudoumine was really fairly easy. The only true challenge was Tachibana himself, who had managed to trigger Akaya's rage, and became the proxy target for all the anger and uncertainty and fear Akaya had to deal with this year. Masaharu was actually quite impressed with the man; he'd managed to keep Akaya from injuring him too critically. Fudoumine would be back around for Nationals.

The one Masaharu was increasingly worried about was Sanada.

This had not been a good year for anyone, and Yukimura's illness, his long recovery, and his dangerous choice had driven down on their vice-captain harder than anyone else. It had compressed and darkened him, as if coal were being squeezed into iron instead of diamond. Masaharu didn't think he would snap, that wasn't in Sanada's nature; but that didn't make his stress and pain any the less. When they found out that Yukimura's surgeon could only schedule him in the same day that his team would play Seigaku in the final round of Regionals, it was really just the icing on the cake. And when their headstrong little Akaya managed to get himself into a match with Seigaku's Echizen Ryouma and lost, Sanada was finally infuriated enough to strike members of his team.

Masaharu admitted to a certain desire to throttle Akaya, himself. Just a little bit.

They all spent the last few days before Finals regrouping, planning. He and Yagyuu expected to come up against Seigaku's "Golden Pair", which might easily turn into a competition of coordination. They needed tactics to set those two off their stride.

The idea that wended its way into Masaharu's thoughts made him smile, probably not very pleasantly. If they pulled it off, and there was no real reason they shouldn't, it would do what they needed it to. And even better, from Masaharu's point of view, it would allow his partner to blow off some of the stress he had been accumulating. He didn't show it the way Sanada did, but that didn't make it any less dangerous.

"Yagyuu," he murmured, as they packed up, "do you remember that trick the two of us pulled last year?"

Yagyuu's hands paused. "Yes."

"It could be... useful, here," Masaharu suggested.

"Mmm," Yagyuu tipped his head to regard his partner. "The shock, and then the increase in power. Yes, that could be effective."

They shared a thin smile.

Yanagi had been right, Masaharu decided, adjusting the glasses he wore. Seigaku could be dangerous. Not enough to beat them, in all likelihood, but enough that he wasn't surprised by Sanada's order to play without the wrist weights. Yagyuu, of course, disregarded that, the better to hold his profile to Masaharu's. Just their luck that Sanada noticed.

When 'Niou' snarled at him, startled suspicion flared in their vice-captain's eyes. Masaharu didn't worry much about that; their team knew enough to keep their mouths shut. He'd been more worried that Yagyuu, released by wearing his partner's persona, would do more than snarl.

As the set got going, and Masaharu sank himself into his partner's place, observing, tallying, he spared a moment to be pleased he had always played such an unpredictable game. It meant there was little chance anyone not of their own team would realize that the way 'Niou' was manipulating Kikumaru depended on an absolute awareness of his partner's position and moves that was characteristic of Yagyuu. Not that it all went one way, of course. He heard what his partner was, silently, asking him to do, and shrugged to himself. If that was what Yagyuu's heart desired, well, it was certainly one way to end the set quickly. He returned hard and fast, watched Yagyuu place Kikumaru in the ball's path, watched their opponent fall.

The taunting repetition of Kikumaru's tag line was more vicious than Yagyuu usually let himself be, even when he let himself go. Masaharu was pleased that his partner had gotten this chance to express himself; who knew what might have happened if he'd bottled it up much longer.

Nevertheless, he was also pleased when Kikumaru recovered. Masaharu found it boring when targets just rolled over and died right away. Since he was being 'Yagyuu', he allowed himself to speak his complimentary thought aloud. The Seigaku pair got their second wind, and started pressing back, and Masaharu decided it was time to play their trump card.

Time to call his partner back.

The injunction to "play seriously", to play as himself, was met with a glare, but Yagyuu finally gave over and pulled out his specialty shot at full strength. It was clear to Masaharu that his partner didn't particularly want to take up his own, more circumscribed, identity again; he was distinctly grumpy about it. Masaharu sighed to himself. Clearly, they needed to have another conversation about the lack of conflict between politeness and grinding opponents to jelly.

The expressions on the faces of the Seigaku pair were everything he might have hoped for, though.

And, as planned, they never did quite recover their rhythm. It wasn't an effortless match, but it was a good, solid win, and Masaharu was happy with all aspects of it. All the moreso when he and Yagyuu returned to the benches, and he felt, brushing against his partner's shoulder, that a good deal of his tension had drained off.

Doubles handed off to singles, and Masaharu sat back to enjoy the last game.

Only it wasn't.

He had to admit to being deeply impressed with Inui Sadaharu. To give the appearance of wildness, always a lesser threat to a player like Yanagi, in order to set such a magnificent psychological trap definitely earned Masaharu's respect. For all that Inui looked like the perfect straight-man, Masaharu decided that here was another who deserved the title of Trickster.

That did not make the delay any easier to handle.

Nor did it make Yanagi's gesture of allegiance to Sanada's brutal focus, offering himself to the violence Sanada had increasingly used to drive his club and his team, any less painful to watch. Masaharu, for one, was relieved when Akaya intervened. Relieved, if not surprised, because anyone with eyes could see the way Akaya softened whenever he watched The Great Three.

Akaya could be very predictable in some ways.

Masaharu watched him driving Fuji to hit Akaya's trigger, releasing him. Watched, impressed, as Fuji pressed on despite what would normally be a completely incapacitating injury. Watched, with a bright shock of excitement, as Akaya's eyes cleared.

Watched Sanada's involvement with the match. Watched him smile, in spite of Akaya's loss, when he collected Akaya's unconscious form from Fuji and brought him back to his team. Yep, Sanada definitely had a soft spot for insane drive and ambition.

Masaharu thought they were all just a little on edge, watching Sanada play an unknown quantity. He knew for a fact that they were all stunned, watching Sanada lose, especially considering the come-back Wonder Boy had had to make. Masaharu briefly considered the possibility that the kid wasn't human.

The team looked at each other, a little bewildered. It was the first time this team of theirs had lost. The first time in sixteen years that Rikkai had failed to be first at Regionals. What now? Even the lax set of his partner's shoulders, the serenity in Akaya's eyes and, curiously enough, in Sanada's as well, didn't quite manage to distract Masaharu from the question he was positive was echoing through everyone's heads.

How were they supposed to tell their captain about this?

TBC

A/N: *mildly disgusted* The surgery mentioned in here has no basis in medical reality. While some of the therapies used to treat the critical stages of Guillain-Barre involve big needles, none of them that I have been able to discover involve invasive surgery. Most certainly none of them hold out any promise of repairing the damaged nerve-sheathes, which would be necessary for such a dramatic recovery of strength as Yukimura had. Canon, however, dictates a surgical procedure, so I did the best I could. My apologies for any egregiously bad science.

Challenge - Chapter Ten

The team brings the results to their captain. Drama, I-3

"I will go in first, and explain," Sanada said, firmly.

Waiting through Yukimura's surgery and post-operative evaluation had squelched all fears and uncertainties save the ones that related directly to their captain's health. The news that he was well, and even expected to be strong again, soon, while joyful and welcome, had allowed smaller concerns to resurface. Sanada, in particular, was almost back to his usual, dour, stubborn, pig-headed self.

"It wasn't just your loss," Akaya said, softly, head bowed. Masaharu thought his double loss had shaken him pretty badly. Yagyuu thought it was more his strange awakening during his tournament match. Whatever it was, it snapped Sanada, at least temporarily, out of his self-flagellation. He took Akaya by the shoulder and shook him a little.

"Enough, Akaya," he said, more gently. "You drove yourself well past your limits, all the way to collapse. There was no more you could have done. And if this had never come to you," he paused, seeming to search for words, "your game would never have become real. Honorable losses are simply an invitation to win next time."

Masaharu straightened from his slouch against the wall, and exchanged a surprised look with Yagyuu. He had heard Sanada say broadly similar things before, but never quite so bluntly, and certainly not any time this year. Apparently, Akaya wasn't the only one who had gotten his attitude realigned by shock.

Akaya looked up, gaze solemn. "Yours, too, then. Sanada-fukubuchou," he stated.

Sanada blinked, opened his mouth, and closed it again. A slightly unwilling smile took over his face, and he ruffled Akaya's hair. "You'll be a good captain, next year," he said, a touch ruefully. Akaya's ears turned rather red, and he lowered his eyes. Chuckles ran among them all.

"We are a team," Yagyuu pointed out. "We win or lose as a team. It's only right that we all be present."

Sanada finally capitulated with a wordless grunt and turned to lead them down the hall to their captain's room. They all filed in and arranged themselves around the bed Yukimura reclined in, looking a bit wan, but brighter of eye than he had for some time. Sanada stepped forward, and Masaharu could see his shoulders brace.

"Yukimura," he started, low, "I have to ask your forgiveness."

Yukimura tilted his head with a small smile. "What, for running late? I didn't say so, but I thought you probably would."

Masaharu winced, and caught Marui with a similar expression out of the corner of his eye.

"No," Sanada said, struggling a little, now. "Yukimura," he took a deep breath, "we lost. My... our promise to you is broken. Forgive me." He looked aside, unable to hold their captain's eye.

Yukimura looked at him for a long moment, and swept his gaze over the rest of the team as well. They shifted under it, none of them able to lift their eyes. Masaharu nibbled on his lower lip. Yukimura didn't hold Masaharu's soul in his hand, the way he did Yagyuu's or Kirihara's. Or, for that matter, Sanada's and Yanagi's. But Masaharu, who respected very little, respected his captain's strength and insight. Having failed his trust made Masaharu squirm. If he felt like this, he was half surprised that Sanada wasn't bowed to the floor.

"Did you play your best?" Yukimura asked, at last.

"Yes," Sanada answered, sure of that, though Masaharu also heard an edge of helplessness in it, as if he wasn't sure how both things could be true. Yukimura raised a hand to close over Sanada's.

"Then there is no shame in losing. You gave everything to this match, even when I was not there to make sure of it. I'm proud of you. All of you." His eyes moved over his team again, before coming back to rest on Sanada, and the absolution of his acceptance felt like a weight lifted. Everyone breathed again, and Masaharu observed spines straightening all over the room. Except for Sanada, who couldn't have gotten his any straighter without the help of a rack; he was slumping to a more normal, human posture.

Yukimura tugged on Sanada. "Steal some chairs, and sit down and tell me about it."

Masaharu slipped out with a grin, only to hear Yukimura's laughing voice send Yagyuu after him. Yagyuu, the spoil-sport, smiled politely at a passing nurse and extracted extra chairs with ease. Masaharu mock-sulked at his captain when they returned, only be be laughed at again.

"Everyone tells me that the both of you have already had your fun, Niou. Surely you can skip terrorizing the hospital just for today."

"Just for you," Masaharu agreed, trying not to grin like an idiot.

They took turns, telling each other's stories, and Yukimura soothed his singles players when those accounts brought up fresh anxieties.

"...actually made Jackal-senpai sweat, until Marui-senpai decided to show off again." Thwap! "Ow!"

"Yagyuu was in a fine taking; exactly like Niou in a really foul mood, except he ignores Sanada when he's pissed off..."

"...really nailed the other player. That was vicious, Yagyuu-senpai."

"Do you really think you have room to talk, Akaya-kun?"

"...and don't turn your back on that data specialist of theirs; he's sneaky."

"And considering the source..."

"It was interesting that Inui himself thought the result of the match came down to chance."

"Do you wish to play him again, Renji?" Yukimura interjected. Yanagi looked down at his hands, obscuring the tilted smile on his face.

"I think so, yes," he said, at length. Yukimura touched his wrist, and nodded firmly when he looked up. Yanagi's smile un-tilted, and he nodded back. Masaharu decided, as the chatter picked up again, that Yukimura was pleased that Yanagi refused to back away from this challenge.

"...Akaya went completely around the bend," Marui concluded his tale of Singles Two.

"Fine for you to say," Akaya grumbled, "I barely remember a thing about it. Just... it was just..." he trailed off, uncertainly.

Yukimura held his eyes. "You can tell me later," he offered, gently. Akaya nodded, biting his lip.

"And that kid...!"

"He paid for it pretty hard, though."

"Still..."

"He was," Sanada paused, looking grim, "unexpected."

"Someone like that is difficult to calculate or account for," Yagyuu noted.

"That doesn't make losing to him any more acceptable," Sanada insisted. Yukimura sighed.

"Sanada," he rapped out, the bite of command that none of them had heard in too long back in his voice, "you know there's more to it than that. Have you completely forgotten what I said on this subject last time?"

Sanada, Masaharu was intrigued to note, glanced sidelong at Akaya. A slight flush surfaced along his cheekbones. Was that where that little bit of advice in the hall had come from?

"I remember," he murmured.

"Good," Yukimura stated, definitely.

Finally, a nurse came to chase them out, saying that it was time for Yukimura-kun to rest.

"I should be released in a few days," he told them, happiness coloring his face, "I'll be back soon."

"We'll be waiting for you," Sanada answered. "It will be good to have you back again."

The team bounced or strolled or stalked their way home, according to personality, breaking off toward their houses once they got back to their own neighborhood. As Masaharu and Yagyuu reached their turn-offs, Yagyuu paused, turning very slightly toward Masaharu.

He was getting better, since Yukimura pointed it out, at reading these little incitements for what they were. Masaharu gave his partner a half smile, and asked, "Mind some company for a while?"

"It would be welcome," Yagyuu answered, cool as if he hadn't just silently asked for some. Masaharu ran a hand through his hair, laughing to himself at the two of them.

While he'd really had something a little more vigorous in mind, and suspected his partner had as well, when he nudged Yagyuu onto his bed and followed him down they somehow stopped there. Lying, wrapped around each other, almost fully clothed, they simply held on and breathed together, watching the sunlight from the window creep off the bed and onto the floor.

"Is it over, do you think?" Yagyuu asked, at last, barely whispering in the silence. He didn't protest when Masaharu twined a hand into his hair, drawing his head down to Masaharu's shoulder.

"This part is, yes," Masaharu answered, looking up at the ceiling. "I think Sanada will calm down again, some. And Akaya, too, long enough for Yukimura to take him back in hand. And you?"

Yagyuu shivered, and his arms tightened around Masaharu. Masaharu didn't normally ask such things so bluntly, but, then, normally he didn't have to. He honestly wasn't sure how stressed or relieved or, possibly, over the edge his partner was right now.

"He's coming back." Yagyuu's whisper was harsher, choked. "That's enough."

Masaharu tightened his hold in return. "You know, it's a good thing I'm not the jealous type," he said, against his partner's temple. Yagyuu laughed, at that.

"Of course you are," he contradicted, firmly. "Our teammates are the only people you're willing to share me with. The last time anyone else so much as touched my arm, if I recall correctly, you made everyone think he was challenging Sanada one on one; he could barely pick up his racquet the next day."

"He had it coming," Masaharu growled. Yagyuu raised his head and looked down at him.

"Case in point," he noted rather dryly.

"Mutual monopoly," Masaharu shrugged. "It's only fair." Yagyuu's eyes sharpened.

"Do I have a monopoly on you?" he asked, softly.

"I thought that was obvious," Masaharu told him, raising his brows. "It isn't as if I play tricks for anyone's benefit but my own and yours."

"Only you," Yagyuu chuckled, "would measure it by such a standard, Niou."

Masaharu made a pleased sound, to hear his bare name in his partner's mouth, and an even more pleased one when Yagyuu leaned down and kissed him, long and close.

The day Yukimura returned, he was almost mobbed by his delighted club until Sanada barked for everyone to get back to work and the ingrained habit of dangerous months sent them all scattering out of Sanada's path. Yukimura's brows lifted a bit, at that, and, when Sanada avoided his gaze, his eyes narrowed. But he seemed willing to set it aside for the time being.

Masaharu reflected, a touch smugly, that he would not wish to be Sanada at any time in the near future. Not, of course, that he ever had wished to be someone so utterly humorless. Casting an eye over the team, he catalogued Jackal as relieved and Marui as gleeful. Not much surprise on that second; Yukimura was generally indulgent of Marui's histrionics as long as they didn't interfere with his playing. Sanada was apprehensive, in his own iron-faced way, while Yanagi seemed... exasperated? Now that was unusual. Akaya, predictably, was floating somewhere around cloud nine, and Yagyuu was quietly, subtly glowing. Masaharu grinned.

"Hey," he nudged his partner, "want to ask Yukimura and Yanagi for a match?"

"If Yukimura-san has no specific plans for the team, today," Yagyuu agreed, smiling faintly.

Feeling his partner's glittering, charged presence reach out to fold around him, as they fought to counter the other pair's combination, Masaharu could barely keep from laughing out loud. Yukimura was back. They were all back, released from their fear and agitation and distraction, back to the place they belonged. Now they could face Seigaku's challenge properly.

When they took their first game from Yukimura and Yanagi, Masaharu and his partner shared an identical, gleaming smile.

Yes. Everyone was back where they belonged.

End

Earth Over Thunder

During Chapter Ten Yanagi deals with Sanada guilting. Drama, I-3

They were almost at the turn for Renji's house when he noticed that he and Genichirou were walking in step. It was a peripheral observation, and not really surprising since they tended to fall into step when they walked any distance together. They were of a height, it was quite natural. Today, though, it suddenly seemed significant.

Not that Renji entirely trusted his perceptions just at the moment. The release of tension from the matches this afternoon, plus Seiichi's surgery, had left him rather lightheaded.

Still, it struck him as a good symbol of everything that had been right and wrong during this year.

"Renji."

His name called him back from his musing, to notice that they had reached his turn, and that Genichirou was standing with his head down, turned a little away.

"I'm... sorry."

"For what?" Renji asked, quietly, touching his friend's shoulder. He shook his head at the look Genichirou turned on him. "I knew what I was doing, Genichirou. I'm not blaming you."

Not least, he reflected, as Genichirou's eyes darkened, because Genichirou could be counted upon to blame himself.

It had been a split-second decision, almost an impulse, really, except for the calculation behind it. Renji had never expected to lose. Nor, he suspected, had Genichirou ever expected him to lose. When he had, and when he had seen the tightness of Genichirou's mouth, the question had presented itself: How would Genichirou react to this breaking of the unbreakable rule he had set for their team this year? Renji knew perfectly well that, if it had been anyone but him, Genichirou would not have hesitated to strike, to drive home the unacceptable nature of losing. But it was him. And everyone in the club was aware that he and Genichirou were close friends, as well as teammates. Which led, inescapably, to the conclusion that, in order to keep the respect of the club, Genichirou must not react differently just because it was Renji.

So he had said so.

He had known it was a risk, to deliberately provoke Genichirou when he was that tense and angry. Knew that putting Genichirou squarely between his responsibility to the club and his care for Renji might finally break him. But he hadn't seen any other way. Nor, to judge by the glint of helpless fury he'd seen in Genichirou's eyes, as his hand drew back, had Genichirou.

At least, he smiled to himself, they hadn't seen another way until Akaya interfered, blithe and brash as ever. Genichirou had been right, earlier today; Akaya's protectiveness of his own, every bit as fierce as his will to win, would serve him well next year, when he became captain.

"Not just today, Renji," Genichirou shook his head. "This whole year. You warned me, and I didn't listen."

"You chose the path that you felt you could walk on," Renji noted. "And I chose to follow you down it."

"It was the wrong choice," Genichirou said, looking away.

"Was there a right one?" Renji countered.

Genichirou's hand flashed up to touch the side of Renji's face, softly. "Yes," he answered, low and sharp, "one that didn't involve losing control."

Renji stifled a sigh. He knew quite well what the chances were of convincing Genichirou to let go of some blame he had decided to take on. And he couldn't argue that the path Genichirou had chosen hadn't been a dangerous one, especially once their personal bond had fallen crosswise of it. Still, there were times he wished that Genichirou's ruthlessness were accompanied more often by detachment, rather than passion.

Of course, he supposed that was his part. So he made one more try.

"Was there a right choice we could have reached, this year?" he asked, gently. He read the stubborn There should have been in Genichirou's tight lips, and couldn't help a laugh. He laid his hand over Genichirou's and turned his head to place a kiss in the palm.

"Genichirou," he said, firmly, "stop this. If there's anything that needs to be forgiven, I forgive you. It's over now. Seiichi is coming back to us. We're going to be all right."

Genichirou's eyes were a little brighter, now. "Have I ever won an argument with you?" he asked, with a small, rueful laugh of his own.

"There have been three occasions, to date," Renji told him, serenely. "I made note of them."

Genichirou smiled. "Well, since this doesn't seem like it will be the fourth, I'll stop. I'll see you tomorrow, Renji. Good night."

"Good night, Genichirou."

Renji walked the rest of the way home with a lighter mind and heart, reassured that things were returning to where they should be.

End

Glory

Just before the end of Chapter Ten Kirihara comes to talk to Yukimura about his final match at Regionals. Drama, I-3

Akaya tapped, hesitantly, on the doorframe of Yukimura-san's room. His mother had said to go on up, but Yukimura-san had only been home one day, and he looked tired. Still, he looked up with a smile of welcome.

"Akaya. Come in, I've been expecting you."

At that bit of information, Akaya ground to a halt again, a few steps inside. Yukimura-san hadn't said anything, yet, about the way Akaya had let his control lapse this year, but he was uncomfortably aware that he had merrily tromped all over his team captain's direct orders several times. Having some privacy while his captain yelled at him about that wouldn't make it significantly more pleasant. Not that Yukimura-san ever exactly yelled, but even-tempered disappointment was worse, and the cold edge when he did lose his temper was terrifying, and...

Yukimura-san's breath wasn't quite a sigh. He held out a hand from where he sat on the edge of his bed.

"Close the door, Akaya, and come here. I did say you could tell me about it later, didn't I?"

Ah, so Yukimura-san had been expecting him because of that; not a huge improvement. Speaking of things that were a little terrifying. Just a little. Akaya tried not to fidget, as he approached, but when he reached Yukimura-san's side, and paused, the memory of what he'd come to talk about drove such a shudder through him that his knees folded. He sat down abruptly by his captain's feet and leaned against the bed.

"Are you all right?" Yukimura-san asked, eyes serious.

"I don't know," Akaya whispered. "When I played, for the final game, I... I don't know..." Yukimura-san's hand brushed over his hair, and Akaya bent his head to rest against Yukimura-san's knee. "Yukimura-buchou, I can't even really remember all of it."

"I watched the tape of the match," Yukimura-san told him. "Have you?"

Akaya nodded. "It was weird," he declared.

"I don't doubt it." His captain's voice was warm, and Akaya relaxed under it. "I think you will remember everything in time, especially the next time you play that intensely. What do you remember in the most detail, now?"

Akaya was silent for a few moments. "The feeling," he said, at last, slowly. "It was so... clear. And cool. And bright. And I felt... like I could keep going forever; like I was breathing in strength, not air. It was so strong. So much." He broke off, shivering, every muscle wound tight, clenching his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering.

Yukimura-san's hands closed around his face and lifted his head. Akaya clung to the dark, steady gaze that met his, to brace himself against the memory of that overwhelmingly precise focus that had swept his awareness up like a leaf in a high wind.

"Yes," Yukimura-san said, sure and clear. "I know that. And it can be almost too much to bear, can't it?"

Akaya pulled in a breath, comforted by his captain's instant understanding. "Yes," he agreed, shakily. Yukimura smiled, slow and brilliant and wild, and Akaya's breath departed again.

"But it's also glorious, isn't it?" A laugh ran under Yukimura-san's voice. "To feel every moment and movement so fully, to experience the sharpness of that edge, to release everything that's in you and throw it into the game."

Akaya nodded, wordless.

"This is what I hoped, from the start, you would find, Akaya," Yukimura-san told him. "It came more abruptly than I expected, but I knew it was there for you from the first."

Akaya was trembling again, under his captain's hands, and his eyes felt wide as saucers. "Is it like that... every time?" he asked, hearing his own voice thin with awe or incredulity or terror, he couldn't have said which. Yukimura-san's expression was sympathetic again.

"Not so perfectly, perhaps, but yes. It's there every time. It always comes when you give all of yourself to the game," he explained. The unspoken corollary hung in the air; if it was too much for Akaya, he could back away. His chin came up, pride stung.

"Yes, Yukimura-buchou."

The gleam in his captain's eyes made it clear that Yukimura-san approved of Akaya's acceptance of this challenge. He took his hands away, fingertips brushing across Akaya's face with butterfly-wing affection.

"Yukimura-san," Akaya heard himself murmur, and bit his lip. He tried not to show that yearning too plainly. The gentle denial in Yukimura-san's gaze hurt too much.

This time, though, Yukimura-san's look was considering, fiercer and brighter. "Can you defeat me yet, Akaya?" he asked, with the unyielding edge in his voice that had called Akaya to him from the moment they first played against each other.

Akaya heard what Yukimura-san wanted: for Akaya to give himself to this crazy brilliance as completely as his captain had. If he did, and they both played from that intensity... Akaya shuddered, violently.

"Not quite," he choked, before he hauled in a slow breath and looked up. "Yet," he finished, sharply.

If a hawk could smile, it might smile the way Yukimura-san was now. "I'll be waiting for you," he said.

Akaya nodded, while anxiety and exultation got together to dance a polka in his stomach.

"On that topic," his captain continued, looking more stern, "I trust I won't see laziness like you showed in the first part of that match again."

Akaya winced. He'd known it was coming. He twisted his fingers together and lowered his head.

"Yes, Yukimura-buchou."

"I know I wasn't there to hold you back, Akaya," Yukimura-san said, seriously, "but you must learn to do it for yourself. If you can't your game will stagnate, and you'll destroy yourself. And, above that, it isn't worthy of you. "

Akaya's head dropped a little further. "Yes, Yukimura-buchou," he whispered. He'd known, at the time, that his captain wouldn't be pleased, but the knowledge had been small and distant next to the satisfaction of utterly destroying whatever threatened his goal. Now it was a lot more visceral. Yukimura-san's kindness, even in the middle of making his displeasure clear, made Akaya feel about one centimeter high.

There was a rustle as Yukimura-san slipped off the bed onto the floor and tugged Akaya, gently, into his arms.

"You're so innocent, in some ways, Akaya," he sighed, pressing a hand to Akaya's bowed head, "and so direct. Let that serve you, instead of dragging you down, and you'll be one of the best. Remember that I'm waiting for you."

Akaya closed his eyes and leaned against his captain's belief in him. He would. He knew what he was chasing, now. He would keep going, and when he found Yukimura-san, on the way, he would be able to hold his head up.

End

Water Over Fire

Immediately after Chapter Ten, Sanada (and, to a lesser extent, Yanagi) explains himself to Yukimura. Drama With Romance, I-4

The first day Yukimura returned from recovery to the Rikkai tennis club, and his team, was a day of great relief and rejoicing. It was also, at least for one vice-captain Sanada Genichirou, a rather uncomfortable day.

"You won't be able to avoid telling him forever, you know," Renji murmured in his ear. "In fact, I would say your chances of dodging his questions much beyond this evening only stand at twelve percent. By the end of practice, I expect them to drop to three."

No one else, Genichirou reflected, understood just how evil Renji could be when the mood was on him. Except Yukimura, who found it amusing.

"Do you want me to explain to him?"

It was, of course, balanced by his kindness at other times, but that was no less depressing when Genichirou knew quite well that he didn't deserve it. Not from Renji; not now.

"No," Genichirou said, quietly. "I'll tell him."

At this remove he found it hard to believe that he had nearly struck one of his two best friends; would have, if Akaya hadn't interfered. And while Renji was forgiving enough to accept a plea of temporary insanity, he doubted Yukimura would. His friend, Seiichi, was gentle, understanding, even sweet at times. His captain, Yukimura, was unyielding in his demands and his standards.

"You take too much on your own shoulders so often," Renji sighed. "That was exactly what got you into this situation in the first place."

Genichirou suppressed a wince. Did Yanagi have to be so damn... accurate?

It was, in fact, just as practice ended that Yukimura closed a hand on each of their arms.

"Why don't you two join me this evening to discuss the team's progress?" he suggested, only a hint of steel in his voice indicating that this was not a request.

"I stand corrected," Renji observed. "Zero percent."

"Thank you for that update," Genichirou said, between his teeth. At Yukimura's questioning look, he glanced aside and answered, "We'll come."

The way to either of the other two's houses was as familiar as the way to his own, so the walk left plenty of Genichirou's attention free to reflect on his own failures of control. After the first few conversational nudges, Renji left him to it and engaged Yukimura in a discussion of how much reconditioning he could fit in before Nationals. Genichirou was grateful for that.

Yukimura's parents were out still, not unusual, so the three of them settled in the living room, Yukimura on the couch, Renji in the older and softer of the two chairs. Genichirou took one of the floor cushions, and folded his hands rather tightly on the table. Yukimura eyed his choice with a thoughtful expression.

"It's been obvious that there were things you weren't telling me about the club, this year," he said, at last, quite calm. "I thought there was probably nothing I could do about whatever it was, so I didn't ask. But I'm asking now, Sanada."

Genichirou gazed down at his hands.

"In the spring," he began, "my temper started to... fray. To the point of striking out sometimes. Mostly it was directed at the club, the pool of alternates, but eventually the team was included." He breathed in and out, slowly, evenly, controlled. And wasn't that irony for you? Say the rest of it, he ordered himself inflexibly. "Anger was easier than fear. And it kept the club under control."

"Fear," Yukimura repeated. "For me?"

Genichirou nodded, silent. Yukimura rose abruptly from the couch, came and knelt beside him, took his shoulders and pulled Genichirou around to face him. His eyes were blazing.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he demanded. Genichirou gauged Yukimura's agitation by the tightness of his grip. He didn't want to add to the upset, though he welcomed the bruising strength of Yukimura's hands, proof of his wholeness once again. But Genichirou had always been honest with these two.

"When?" he asked, barely audible. "While you were already driving yourself to injury, trying to regain strength enough to return to us? While you were torn between risking a relapse and taking a long chance?"

Yukimura closed his eyes and took in a sharp breath. Genichirou felt a rake of pain at having reminded his friend of his own pain, so recently past. But that was the truth of why he hadn't spoken, and much of the reason he had felt so much helpless fury in the first place. And he knew his captain heard that truth. When Yukimura opened his eyes again, he looked over at Renji.

"I take it you agreed with that?" he asked, evenly.

"I did not consider it likely that you would be able to recall Genichirou's control while you were still recovering," Renji specified. "Perhaps my judgment was also impaired by my concern for you. But, Seiichi," he leaned forward, earnest, "our team is made up of violent and dangerous parts far more than serene ones. You collected them, because you love their brilliance and their edge. Does it truly surprise you that, without you to hold them steady, the danger ran over?"

"I had hoped that your strength would steady them as well," Yukimura said, softly, glancing between Genichirou and Renji. Genichirou flinched under his hands. The failure had been his own; he knew that.

"If you had only taken a vacation to Australia, instead of the Intensive Care ward, maybe it would have," Renji answered, with some asperity.

Yukimura blinked a few times before his mouth curled up, and his eyes began to sparkle. After a few moments' struggle, he gave way and let his forehead thump down on Genichirou's shoulder while he laughed. The bright sound released Genichirou's tension, and he finally lifted his hands to Seiichi's shoulders in return.

"I'm sorry," he whispered against Seiichi's hair.

"Aah," Seiichi sighed, straightening. "It's all right," he said, laying a hand against Genichirou's face. "I suppose we've all found out we're only human." His smile warmed Genichirou, smoothing away his hesitance, and he pulled his friend close, burying his face in the curve of Seiichi's neck for a long moment as he held Seiichi, taking reassurance in the returning solidness of his body. When they drew back, Seiichi reached out to Renji, who came to join them, taking up the hand Seiichi held out and pressing it to his lips.

There were times when Genichirou envied Renji his less restrained manner.

"So that was what set Akaya off, too?" Yukimura asked, with a slightly rueful twist to his mouth. "If I had known, when I spoke to him, I might have been gentler."

"That particular dynamic flowed in more than one direction," Renji noted. "Genichirou's violence gave Akaya permission, but the satisfaction of Akaya's destruction was what kept Genichirou focused in that direction."

That particular bit of accuracy cut like a knife, not least because that wild darkness still tempted, still tugged at his control.

"Stop that," Seiichi said, firmly, to Genichirou, as he began to stiffen again. He cast a critical eye over the other two, and nodded. "I think," he declared, "that a bath would be just the thing. What do you think?"

Genichirou saw Renji's expression soften, and knew his own had as well. It might be a strange reaction, to anyone outside the three of them, he reflected, but that was all right. No one else really needed to understand this.

It was something close to ritual, for them, the silence as they undressed, the fact that Renji always adjusted the temperature of the spray, the fact that Seiichi always took the soap first. Genichirou had missed this, desperately. He and Renji had comforted and supported each other in other ways, while Seiichi had been ill and weakened, but it had never seemed right to have this time without him.

There had been times, when someone was in a playful mood, that "a bath" had turned into a water-and-sponge war. Today, though, it was a handful of quiet moments, Genichirou trading shampoo for a sponge with Renji, scrubbing it gently over Seiichi's back; Renji leaning against him for balance as he washed a foot; Seiichi sweeping Genichirou's wet hair back as he finished rinsing it. He felt peace settle over him, over all three of them, as if the drops of water carried it.

Genichirou sighed as they slid into the bath proper. Seiichi nudged him into a corner so that both Seiichi and Renji could lean on him. It was thoroughly nonsensical that it was Genichirou who should feel supported by that, but he did. He slipped a hand around Seiichi's waist, and the other, more hesitantly, over Renji's back, asking if it was all right. Renji turned and leaned into him more firmly, hazel eyes laughing at him, silently. He had already forgiven Genichirou his descent into obsession, that look said, so why was his friend being so foolish? Genichirou rested his head against Renji's, and held him more surely.

If it had been anywhere else he would have offered a kiss, but that was the one thing this time had never been about. This was comfort and cleansing. Healing. It was something that made him understand the little rituals of water at shrines and temples. So they soaked in the heat, and each other's presence, relaxing with the simple closeness as much as the hot water.

"Better?" Seiichi murmured, at last.

"Much," Renji answered, and Genichirou made a quiet sound of agreement.

They were all quiet as they emerged and dried each other off, exchanging smiles with the towels. In unspoken accord, Genichirou drew Seiichi back against him and Renji came to wind his arms around them both, closing Seiichi between them. Seiichi leaned against Genichirou and clasped his hands behind Renji laughing softly.

"It's all right," he reassured them. "I'm right here."

"You don't mind if we hold you a little longer, anyway?" Renji asked, both teasing and serious as he so often was.

Seiichi's eyes reflected brighter for a moment, before he blinked. "Of course not," he said, voice catching.

They stood together for a long time.

End

Resolution

Sanada and Kirihara address the unproductive aspects of their interpersonal relationship, pursuant to one of Yanagi's observations in "Water Over Fire". Porn With Insights, I-4

Genichirou had known that the bond forged by anger and fear, between he and Akaya, would have to be resolved in some way, now that the source of the fear and anger was gone. It should not, perhaps, have surprised him that Akaya understood this, too, without bothering to do anything as effortful as analyze the situation. Nor should it have surprised him that Akaya, understanding, would take the most direct action that occurred to him. And perhaps a part of him knew that, because when he emerged from locking up one afternoon to find Akaya lounging against an otherwise deserted section of wall, he was not actually surprised.

"What are you doing, here, still, Akaya?" he asked, tucking away the keys.

Akaya stretched against the wall, extensively, before he let his arms fall to rest over his head, one hand clasping the other wrist.

"Waiting for you," he answered, looking up at Genichirou from under long, sooty lashes.

There were not many ways he could have made his intentions more obvious, short of undressing. Genichirou's hormones took this moment to remind him that Akaya had grown into a lean, feral grace, and was clearly willing, and hadn't Genichirou thought, before, that he moved with admirable assurance...? Genichirou tried to take the opinions of his hormones with a grain of salt. Akaya was impulsive, considerably moreso than any other member of the team. Giving his impulses free rein was a large part of what had brought them to their current, slightly uncomfortable, position. It behooved Genichirou to at least make sure his younger teammate thought twice. Even once might do. He took a breath for control and came to stand in front of Akaya.

"Akaya," he said, voice deeper than usual with the effort of restraint, "do you understand what you're offering?" Akaya tipped his head up, green eyes wide and clear.

"Enough," he said.

Genichirou could hear in his voice that Akaya was sure of that. His hormones were quick to agree. Well, the more ruthless corner of his mind noted, there was one fast way to find out for sure. He reached out and caught Akaya up against him, pulling Akaya's weight up onto his toes until he caught at Genichirou's shoulders for balance. A pointless move, that, since Genichirou was holding him too tightly for Akaya to fall. His mouth closed over Akaya's, hard and searching. Akaya opened his mouth to Genichirou's rough kiss, pressing back against him, molding his body to Genichirou's.

Well, that seemed to answer that question. Genichirou thought he might have had others, but couldn't quite remember them, as Akaya squirmed against him.

He let Akaya go, abruptly, keeping him from stumbling back into the wall with a hand at the small of his back. When he staggered for balance, though, Akaya's feet spread apart and allowed Genichirou to press a leg between his. He drew Akaya back to him, slowly, sliding him up Genichirou's thigh, and Akaya tossed his head back.

"Sanada-san," he gasped, bright eyes drifting shut.

Genichirou cupped a hand behind Akaya's head, supporting him as Genichirou licked up his throat. That hand also prevented Akaya from knocking himself into the wall as he arched back further when Genichirou closed his teeth just under Akaya's ear.

It was the texture of the brick against Genichirou's hand that brought their location back to him. The reminder that they were outside, in full view of anyone who might come along, shocked a little sense back into him. If Akaya wanted to be taken to bed, Genichirou had no objection to doing so. Quite the contrary. Akaya's passion appealed to him. But if they meant to move beyond the shared violence of these past months, it could not be like this.

He let Akaya back down to his feet, and loosened his hold on him. Akaya made a disappointed sound, and reached up, trying to draw Genichirou back down to him. Genichirou caught his hand, smiling.

"For someone I would swear is inexperienced, you certainly know how to plan a seduction, Akaya," he commented. "And, on top of that, almost tempted me to be rough with you."

"Yes," Akaya breathed, and Genichirou blinked. That couldn't have been what it sounded like. He brushed Akaya's hair out of his eyes, taking a certain satisfaction in how hazy they were now.

"Not here. Will you come home with me, Akaya?"

"Yes," Akaya repeated.

Akaya entered Sanada-san's room just a little hesitantly. This was, to be sure, where he wanted to be, but when Sanada-san had suggested Akaya was inexperienced, he'd been right. Nevertheless, Akaya was sure of his course. When Sanada-san had drawn him up that second time, all Akaya could think of was how much he wanted to feel both those muscled thighs between his, pressing his legs apart...

He shivered.

"Akaya."

Sanada-san held out a hand, and Akaya came to him, was gathered up against him, felt Sanada-san's mouth against his. Gently. Still strong, but soft. Akaya's breath hitched, and a questioning, protesting sound escaped his throat. Sanada-san drew back, brows raised.

"Sanada-san," Akaya said, troubled, "you shouldn't... I mean... what about Yukimura-buchou and Yanagi-senpai?"

Sanada-san blinked at him a few times, before his mouth quirked, and he ran a quick hand through Akaya's hair before pulling him closer, tucked against his shoulder.

"Akaya," he said, tone both amused and a little chiding, "we aren't like that."

Akaya stirred. He might be the youngest of the team, but he wasn't blind, thank you, and the three of them most certainly were like that. Sanada-san put a hand under his chin and nudged his head up.

"No one else can be to any of us what the other two are," he clarified. "It's no injury to them if I care for you."

Akaya felt himself blushing. He hated it when he did that. Even if both Sanada-san and Yukimura-buchou seemed to be amused by it. And he'd known, already, that Sanada-san cared about him. He'd known it for sure when Sanada-san had let Akaya's loss go without reprimand; he had nearly keeled over from the shock, right there on the court. The problem was, the other two weren't the only problem; just the first that came to mind. How could gentleness defuse the weight of what had fed back and forth between them, every time one of them lashed out at anyone?

"It would be easier if you were rough," he said, quietly. Sanada-san's eyes blanked with surprise, for a moment.

"You really did mean it that way?" he murmured, shaking his head before Akaya could answer. "No. If you still think you want that, later, maybe. But not now. You should know, first, what it means for someone to be gentle with you."

"It would," Akaya repeated, with careful emphasis, "make it easier." This time he thought Sanada-san understood, because his eyes turned distant the way they did when he was judging an opponent. But he still shook his head, more wearily this time.

"This, Akaya," he said, sternly, "is what comes of you relying on your intuition before your analysis. If I were rough with you now, even if you enjoyed it, which I begin to suspect you might," Akaya blushed again, "it would only make it more difficult for both of us to turn aside from the violence we've shared already."

Akaya thought about that. He hadn't really planned beyond simply making contact, grounding the hovering tension that had grown between them over the past months. Forethought wasn't exactly his strength. So, when Sanada-san repeated, "No. Not your first time," he accepted it and relaxed into Sanada-san's arms, lifting his face for another kiss.

Expecting it, this time, Akaya gave himself to the softer touch, to Sanada-san's mouth sliding over his, teasing, slow. He parted his lips on a sigh, as Sanada-san's tongue flicked at them, and made a small humming sound as Sanada-san settled Akaya more comfortably against his body. The hum became a purr as Sanada's hands slid over his shoulders, down his back, and finally reached for the buttons of his shirt.

Akaya returned the favor, though most of his attention was on Sanada-san's tongue stroking lines and circles against his. It was nice to be able to multi-task; it was one of the things he was good at, as the entire team knew, even if Marui-senpai did say that only meant he broke even because he had the attention span of a gnat. Maybe he should bring this moment up as an example of his attention span... no, Sanada-san would kill him. Though, it was fun to get Sanada-san a little stirred up, as long as one stopped short of really pissing him off.

A thought occurred to Akaya, as Sanada-san brushed his shirt off his shoulders, and he broke away, grinning. At Sanada-san's what now? look, Akaya let his hands trail down his own body to rest on his belt-buckle, lowering his head so he could look at Sanada-san from under his lashes. As he undid his pants, and slid them off his hips, he saw heat flare in the deep brown eyes. The grin got a little wider. Completely naked, he stretched up on his toes, dropping his head back. He was mildly disappointed not to feel Sanada-san's hands on him before he settled back down, but the fire in those eyes was perfectly gratifying.

A corner of Sanada-san's mouth curled up as he followed suit, but Akaya didn't notice it for long because his eyes were drawn downwards. And that was going... Um. Yes. That particular item distracted him enough that he barely noticed Sanada-san was coming towards him until he did feel Sanada-san's hands on him, pulling him close again.

All Akaya's thoughts broke off, lost in a tense gasp, because the feeling of Sanada-san's hands running over his bare skin was shockingly different than it had been clothed. He leaned into Sanada-san for support, only to shiver at the soft, warm slide of their bodies against each other. A faint ah escaped him as Sanada-san's spread hands pressed up his back, pushing him into Sanada-san's chest, and Akaya rose up on his toes in response to that firm touch.

"I should teach you a lesson about teasing, Akaya," Sanada-san said in his ear, voice deep and rich with amusement and intimacy. "But somehow I doubt it would keep you from playing with fire."

"Sanada-san," Akaya breathed, without the coherence to answer further. Sanada-san kissed him, hard.

He was grateful when Sanada-san let him down onto the bed, because he wasn't sure how long he would stay standing without Sanada-san holding him up. Once he was lying down he could let himself twist and arch into the stroke of Sanada-san's hands over his stomach, down his legs, without worrying about little things like falling down. He felt like his body had turned to some kind of liquid, waves echoing out from every point of contact.

Sanada-san wrapped Akaya in his arms and rolled over, pulling Akaya to lie on top of him. Akaya blinked down, and then sucked in his breath as Sanada-san's hands ran down his thighs, spreading his legs wide. He felt Sanada-san bring his own legs up to keep Akaya's open, and heat touched his cheeks. Sanada-san smiled at him, slight and promising, before he wound a hand into Akaya's hair and drew him down to a slow kiss. He felt Sanada-san shift under him, heard a faint clatter, and then felt Sanada-san's other hand, slick and cool, press between his cheeks. He made a startled sound into Sanada-san's mouth, but that hand didn't go any further yet, only rubbed against him, massaging.

The touch was gentle and hard, careful and forceful; it was entirely Sanada-san's touch. Akaya dropped his head down to the curve of Sanada-san's shoulder, feeling the sliding press of Sanada-san's hand persuading his muscles to relax and open, feeling his legs splayed apart, lax, feeling both exposed and wantonly pleased by his position. Feeling, at last, two of Sanada-san's fingers press smoothly into him, and he gasped sharply against Sanada-san's neck.

"You let me in easily," Sanada-san murmured to him. "Maybe I will show you what it's like rough, after all. Another time."

Something that Akaya's dignity refused to call a whimper left his throat as Sanada-san's fingers moved, stroked out and back into him. Skittering flashes of pleasure followed their path, a luxurious stretch of muscle coupled with a sharp tingle as his body worked around them. When Sanada-san turned his hand, twisting his fingers inside Akaya, Akaya moaned and pressed up into the touch. When another finger joined the first two, Akaya tossed up his head, eyes closed, lips parted. The stretch burned, like exhaustion after a long game. The satisfaction in the feeling was very similar.

"Akaya?" Sanada-san asked.

"Yes," Akaya managed, opening his eyes. Whatever was in them made Sanada-san's mouth curve before his fingers stroked Akaya, hard, inside, and sensation clenched around Akaya's nerves like hot wire. He jerked against Sanada-san's body as Sanada-san's fingertips slid over and over that spot, until Akaya cried out. As Sanada-san's fingers retreated and thrust back down, Akaya leaned on his elbows, panting.

"Ah... ah... hhah..."

"So responsive, Akaya," Sanada-san commented, and his fingers slipped out with a suddenness that startled Akaya. Sanada-san rolled him back underneath, and Akaya blinked up at him, dazed.

When something significantly larger than Sanada-san's fingers pushed against him, he focused on Sanada-san's eyes, sharp and hot, and reached up. Sanada-san leaned over him, letting Akaya take hold of his shoulders as he pressed forward. Akaya's breath came fast and short, caught on a choke as Sanada-san slipped into him. Tremors coursed through Akaya, and Sanada-san held still. Akaya, really looking at him, saw the iron control in the set of his mouth, felt it in the tensing of his shoulders. Sanada-san was concerned for him, was holding back to be sure Akaya was all right. Akaya let out his breath on a slightly broken laugh.

Sanada-san looked down at him, completely still for a moment, and Akaya brushed his fingers over Sanada-san's mouth.

"I'm all right," he husked. "It's good."

"Good," Sanada-san said against his fingertips, deep voice soft.

The movement of Sanada-san sliding into him pulled a long moan from Akaya. It was good. He liked that tingle, that almost scratchy feeling of muscles stretching, and the moving, the sliding of something inside him, was like warm oil spread over skin. The slow, smooth strength of Sanada-san's motion pressed him back against the bed and left him trembling. Every thrust pressed more tension out of him, until his body was as lax as it had been when he lay sprawled over Sanada-san.

Until Sanada-san lifted Akaya's hips, a little, and his next thrust drove sharper pleasure through Akaya's body. Sanada-san refused to move any faster, though, and Akaya found himself caught in waves of flowing heat that were just too slow to carry him to release.

"Sanada-san," he gasped, pleading, and Sanada-san's mouth curved in a deeply satisfied smile.

When Sanada-san's hand closed, tight, around Akaya and stroked him, fast, the spike of sensation flung him over the edge. The rushing surge of his body was as much of a shock as if he'd been shoved through a glass wall. The world shuddered around him, and he felt Sanada-san driving into him faster, opened his eyes just in time to see that hard mouth fall open, and something bright and even tender cross Sanada-san's face. The sight made him wind his arms around Sanada-san, as he slumped down over Akaya.

As Sanada-san caught his breath, he rolled them both over once again, stroking his hands down Akaya's back and legs, soothing shaking muscles. Akaya laughed a little, tucking his head under Sanada-san's chin.

"You like to have me here, don't you?" he murmured.

"Mmm," Sanada-san agreed. "And you seem to enjoy being there."

"Lots," Akaya confirmed, stretching happily before he wriggled to get a bit more comfortable. "You have good hands; I like to feel them." He paused. "I'm still going to beat you at tennis, of course."

It felt interesting, to be lying on top of someone who was laughing.

"So," Akaya said, after they were still again, "are you going to show me what it's like when you're rough?"

Another laugh, this one a purring rumble in the broad chest under Akaya's ear. Sanada-san's hands slid familiarly over Akaya's skin.

"Wait and see, Akaya."

End

Temper

Yukimura apologizes to the teams his own injured, and picks up a challenge on the way. Drama, I-3

Yukimura Seiichi paced through the grounds of a school not his own, toward the practice area of a rival team, and reflected that his current errands in Tokyo would probably make a splendid case study of social interdependence. His illness had affected his entire team, and the pass-along effects had been substantial, to say the least. His return called on him to tie up far more loose ends than he would have expected.

Seiichi sighed to himself. Genichirou had wanted to come as well. Or, at least, he had said that he should come. But Seiichi could see the soul cramping discomfort in those level eyes, and had told him it was Seiichi's duty as captain. And then dropped a word to Renji to try and keep Genichirou busy while he was gone.

When Seiichi came to the edge of Fudoumine's tennis courts, he stood under the shadow of the trees and simply watched for a moment. The contrast to his own home courts was pointed. These were well kept, and the players on them energetic and dedicated. But there were only seven of them. No other club members played, or watched, or cheered. No coach stood beside the tall captain, watching from the sidelines.

Well, Seiichi reflected, with a self-deprecating smile, the official faculty advisor for Rikkai's tennis club didn't come anywhere near their practices, either, but from what Renji said Fudoumine's captain had chased theirs off far more vehemently than Seiichi had his own.

He had been aware that Tachibana Kippei was an excellent tennis player. Watching the team he had put together with no one's authority or guidance or support but his own, Seiichi was prepared to call him an excellent captain, too. It made the offense committed against him bite all the sharper, that it had threatened, not only a good player, but an entire team who were worthy of respect.

Interdependence. Without superb opponents, where was the point in being the best? If he could teach that to his little fire-eater before the year's end, Seiichi might call himself a good captain, as well.

At last, he sighed and stepped forward, calling out, "Tachibana!"

"Yukimura," Fudoumine's captain acknowledged, surprised. The heads closest to them snapped around, and Tachibana's vice-captain took a few quick steps closer. Seiichi stifled a sigh.

"If you have a moment free, I was hoping we might speak," he said.

Tachibana's brows twitched up, but he nodded. "Of course." He waved his team back to their practice, and stepped a little away from the fence. "You're recovered, then?" he continued.

"Yes," Seiichi answered, pleasure warring with remembered pain and current annoyance. From the shadow that passed over Tachibana's eyes, he saw all three. Seiichi smiled, just a touch wistfully; he would have liked to be present to have played this one. "And you?" he asked.

Tachibana's expression stilled. "Completely recovered," he said.

"That was actually why I came, today," Seiichi told him, quietly. "The actions of my team were unacceptable; both that Akaya would do such a thing, and that the others would not stop him." He bowed. "I apologize for them."

He was uncomfortably aware of Tachibana's surprise; it confirmed what he had suspected about the general behavior of his team while he was gone. It was a moment before the other captain managed to speak.

"It's well," Tachibana said, at last. "Please..."

Seiichi straightened, aware of the Fudoumine team, frozen on the courts until Tachibana cut a stern look at them.

"A dedicated team can sometimes let their determination lead them too far," he said, voice raised just a bit. Seiichi was rather amused to note the suddenly red faces of about half the Fudoumine team, as they all turned quickly back to work. He was sure there was a story behind that little admonition.

"Indeed," Seiichi agreed, with a tiny smile, answered by a wry glint in Tachibana's eye. "I'm glad you recovered in good time for Nationals. We hope to meet you again, there."

Tachibana's sudden smile was like sunlight after dark weather. He held out a hand, and Seiichi was pleased to find his grip sure and strong.

"Likewise."

Yes, this was a good opponent.

An approaching rustle culminated in a sharp exclamation of, "Rikkai!" A girl, about their age, was standing beside the courts, looking at Seiichi like she had found him under a particularly loathsome rock. If this was the younger sister he understood Tachibana had, he supposed he couldn't blame her too much.

"Ann!" Tachibana said, in almost exactly the tone Seiichi used when calling Akaya to order. Her growl had much more in common with Sanada, however, albeit in a higher register. Renji had mentioned that she was extremely protective of her brother and his people. Seiichi firmly suppressed a chuckle, as she stalked a little further down the fence after a last suspicious look at him, fairly sure she would bite him if he let it out.

"I should be going," Seiichi said, a bit regretfully. "There are other errands I need to run while I'm in Tokyo."

"Of course," Tachibana said. "I hope we'll meet again soon."

Well, that was the warm-up, Seiichi thought, as they parted with pleasantries on both sides. Now for what was likely to be the harder part.

Seigaku's courts were much livelier, and they spotted him coming. His name and Rikkai passed among the club members like wind through tall grass.

One distinct similarity, however, was the speed with which the players responded to the captain's dark look.

He and Tezuka were more familiar with each other than he and Tachibana, and Tezuka gestured Fuji over and received Seiichi's apology to them with no surprise. Fuji was, predictably, somewhat harder to read.

"Please, think nothing of it," he told Seiichi, with a very bright and entirely insincere smile. "Truly, I was pleased to be so instrumental in such a dramatic awakening as Kirihara-kun's. Though I'm sure I can't take too much credit. It must have been building for some time."

Seiichi's eyes narrowed. He had come here to render an apology, but he'd be damned before he stood still to be a source of entertainment for Fuji Shuusuke.

"I was equally pleased to see your own efforts finally become serious," he returned, tone even but clipped. "I trust it will not be merely a temporary advance."

Fuji's burning blue gaze was suddenly much more direct. If Fuji had implied that Seiichi's team was undisciplined and ill-trained, Seiichi had just come within two breaths of calling Fuji a coward.

Fuji had frustrated him at a distance for years. They had met several times, in the Elementary circuit. Powerful opponents were the heart of the game, to Seiichi, and it had been clear that Fuji could be very powerful. His elusive profile, however, had spoken to Seiichi of how little Fuji understood the exaltation of playing with everything one had. He would flash out with some gem of skill or discovery, and then refuse to follow it up. It had absolutely infuriated Seiichi, and after they started junior high, when his forlorn hope that Fuji would either shape up his game or withdraw had been dashed, Renji and Genichirou had had to listen to several extended tirades on the subject. He had itched to add Fuji to what Renji called his collection; had gone so far as to suggest that Fuji would find a place waiting for him if he chose to transfer. Seiichi had been sure that he could draw Fuji's real strength out. But Fuji had chosen to stay with Seigaku, and with Tezuka, and Seiichi had no choice but to grit his teeth every time he saw Fuji play, and accept it.

Nor could Seiichi say, now, that Fuji had been wrong to do so, watching the almost-glance he flicked toward the captain he had chosen.

"It will not be," Fuji answered, light tone gone from his voice, head high. A ripple of surprise ran through the Regulars who had edged close enough to hear the exchange. Tezuka's eyes, though, held only a bright, hard pleasure that showed nowhere else in his face or stance.

Perhaps that was the key, Seiichi reflected. Perhaps Fuji had needed the quiet of Tezuka's demands and the stillness of his brilliance rather than the blaze that Seiichi knew was his own when he set it free.

"We will all look forward to seeing it, then," he said, still a challenge but a gentler one. Fuji nodded, silently, and they both relaxed again.

"You have returned to play, then?" Tezuka asked, gathering the conversation back up with his trademark economy and grace.

"Good as new," Seiichi confirmed, and exchanged a look with Tezuka that glinted with anticipation. They had both, Seiichi rather thought, had enough of convalescence.

"Well," a new voice put in, "if you're all better, will you play a game?"

A muffled laugh escaped Fuji, as Tezuka's brow arched and his vice-captain, nudging back the other Regulars, clapped a hand over his eyes. Seiichi examined his challenger, who was unmistakably Seigaku's first-year prodigy, Echizen Ryouma. Sanada had had a good deal to say about him, mostly about his unquestionable talent and his stunning determination. Akaya, on the other hand, had said very little; merely that Echizen was really annoying, almost as much so as Fuji. Akaya's opinion took on a new edge, in light of Echizen's expression. It was familiar: cocky, assured, eager. Seiichi had seen one just like it last year, when a first-year had challenged the three best players in the club.

"Now I see why Akaya picked things up from you so easily," Seiichi murmured. "You remind me a great deal of him."

Fuji's laugh was no longer quite so muffled, and Echizen gave his senpai a look of Very Limited Amusement before he turned back to Seiichi.

"So?" he pressed.

Seiichi smiled, slowly, letting his focus settle on this one, letting the world narrow and sharpen. From the fire in his eyes, Echizen saw or felt that preparation, and leaned forward. Yes, this one was good.

"If your captain permits it," Seiichi agreed.

Echizen's expression, as he looked up at Tezuka, held neither a plea nor a demand—only the absolute certainty that his captain would understand. It was, Seiichi noted, far more effective than either of the other things would have been. A corner of Tezuka's mouth curled up, slightly, and he nodded.

As they set themselves on the court, Echizen called out to him.

"No holding back, all right Yukimura-san?"

"Of course," Seiichi answered

His first serve sang past Echizen's ear.

Echizen had very expressive eyes; even from across the court, Seiichi could see them widen, and then gleam. Echizen's stance shifted, and he was in time for the next ball. The corners of Seiichi's own mouth quirked up in answer to the delighted grin the boy shot him.

Sanada was right, Echizen was extremely fast, and remarkably strong for someone that small. Seiichi could hardly wait to see him on the high school circuit. More than that, he gloried in the game. Seiichi could feel the crackle of Echizen's awareness and excitement lacing into his own as he raised the level again and again, and Echizen gathered himself each time to meet the new challenge. The first time Echizen took a point, with that curious double-bouncing drive of his, Seiichi laughed out loud, and the sparkle in Echizen's wide, bright brown eyes laughed with him. Seiichi forgot care and convalescence, prudence and measurement, let himself go, and played full out, in love, for the space of the game, with the blazing spirit across the net.

Echizen lost three games to six, but his arrogance was undiminshed as he hauled himself to his feet and looked up at Seiichi, gaze as straight as his back. Seiichi offered his hand across the net.

"Next time you'll do better," he said. A goad, an invitation, a compliment. Echizen clasped his hand.

"Of course," he stated.

Seiichi became aware of the silence surrounding them, even the Regulars standing rather wide-eyed, except for Fuji, who looked reflective, and Tezuka, who gave Echizen a nod of approval, and Inui, who was writing. Seiichi realized that the skritch of pencil on paper was so familiar he hadn't even registered it. He sighed to himself; Renji would likely have a few words to say about playing full out in front of Seigaku's data specialist.

Seiichi found he didn't care in the least.

"I'll walk you out, if I may," Tezuka offered, nodding his team back to business. Most of them descended on Echizen first, who looked downright surly about the fact. Seiichi chuckled as they turned away.

"I take it you still have some reconditioning to do," Tezuka observed, as they walked.

"Mm," Seiichi agreed. "Quite a bit, I'm afraid. This was very useful though; thank you."

"Echizen needs good opponents to teach him," Tezuka said, quietly. "It was as much a favor received as a favor given."

"Perhaps," Seiichi answered. Names hung, unspoken, in the air. Akaya, driven, first by Echizen and then by Fuji, to reach past his easy strength to something truer; Sanada, reminded by Echizen of why they played this game; Fuji, roused at last from his detachment by Akaya's rage; Echizen, now given another goal to chase. Seiichi did not underestimate the need for and value of that last, especially for someone of such outstanding skill. The thought made him smile, though.

"You know, I think you've been replaced in Sanada's affections, Tezuka; he's very focused on evening the score with Echizen, just now," Seiichi mentioned, a bit mischievously.

Tezuka gave him a bland look that declined to rise to the bait. "Should I expect him in Singles Two, then?" he asked.

"Probably." They stopped at the school gates, and Seiichi gave Tezuka a direct look. "We can leave them to it, I think. It's time you and I met in a real game, Tezuka."

The shift was subtle, but distinct; the look Tezuka returned carried a pressure like deep water, and a knife of focus that cut away everything else in the world.

"Indeed," the other captain said, softly.

"...was not a well thought out choice, Seiichi," Renji concluded. "Sadaharu is perfectly capable of projecting your likely progress in the time before Nationals, and you don't really need to give Tezuka any advantages."

"Oh, come on, Renji, I was there to ask them to forgive the uncivil behavior of my team. Refusing a polite request would have undone half my work."

Renji gave him a long, steady look, leaning back in the desk chair. "And you couldn't resist the lure of a talented and passionate player," he sighed.

Seiichi smiled at his friend, entirely unrepentant. "And I couldn't resist the lure of a talented and passionate player," he agreed.

"It's a lost cause, Renji," Genichirou said, from the bed behind Seiichi's shoulder. "You know what Seiichi's like when comes to a good opponent."

"Yes, I do. And you're almost as bad," Renji pointed out, dryly.

"Renji," Seiichi said, softly, turning the other's face back to his. "It was magnificent." He drew Renji down to a kiss, seeking to share some of the exhilaration and joy Seiichi found in matches like today's. He thought he might have succeeded when Renji shivered under his touch and a choked sound caught in his throat.

"A difficult argument to refute," Renji murmured as Seiichi drew back.

"Then stop trying," Seiichi directed. "We're going to play them at Nationals. I'm sure of it."

He gathered up the other two by eye, calling silently for their fierceness to answer his, and when they did Seiichi smiled, content with the world.

End

A/N: I am no longer at all convinced that Yukimura would feel called to apologize for these injuries, any more than Atobe apologized for Tezuka's shoulder. The opponents chose to take the risks they did, even after seeing clearly what Kirihara was capable of, and I actually think Yukimura would consider it lessening his opponents' dignity to apologize. This was my best guess about him at the time, though, and I let it stand as such.

Contrary

Kirihara decides to tease Sanada, and the results are about what one might expect. Porn Without Plot, I-4

Kirihara Akaya was in a contrary mood, and had decided, early in the day, that Sanada-san would be the perfect recipient for it. The team whip-cracker was in exactly the right kind of anal-retentive mood to be annoyed by it, and an annoyed Sanada-san had all sorts of possibilities. Accordingly, he had set out to tease his vice-captain. It was good entertainment for everyone. The first time he had stepped close enough that they could feel each other's body heat, and tipped his head back to cast a look of invitation up through his lashes, Sanada-san's eyes had widened with what might have been panic in anyone less controlled.

Niou-senpai had dropped his serve, he'd been laughing so hard.

As Akaya continued to brush his fingers over Sanada-san's hand when accepting some extra tennis balls, or stretch along the back of a bench as suggestively as he could manage, Sanada-san's expression had gone from startled to harassed to downright bothered.

Akaya smiled as demurely as he could manage when Jackal-senpai gave him a scolding look. It wasn't easy, with Marui-senpai snickering in the background.

It actually wasn't until Sanada-san took a hasty step to Yanagi-senpai's opposite side, as Akaya approached with an innocent question about footwork, and Yukimura-buchou was attacked by a not very convincing fit of coughing, that Akaya realized he was doing this in front of Sanada-san's real partners, and might be stepping on some toes. He let Sanada-san escape in favor of approaching his captain, instead.

"Yukimura-buchou?" he asked, with a penitent glance up.

Yukimura-buchou and Yanagi-senpai exchanged a look. Yanagi-senpai turned a hand palm up, and Yukimura-buchou nodded. Akaya had no idea what they had just communicated, but it was obviously significant. Yukimura-buchou cleared his throat, though his eyes still laughed.

"As long as it doesn't interfere with practice, Akaya," he said, very quietly, patting Akaya on the shoulder. "Just remember I'm not going to save you from the consequences," he warned, as Akaya grinned broadly.

Akaya lowered his lashes to hide his eyes. "Of course not, Yukimura-buchou," he murmured.

Yanagi-senpai's snort said he wasn't buying it. When he spoke, though, there was amusement in his voice along with a certain clinical edge that almost made Akaya rethink his plans.

"Enjoy yourself, Akaya."

Almost. Akaya nodded and went back to work.

By the end of practice there was a dangerous light in Sanada-san's eye, and Akaya congratulated himself as they all got changed. The familiar chatter of the doubles pairs, and the murmur of Yukimura-buchou speaking with someone about exercises for next practice rose and fell around him as the third years left ahead of him.

The only particularly jarring note was the click of a lock being thrown.

Akaya turned away from his locker to see Sanada-san standing at the door. Three long strides brought him back across the room, and he caught Akaya up off his feet.

"Do you remember what I said about teasing, Akaya?" he asked, softly.

Pressed against the length of Sanada-san's body, so tightly he could feel as well as hear the deep, smooth voice, Akaya couldn't hold back a triumphant grin.

"That it works?" he suggested, breathless.

Sanada-san's eyes narrowed. He freed a hand and ran it up Akaya's neck, tracing his jaw with a thumb, combing through his hair. "I think," he said, sounding contemplative, "that I will teach you a lesson about that after all. But not right now."

"What's right now?" Akaya asked, tucking his chin down to give Sanada-san a coy look.

Sanada-san's fingers tightened in his hair, drawing his head back until Akaya arched over Sanada-san's arm.

"Wait and see, Akaya," he whispered against Akaya's throat, and Akaya's breath caught when he remembered the last time he had heard those words. His knees were a little weak at the thought, and when Sanada-san let him back down to his feet he clung to the broad shoulders, gazing up, asking if Sanada-san was serious.

Sanada-san held his eyes, as his hands slid down over Akaya's hips, pushing down the last of his clothing, leaving him bare to Sanada-san's touch. It felt like Sanada-san's hands were charged, electric, tugging at Akaya's nerves as they passed over his skin. Akaya's lips parted on a shaky breath, and Sanada-san pulled him close and kissed him hard before setting him a little away and stripping off his own clothing. Akaya didn't have much time to look, though, before Sanada-san stepped into him, bearing him back against the wall. Akaya's shoulders jarred against it, hard, and a subtle twist of Sanada-san's body put his legs between Akaya's; Akaya could feel the flex of muscles against his inner thighs, and let his head fall back with a faint moan.

The moan returned, unrestrained this time, as Sanada-san reached down, firm hands sliding over Akaya's rear, and pulled Akaya up his body, slowly, until Akaya could wind his legs around Sanada-san's waist. Akaya could feel that Sanada-san was already as hard as he was. Sanada-san's large, powerful hands gripped his rear, spreading him open as they supported him, and he could feel that hardness rubbing between his cheeks, promising. Akaya shuddered.

"Sanada-san," he gasped, legs tensing as he pushed into that promising touch. Sanada-san's chuckle did enticing things, where Akaya's cock was pressed up against Sanada's stomach.

"So impatient, Akaya," he said, chiding. Akaya groaned as Sanada-san moved one hand to rummage in the locker nearest them.

A small part of his mind noted that Sanada-san's choice of this particular wall had clearly not been random, because that was his own locker. The rest of him, however, was almost writhing against Sanada-san's body, because Sanada-san's effortless strength, holding him up, holding him open, made Akaya hotter than he'd thought possible. On the courts, that strength was an irritation and a challenge, the thing Akaya needed to surpass. Here, though, it was a lure, the potential for as much sensation as Akaya wanted, as much as he could take, and just maybe enough.

Akaya shivered as long fingers spread coolness over his skin, gasped as Sanada-san's cock pressed, carefully, into him, just barely inside him, and paused. Akaya's eyes were wide; Sanada-san felt incredibly thick inside him, and the abrupt stretch had him panting already.

When Sanada-san thrust into him, sudden and deep, Akaya heard his own voice echo back from the walls.

Sanada-san drove him up against the wall again, and again, fast and hard, and Akaya made no effort to restrain the sounds Sanada-san was calling out of him, barely registering the bared teeth in Sanada-san's smile. He reveled in the strength that held him, while the rough force of Sanada-san thrusting into him spread a burning heaviness through every muscle in his body. Sanada-san was filling him so hard, Akaya thought he might tear apart from the weight of sensation. Sanada-san drove him open, wider and wider, until the heat seized hold of him, overwhelmed him, snapped like a shock, and he was arching desperately into the unyielding body pressing him against the wall, voiceless as pleasure wrung him again and again.

He collapsed forward onto Sanada-san's shoulder, almost sobbing for breath. He didn't even have enough to moan at how hard Sanada-san still thrust into him. By the time he did, it was over and Sanada-san's hands, gentler now, were setting him down and supporting him as he wavered on his feet. Akaya kept his arms wound around Sanada-san's shoulders, and leaned against him as those hands rubbed his back.

"You make an engagingly appreciative bedmate, Akaya," Sanada-san murmured to him, a bit breathless himself, Akaya was pleased to hear.

"'S no bed," he mumbled. He was also gratified when Sanada-san stifled a helpless laugh in his, now very mussed, hair. He smiled, sweetly, up at him, and stood on very shaky tiptoe to collect a kiss, relaxing into Sanada-san's arms as they lifted him again.

"You may just be the most contrary creature I've ever met," Sanada-san said in his ear.

Akaya's smile was one of great accomplishment.

End

Earth Over Heaven

Yukimura is finally convinced that he is fully recovered, and is beyond pleased over it. Drama With Romance and Porn, I-4

Genichirou was deeply relieved when Yukimura started to hit his stride again, at practices. Renji had assured him it would happen, but that hadn't stopped him from worrying—not least because he could tell Yukimura himself was worried. Worried that after all the pain, and all the risk, he wouldn't be able to regain that last, vital edge. Genichirou had seen it, shadowing his eyes like mist, as Yukimura stood, after practice when he thought no one was watching, flexing his hand open and closed.

So, when that last, gleaming, precision, that whipsnap of muscle and speed, returned and burned away the fog of doubt, Genichirou was deeply thankful.

Even if it meant that Yukimura, finally convinced of his own recovery, had spent the entire practice running the team absolutely ragged in an attempt to keep up with his burst of delighted activity. He had declared it a day for singles practice, and proceeded to cycle through the entire team twice, leaving one after another panting in the dust. It reminded Genichirou of the first time he had played Yukimura, shocked by a brilliance that had defeated him without humbling his pride, fascinated by a charisma that offered genuine respect whether he chose to follow it or oppose it, stunned by a passion that promised to match his own.

Today, it was Akaya, in their second game, who gave in to that passion, and came closer to matching his captain than anyone on the team but Genichirou ever had. Yukimura met him at the net, when they ended, thrilled to laughing, catching Akaya's face in his hands to tell him how superb he had been. Akaya seemed barely able to take it in. Genichirou smiled, remembering the first time it had happened to him, and guided Akaya to a bench afterwards, detailing Jackal to keep an eye on the dazed boy and turning to his own second game before Yukimura's momentum dropped.

He was wearily amused that, by the end of practice, having driven everyone else into the ground and left his team draped over the benches like so many towels, Yukimura was still light on his feet, almost dancing, almost restless.

"Hold still for a moment, Seiichi," Renji admonished, running his hand over Yukimura's forearm as the rest of the team dispersed. Niou and Akaya were leaning on each other, staggering and laughing in a slightly punch-drunk manner, while Marui, not in much better shape, upbraided them for being wimps. Jackal herded them along, shaking his head, but Yagyuu paused to cast a small smile back at the three who remained. Genichirou returned a nod.

"Your muscles are going to seize up tonight, if you're not very careful," Renji informed their bright-eyed captain. "You should let me do something about it, or you won't be able to move tomorrow morning."

Yukimura flexed his limbs carefully, frowning. "It doesn't feel like it," he observed.

"That," Renji told him, "is because you're still riding on adrenaline. You'll feel the strain when it gives out. Although," he admitted, "I'm not entirely sure when it will give out; I would have expected it to happen already."

Yukimura laughed, softly. "I've put you all to a great deal of trouble, today, haven't I?"

Renji's mouth curved in a rare grin. "Good trouble."

Seiichi stepped away, and then spun to face them. "It's all here," he said, and Genichirou's throat closed at the wonder in his voice, "I'm all here, still. Again."

Genichirou laid a hand on his shoulder. "Let Renji take care of you, so you still feel like that tomorrow, then."

They wound up in the converted sunroom Genichirou used to practice sword, as they often did when someone needed a massage. Genichirou had started keeping a futon in the closet, there, and helped the other two pull it out, along with a couple old yukata and a stack of towels, before he left them to it and went to wash up. When he returned, he found Seiichi not behaving with his usual decorum under such circumstances, but stretching like a cat under Renji's hands, and, in fact, purring in low, rough murmurs.

"This would be easier if you lay still, Seiichi," Renji said, with affectionate exasperation. Seiichi took a deep breath, arching with it, and turned over with a lithe twist to look up at Renji.

"I can't stay still," he said, low but distinct. "Not right now."

Genichirou shook his head, and turned to coax the rather recalcitrant old door shut. As he finally slid it into place with a last scrape and clunk, though, a sharp intake of breath behind him caught his ear. He turned back, and was struck still by the image before him in the dim light.

Renji, sitting back on his knees, the yukata he wore to spare his uniform from any oil stains pushed half way down his arms. Seiichi, naked, kneeling over him, hands enclosing Renji's face and lifting it to meet Seiichi's kiss. Renji's hands on Seiichi's hips, closed convulsively. The straight line of Seiichi's body, pressed against Renji's, almost pushing him over backwards, and of Renji's, arched and tense.

Genichirou shook himself out of his paralysis. So, Seiichi was in that kind of mood. Genichirou couldn't exactly call it dominant, though both he and Renji found it hard to do anything but give way to Seiichi when he was like this. Genichirou recognized what it actually was, of course. It was the same thing that came on Seiichi when he played a serious match, the same power and focus, turned to a different end.

It was just as overwhelming here as on the court, however, and when Seiichi lifted his head and held out a hand to Genichirou, he came and knelt behind Renji, supporting him. Seiichi met him with a wild, burning smile and a long kiss. Renji leaned back against him with a sigh that was close to relief. That sigh caught as Seiichi pulled loose the cloth around him, and his mouth traced down Renji's chest and stomach.

Genichirou blinked, and chuckled a little, as Seiichi stretched out on his stomach, propped on his elbows as he licked, delicately, down Renji's length, waving his feet in the air. Perhaps he hadn't ever seen Seiichi in quite this mood, before. His full, raw intensity rarely left room for such casual playfulness. The playfulness, however, was clearly not diminishing the effect of his focus, to judge by Renji's increasingly ragged breaths. Genichirou cradled him, stroking his taut muscles and whispering soothingly in his ear as Seiichi's hand slipped under him. Genichirou could make a good guess at what Seiichi's fingers were doing from the way Renji arched back against him, and up into Seiichi's mouth, eyes blank.

"Seiichi!" Renji gasped, harshly.

"Hmm-mmm?" Seiichi inquired, without releasing him, and Renji cried out, wordless, as that hum seemed to ripple through his entire body.

Genichirou fit his body to Renji's as Seiichi drove him higher, and higher again, eased the curve of Renji's spine, caught him when Seiichi swept him over the edge, and held him close as he fell back. Renji lay in his arms, panting in unaccustomed disarray, yukata hanging loose around his slumped shoulders and spread knees.

"You are demanding today, Seiichi," he murmured, resting his head against Genichirou's shoulder.

Seiichi stretched upright again, and laughed, pulling both the other two down to the futon. The ensuing tussle was very short, since Renji declined to resist in favor of catching his breath, and Seiichi was moving fast and sure enough that Genichirou couldn't prevent being pinned without fighting back seriously. They were both laughing by then, but when Seiichi's hand ghosted over Genichirou's cheek, down his jaw, and Genichirou saw the soft smile on his lips, he stilled.

The three of them knew each other's bodies and moods very well, and very intimately. Even though they had barely started to experiment with, as Renji jokingly called it, grown-up sex when Seiichi had fallen ill, Genichirou recognized the desire in Seiichi's eyes. He reached up to pull Seiichi down against him, and whispered in his ear, "Yes." He wasn't ashamed that his voice was hoarse. It had been so long since he had touched or been touched by that brilliant strength, so long when he was afraid it would never return.

"Yes," Seiichi whispered back, and kissed him. It was gentle, Seiichi was never other than gentle in bed, but it was still very much like being kissed by a tsunami, and Genichirou knew, as if he could feel it already, that when Seiichi slid into him it would be just as gentle and just as wild and just as implacable. Now he understood the helpless edge in the sound Renji had made under Seiichi's kiss; he heard it echo in his own throat, felt himself drifting in the force of Seiichi's mouth on his until Renji leaned against him, anchoring him.

Seiichi's smile was sharper, as he drew back a bit, and fit himself against Genichirou's other side, leaving Renji room. Seiichi's hands, passing across his skin, should have seemed lighter than Renji's fingers as they teased him open, but it was Seiichi's deliberate, fleeting touches that locked his attention and sped his breath.

Finally, Renji drew Genichirou over on his side to face him, coaxing Genichirou's leg up to rest on Renji's hip, and he leaned into Renji's arms. That reassurance was the only thing that kept him from starting when Seiichi's hands stroked over his thighs, between his parted legs, before sliding up his body as Seiichi pressed against his back. Seiichi's hands touched him like ice on a burn, healing and shocking both. But perhaps it was only that he knew what was coming. He heard Renji whispering to him to relax, as Seiichi entered him, knew that he was tense and shivering with the aching heat of Seiichi's presence. He welcomed Renji's touch, firm fingers stroking down Genichirou's length, that kept him from being lost.

The rhythm of Seiichi moving inside him calmed him, even as it fanned tingling warmth through his body. It took feeling Renji's chest brushing his as they breathed together to tell him why. Seiichi pressed into him and drew back in the rhythm of breathing, long and deep as the first breaths of a new morning, so familiar, so necessary, that Genichirou could do nothing but move with it. Pleasure wound through him, the pleasure of breathing after being unable to.

This, too, he recognized, this rhythm, this wholeness, and images flickered through his memory. Seiichi across the court from him, flashing under the sun, brilliant and sharp as a killing sword; Seiichi laughing, the day the three of them broke several municipal laws to play in the large, stone fountain at the park, hands lifted to catch drops of spray; Seiichi standing in the doorway of this room, with a faint smile, calling him back from his solitary training.

Seiichi, leaning over him, hair turned to shadow in the lowering light, the line of his body fierce and fluid.

"Seiichi," he sighed, welcoming that radiant, familiar strength that opened him and called him and roused his body until he wondered how long he could bear it.

"Let go, Genichirou," that soft, unyielding voice said, "we'll catch you. Let go for me."

Genichirou had never been able to resist Seiichi's voice, not from the day he first heard it, and he let it take him now. Let Renji's presence and Seiichi's demand spill through him, fire his blood, snatch him up and hurl him outward, only held by their touch around him, inside him. When the wrenching heat pulsing through him faded, Genichirou was aware that there was wetness on his cheeks. Seiichi touched it, delicately, and tugged him onto his back to kiss it away.

"Genichirou?" he asked.

Genichirou smiled up at him, through the sparkle of his damp lashes. "Isn't it traditional?" he murmured. He watched puzzlement cross Seiichi's face, because they all knew this had not been his first time in any literal sense. But it had been, in every way that actually mattered right now, and he saw understanding soften Seiichi's eyes.

He also felt Renji's mouth curve, against his shoulder, and knew that Renji had known it already. He turned his head to eye Renji.

"Do you ever get tired of being right?" he asked, as conversationally as he could manage at that moment.

Renji's answering chuckle vibrated through both of them. "Do you ever get tired of winning?" he returned. Genichirou pulled a half-hearted glower at him, and it was Seiichi's turn to laugh, the low purr that never failed to make Genichirou shiver.

"A loss here and there keeps the enjoyment fresh," Seiichi noted, stretching luxuriously against the futon.

The glance Genichirou and Renji shared held relief, only slightly tinged with regret, that Seiichi seemed to have calmed from his earlier euphoria. A few moments rearrangement twined them around Seiichi, and he sighed, drawing them closer, and closer again, until the three of them could feel each other's heartbeats. They lay there as full dark fell.

Until Seiichi stirred and said, thoughtfully, "I suppose one can't hang glide after dark, can one?"

Genichirou and Renji both drew back to look, wide-eyed, at Seiichi's perfectly serious expression.

It lasted perhaps five beats before Seiichi broke down laughing.

"You should see your faces," he gasped, waving a hand.

The look that passed between Genichirou and Renji this time was a trenchant one of absolute agreement, before they turned back and pounced on Seiichi, ticking him until he squeaked.

Genichirou knew he was smiling in a way he hadn't for most of a year.

End

Restraint

Sanada teaches Kirihara a lesson about teasing. Or, possibly, a lesson in teasing. Porn With Plot, I-4

The look in Sanada-san's eyes should have warned him.

But Akaya was in a mood. In fact, Niou-senpai was unkind enough to call it a tizzy. Akaya didn't think that was particularly fair, but he was restless, on the edge of agitated; he felt like a cat with a thunderstorm just over the horizon. So he invented new shots with bizarre spins to use against Marui-senpai, and when Marui-senpai called it quits he played against Yanagi-senpai, and even though he lost he took a certain satisfaction in the mild exasperation on Yanagi-senpai's face when he declared that Akaya's game was sixty percent more chaotic than usual, which took some doing.

And, whenever he had a moment between games, he came to brush against Sanada-san or look up at him with wet, parted lips, inviting Sanada-san to touch and take. Akaya wanted something strenuous enough to calm him down again, and even tennis wasn't enough, today. Sanada-san would be, though, if Akaya could tempt him into it.

The look in Sanada-san's eyes really should have warned him.

But Akaya was distracted, and took the glint for simple anticipation, and didn't notice the looks the rest of the team were exchanging by the time practice ended.

"Akaya. Walk home with me," Sanada-san directed, as they all changed and departed, trading last minute critiques and homework reminders.

Akaya agreed, demurely, and spent the walk congratulating himself, and the tight self-control with which Sanada-san quietly closed the bedroom door behind them, and began to undo Akaya's shirt, only made his own anticipation stronger. He was breathing fast by the time the last of their clothing fell to the floor, and when Sanada-san pulled him up off his feet a low sound escaped his throat before Sanada-san's mouth covered his. He didn't think he'd ever be tired of this particular feeling, being lifted up against a powerful body and feeling every line of muscle against his bare skin. The force of Sanada-san's kiss promised the kind of unrestraint Akaya wanted, and he sighed as Sanada-san laid him back on the bed, and moaned softly as large hands spread his legs apart.

Sanada-san leaned over him, one hand stroking down Akaya's body to close around his cock. He smiled at the sound Akaya made.

That smile, the extra curl at one corner, finally combined with the light in Sanada-san's eyes to warn Akaya, but it was really a bit too late.

"Sanada-san...?"

Whatever Akaya might have asked was swallowed in his gasp as Sanada-san settled between his legs and breathed across him, heat without touch. And then there was touch, too, as Sanada-san closed his mouth over Akaya's head. Sanada-san's tongue stroked, firmly, and Akaya cried out, staring blindly at the ceiling as his back arched and his hips tried to flex up into that slick, soft, hot touch. Sanada-san's weight pinned him down, even when Akaya tried to twist as Sanada sucked on him and the wonderful, maddening touch of his mouth turned hard.

Sanada-san shifted, and his fingertips rubbed deep, gentle circles just behind Akaya's balls. Akaya shivered at the tingle and warmth that welled through him. Sanada-san's mouth gentled, too, and his tongue took up the same circles, softer and wetter, coaxing Akaya, rather than driving him, with pleasure. And, just as Akaya's body began to tighten, he drew back, leaving Akaya panting and dazed.

"Sanada-san?" he managed after a moment.

That dangerously amused smile was back. "You should remember, Akaya, that I told you I would teach you a lesson about teasing," Sanada-san said, pleasantly.

Akaya could feel his eyes widening.

"So pay attention," Sanada-san, concluded, and lowered his head. His teeth closed on the inside of Akaya's thigh, and Akaya groaned as he bucked futilely into that sharp rake of sensation, hands grabbing at Sanada's arms. The purring rumble of Sanada-san's chuckle vibrating between his legs didn't help in the least.

Nor did it help that Sanada-san closed his hands around Akaya's wrists and pressed them to the bed before his mouth closed over Akaya again. Akaya was finding, very quickly, that feeling Sanada-san's strength holding him down made him even hotter than being lifted up by it, and he spread his legs wider even as he tried and failed, once again, to thrust up against the slide of Sanada's tongue. When Sanada-san hummed, thoughtfully, around him, Akaya nearly screamed with the sudden electric thrill reverberating through him.

And then Sanada-san drew away again, and Akaya was just pulling in a breath to scream for real, with frustration, when his mouth was covered by Sanada's, gentle and soothing.

"You wanted something to wear you out, today," Sanada-san murmured, against his lips. "And you teased me all afternoon with your willingness in a situation where you knew I would never touch you, purely to inflame me enough that I would wear you out when I did. Congratulations; it worked. I'll give you what you want, Akaya. But surely you admit that turn about is fair play?"

Akaya was admitting no such thing, but he found it hard to deny, either. Sanada-san laughed, and nipped at his throat, making Akaya gasp with the spike of heat it provoked.

"Relax, Akaya," Sanada-san told him, moving down again. "You'll enjoy this."

He was right, despite the fact that Akaya lost track of how many times Sanada-san drew him back from the edge, whetting his pleasure sharper and sharper. Akaya did enjoy, very much, the touch of Sanada-san's mouth on him, first light and then hard, wet and silky and then almost rasping. He enjoyed the light nips and deep, soft bites on his thighs and stomach that made him start and then cry out, trembling, by turns. He enjoyed Sanada-san's careless strength, pinning him to the bed. He enjoyed the almost-ticklish touch of Sanada-san's fingers, stroking his skin, massaging him, rubbing gently against his entrance, but never entering him.

It was that last that finally broke his patience completely, and when Sanada-san started to draw away again, Akaya threw composure to the winds.

"Sanada-san, don't stop!" he gasped out, voice tight and pleading. "Please, don't stop! I need... touch me, please..."

His moan, as Sanada-san's mouth tightened over him again, and Sanada-san's fingers pressed harder, was equal parts relief and burning bliss. The fingers thrusting into him were the last straw, and the tension Sanada-san had wound tighter and tighter finally snapped. Heat wrung Akaya like a rag, and every fibre of his body released, strained outward with enough force to lift even Sanada-san's weight, pulsed through Akaya and dropped him back to the bed, chest heaving as he tried to remember how to breathe.

Sanada-san moved up to lie beside Akaya, smiling down at him. Akaya blinked back.

"Feeling better?" Sanada-san asked. His smile took on a very satisfied edge when Akaya nodded.

Which Akaya found slightly odd, as it came to his attention that there was something quite hard pressing against his hip. On the second try, he managed to make his voice work again.

"Sanada-san? You haven't..."

"It isn't a problem," Sanada-san told him.

Akaya gave him the best You're joking, right? look he could at that moment, and pressed his body against Sanada-san's. "Yeah, it doesn't have to be," he agreed.

Sanada-san looked bemused. "Are you familiar with the word insatiable, Akaya?"

Akaya sniffed. "'M perfectly satiated," he mumbled against Sanada-san's shoulder. "It's just... I like it when you're inside me. When you fill me like that, it feels good." It made him feel protected and supported and appreciated. It was actually a lot like he had felt when he and Sanada-san played tennis, just before Yukimura-san got sick, only minus the edge of competition and plus a definite edge of mind-blowing pleasure. But Akaya was far too tired to explain all that out loud just now.

"Mm. I can hardly deny that it feels good to be inside you," Sanada-san said, against his ear. Akaya smiled. It was nice to get his way.

Sanada-san tossed the pillows against the headboard and sat back against them, lifting Akaya to lean back against him, in turn. Akaya wriggled a bit, getting comfortable on his impromptu recliner, and let his legs fall open over Sanada-san's. He breathed out a soft sound of enjoyment when Sanada-san's hands parted his legs further, gently massaging the lingering twinges out of his thighs.

"Like it when you do that, too," Akaya murmured. "When you spread me open like that."

"Do you?" Sanada-san asked, with a laugh running under his voice. "Tell me if you like this, then."

And those large hands were under Akaya's hips, lifting him and spreading his cheeks until he felt cool air against his entrance. And then something smooth and hard, pressing against him. And then Sanada-san was sliding into him, slow and easy and deep.

"Oohhh, yes," Akaya moaned, letting his head fall back on Sanada-san's shoulder.

"Good," Sanada-san said, deep voice just a bit rough.

Akaya found himself breathing in little sighs at the slow, hard, hot slide as Sanada-san flexed into him and back out, strong hands guiding Akaya's hips out and back into the curve of his own. Released from any overwhelming urgency, Akaya could savor the stretching open and the fullness with each thrust, could listen to Sanada-san's deep groan in his ear as he moved a little faster, a little harder. The rough press inside him as Sanada-san's rhythm broke into quick, jagged thrusts, the sudden heat of Sanada-san's mouth on his shoulder, and, through it, the gentleness of Sanada-san's hands on his hips, careful not to grip tight enough to bruise, caught his breath short. Akaya shared Sanada-san's shuddering sigh, as he relaxed, winding his arms around Akaya's waist.

"Mmm," Akaya commented softly, turning his head into the curve of Sanada-san's neck. "So good."

"Very," Sanada-san agreed, his chuckle just as soft.

They were quiet for a while, as late afternoon sun filled the room.

"So," Akaya said, at last, "are you sure you wouldn't touch me on the court?"

Sanada-san's head thumped down on his shoulder. "Akaya," he said, muffled.

"Up against the fence?" Akaya suggested, stifling a grin. "The tennis uniforms are easy enough to get around."

"Akaya," Sanada-san's voice dropped to something between a growl and a purr, "do you really want the entire tennis club to watch me pin you against the fence and fuck you until you're screaming my name?"

With that voice in his ear, Akaya actually had to stop and think about it for a moment.

"The club you will have to captain in the not too distant future?" Sanada-san added, pointedly.

"Well, no, I suppose not," Akaya sighed. "Not that I wouldn't want you to do it, but the audience could be a problem."

"I think I must have incurred more bad karma than I previously realized," Sanada-san mused.

"Excuse me?" Akaya said, insulted.

Sanada-san tumbled Akaya off his lap to the accompaniment of a faint squawk, and leaned over him, winding one hand through his hair.

"To have acquired the company of an exhibitionist," he explained, between kisses, "who's sweet enough that I don't want to be rid of him."

Akaya lifted a hand to trace the line of Sanada-san's face. "You will, after this year, though," he said, quietly.

"Perhaps." Sanada-san gave him a longer, deeper kiss, lingering over him. "What happens will happen. But don't borrow trouble, Akaya. If our lives go as Renji expects for the next ten or twenty years, I doubt I'll ever quite be rid of you, whatever the details."

Akaya felt his face heat, and bit his lip, looking away. He was not going to do something pitiful like tear up, he was not. Sanada-san's fingers caught his chin, turning him back.

"If nothing else, you keep saying you'll beat me at tennis. And you have quite a ways to go before you manage that, Akaya," he said, smile lurking behind stern eyes.

A laugh drove away the hot feeling in his eyes, and then Sanada-san's hand tightened in Akaya's hair, and a devouring, demanding kiss swallowed the laugh.

"So, Akaya," Sanada said, smile turning dangerous again. "Are you ready for the next lesson?"

Akaya was sure his eyes looked like saucers, as Sanada-san's body pressed him down.

"Sanada-san..."

End

Need

Fuji visits Rikkai, hoping Yukimura can explicate a few things for him. Drama, I-3

It was one week before Nationals began that Fuji Shuusuke visited Rikkai. It took Seiichi a while to notice that one of the people gathered around the courts was wearing a different school's uniform; Fuji could be very unobtrusive when he chose. Fortunately, Seiichi spotted him before anyone else caught on. He had no particular desire to have any of his club embroiled in Fuji's idea of entertainment. He drifted to the side of the court and beckoned Fuji to join him.

His team noted his preoccupation and drifted after him. Seiichi was, in a general way, pleased with their sharp perceptions, and, in a specific way, exasperated with their nosiness, but he didn't stop them yet.

"Fuji," he greeted. "This is an unexpected visit."

"Mm. There was something I wanted to see, and something I hoped to discuss," Fuji said, elliptically. He smiled at Akaya, who bristled back. "Kirihara-kun; you seem to be doing well."

Seiichi could feel Akaya hovering on the edge of a challenge, and touched his arm to hold him back. They didn't need that in the middle of club practice. Fuji met Akaya's eyes for a long moment, and then shook his head turned back to Seiichi. Seiichi sympathized a bit more with Akaya's response, then. The impact of that silent look briefly pushed Seiichi himself over the edge, into the flickering fire of competitive awareness. He took a breath and settled back, examining Fuji with a captain's eyes again, aware of Sanada, tense, beside him. He wondered why Fuji, who normally only provoked those who were threats, was pushing like this.

Fuji, however, was smiling again, a smaller smile, a bit rueful. "Yes," he said, softly. "That's it. That's how he looks at me. Why, Yukimura?"

Seiichi blinked, as he tried to parse the question. 'He' who? Who would look at Fuji like... Then it clicked. Tezuka, of course. Who else would look at someone as strong and unpredictable as Fuji Shuusuke with that kind of measurement and anticipation and desire? But... Fuji wanted to know why?

"You don't know...?" Seiichi trailed off. It was clear in the steady gaze that Fuji, indeed, did not know. "Fuji," Seiichi sighed, running a hand through his hair. Still, he had been trying to wake Fuji up for years, now. Something he suspected Fuji had recalled, too. "I'll try. Come." He waved for Fuji to follow him, nodding for Sanada to take over in his place.

Sanada gave him a look that promised later discussion, and Seiichi stifled a smile. It always made Sanada just a touch edgy when people provoked Seiichi. He led Fuji under the clump of trees south of the courts, where they could watch without being obvious to those playing.

"So," he summarized, briskly, "you know how to provoke it, but you don't know what it is. Or how to answer it."

"I know what it is," Fuji corrected. "But, no, I don't know how to answer it; not from him."

"At this rate, you might just have well have accepted my offer for a transfer, last year. " Seiichi was finding himself a little annoyed at Fuji's assumption that he both could and would explain this thing after Fuji had spent years denying it.

Fuji's eyes slid to his, sharp, and his mouth was tight. Seiichi sighed, leaning back against a tree. That wasn't going to be productive, he knew.

"You'll have to excuse my temper, Fuji," he said, more gently. "It's just that you've suddenly come to me for help after having frustrated me for so long."

Fuji's head lowered just a touch.

"Yes," Seiichi answered the unspoken thought, frankly, "you probably frustrated him just as much, if not more." He thought about that for a moment, and continued, slowly. "And when he finally had evidence that you do understand what it means to play for real, after all, I imagine he asked you for a serious game."

"Yes," Fuji confirmed, softly.

"And he played against you in all seriousness," Seiichi speculated. A nod. "And it scared you, that he wanted you to do the same," he suggested, very quietly. Another nod, this one barely perceptible. Seiichi bit back another sigh. He would not, normally, compare Fuji to Akaya. Fuji was far more deliberate and analytical, and while he had some of the same propensity for violence, he had a far greater awareness of it and had channeled it far more tightly. This stubborn innocence, though, reminded him very much of Akaya.

"I don't understand what it is he wants of me." The words pulled out of Fuji, unwillingly. "I thought it was just for the team. For the Nationals. But it's more than that."

Seiichi waited. If Fuji really wanted his advice, he was going to have to have to come further out of that damn shell.

"He wants us to play full out, not against rivals but against each other," Fuji continued at last, reflective tone belied by his clenched fists. "I understand that he likes to play strong opponents. Even when he played Atobe or Sanada, though, I'd never seen him quite like that before."

"He hopes that you are stronger than he is," Seiichi said, as matter of fact as he could.

Fuji frowned, narrow, blue gaze fixed on his hands as he flexed them. "Ryuuzaki-sensei thinks I am," he murmured. "Or can be. But why...?"

Seiichi rubbed his fingers over his forehead. Perhaps he was grateful that Tezuka had been the one to win Fuji for his team, after all. He'd have gone mad, faced with such hesitance to understand for three solid years.

"We are the best," he stated. "What that means in practice is that it's very hard to find any opponent who can push us hard enough to make us advance, within our own age group. And," he added, flatly, "even in the next there aren't many." He leaned forward to meet Fuji's eyes. "Tezuka hopes that you will be a true challenge. One he has to reach beyond himself to meet."

The lingering confusion in Fuji's face made him want to bang his head against the tree. Try another tack, then.

"What do you want out of life, Fuji?"

Fuji blinked.

"What are your goals?" Seiichi rephrased. Fuji tipped his head to one side, caramel hair brushing across his cheek.

"To find interesting things," he said, at last.

Seiichi didn't doubt that for a second. Fuji and Niou would probably have gotten along very well, in a dangerous sort of way.

"Is there anything interesting enough to get you out of bed with an extra bounce, in the morning? Enough to make it worth driving yourself through pain and trouble for it? Enough that sometimes you think you would sell your soul and mortgage your breath for it, because it's so wonderful?" he prodded.

Fuji's eyes widened, as he watched Seiichi.

"That's what it's like, for us, Fuji," Seiichi murmured. "That's why we're the best. Because the shape of the game is the shape of our spirits, and there aren't words for the glory of a game that demands everything from us. And the only way to be true to the game is to always strive to be more within it." He leaned forward on his knees, taking Fuji by the shoulders, caught up by his need to finally make Fuji understand. "That's what Tezuka wants for you, too. That's why he's been trying to coax you or force you or, for all I know, bribe you to be serious these last years."

The normally bright eyes were blank and shocked, and turned inward.

"Did you feel it," Seiichi asked, more gently, "when you played Akaya?"

"If that's what it was," Fuji murmured. He shivered.

"If you take that path it will probably be even harder for you than it is for most," Seiichi told him, honestly. "You'll run into it, too, the craving for someone who can challenge you, who can share that vitality with you. And those will be few and far between."

Fuji nodded, closing his eyes. "I can see that." He touched Seiichi's wrist, lightly, and Seiichi let him go. "Thank you for explaining."

Seiichi's mouth quirked. "I can't say it was entirely altruistic."

A glint entered Fuji's eyes, and a razor smile curved his mouth in turn. "Good." He stood up. "I said it would not be a temporary advance. I meant that. What I found," he paused, "I'm not sure it's worth my soul, but it's certainly worth getting out of bed. And a fair amount of pain and trouble, too, I think."

"It's a start," Seiichi said, rising as well.

"Yukimura," Fuji was silent for a long moment, "will you play a game against me?"

Seiichi's focus sharpened with a snap he could nearly hear. "I would be delighted to," he said, with absolute truth. The club was leaving for the day; that would make things easier. He escorted Fuji back to the courts.

Sanada took a long look at each of them, and dismissed the team brusquely before moving to the side to call the game.

"He knows you very well," Fuji observed, sounding like he was stifling a laugh.

"This is something we share," was all Seiichi said, already immersing himself in the cool exhilaration of the moment. He felt Fuji's eyes on his back.

Seiichi pitched the game high from the very first serve, pushing Fuji, driving him to show his strength or be defeated immediately. He could feel, in the occasional unsteadiness of Fuji's returns, the other player's startlement, and his mouth tightened every time it happened. Fuji was too used to toying with his opponents, too used to slack competition who didn't raise the level until they thought they had to, too used to playing for the enjoyment of seeing his opponents' realization that it was far too late already. It was precisely the approach to the game that had infuriated Seiichi for years. He had wondered, for a long time, why a player as true as Tezuka allowed it to continue. But if Fuji had really never risen to Tezuka's challenge, before now, Seiichi reflected, what could his counterpart have done?

Well, Seiichi had an opportunity to do something, now, and he brought everything he had to bear on Fuji. And, finally, Fuji broke, broke open and flashed out at him, and it was Seiichi who was on the defensive. He recognized the still lack of expression on Fuji's face, the absolute concentration that had no time for such peripherals, and a fierce smile curved his own mouth.

When they hit a six game tie, Fuji faltered.

"Keep going," Seiichi called.

Still, Fuji hesitated, unnerved, Seiichi thought, by the intensity in both of them and unsure what it would mean to pursue the game to the end. Seiichi let his voice turn harsh; this was not Akaya, who would heed his gentleness.

"Do you want to do this, for yourself? For him? Do you want to be more in this game than a scavenger? A bully? Then keep going."

Fuji's head came up, and his serve whipped past Seiichi like a bullet.

"Better," Seiichi snapped, and sank himself, once more, into the immediacy of play and response.

Fuji won. Seiichi was slightly amused by his opponent's surprise. Fuji was still unused to playing full out, unused to playing on the edge where chance could decide a game. It would likely take some time for him to accept and own both his abilities and that space no one could control. Altogether, though, Seiichi was pleased, and said so as they shook hands.

"Thank you," Fuji told him. "I appreciate this, Yukimura. I should be getting back, now, though."

"And let me regather my team, who are probably peering out one of the second floor classrooms this very moment," Seiichi agreed, with a wry smile.

Sanada growled, and stalked past them toward the building. Seiichi chuckled as heads abruptly vanished from a window. He kept his grip on Fuji's hand another moment, though.

"It's the chance, do you understand?" he asked. "The opportunity to be more. It's something all of us treasure."

"I do understand," Fuji said, quietly.

Seiichi tilted his head. "Do you think this is something you can give Tezuka, even though you're on the same team?"

Fuji's smile returned, slight and thoughtful. "I think," he said, slowly, "it would be wrong if I didn't."

Seiichi nodded, satisfied that Fuji did, indeed, understand. "Welcome home, Fuji Shuusuke," he said, very, very softly.

End

The Continuation of War

A small snafu leads to some practice time between Rikkai and Seigaku, just before the end of Nationals. Drama, I-3

With one week to go before the last few matches of Nationals, it was clear that both Rikkai and Seigaku would be advancing. Seiichi was sufficiently pleased by this to give his team a little latitude when they acted up. He accepted that they needed to ease their anxiety, quite present, however concealed, before they could focus properly. As long as they didn't start any riots, or send his vice-captain into actual apoplexy, Seiichi was willing to be tolerant of their strutting and poking at opponents.

For Akaya to be completely missing when they were preparing to leave the tournament grounds was less acceptable.

"I can't find him anywhere," Yagyuu reported, the last of the team to regather after scattering to seek their errant junior.

Seiichi ran an impatient hand through his hair, wondering if Akaya had wound up on some other team's bus, which had happened a time or two when he was especially caught up in some debate with another player and failed to notice his surroundings. The amusing thing, after the fact, was that the other players failed to notice that they had someone else's team member in their midst. Akaya, when he was fully engaged with something, just seemed to lock attention that way. It had been one of the first signs Seiichi observed that Akaya had the potential to stand among the very best some day.

Sanada, having evidently followed Seiichi's line of thought, flipped his phone closed. "There's no answer," he said, though with an undertone of exasperation, because Akaya not answering was far from conclusive evidence that he was away from his phone.

"...can't find him anywhere, I'm afraid," a familiar voice said, behind them. "It isn't like Echizen to leave on his own."

Seiichi turned to see Fuji rejoining his own team, not too far off. "Echizen?" he murmured. He could almost hear Sanada's teeth grinding, beside him.

His doubles players exchanged looks. "What, again?" Niou wondered.

"It's Akaya," Marui shrugged.

Seiichi sighed, and called over. "Do I take it that your youngest player is missing, also?"

"Also?" Tezuka repeated. Seiichi nodded, ruefully.

Kikumaru flopped back against a tree. "Again?" he asked the leaves overhead.

"It's Echizen," Momoshiro pointed out, grinning, "you know what he's like."

"Not the concourse," Jackal put in.

"Not the east courts," Oishi added.

Renji tilted his head. "Sadaharu?" he inquired.

"Mm." Inui adjusted his glasses, thoughtfully. "Kirihara chose their location last time, correct?" Renji nodded. "Then I expect Echizen steered them to the last court at the back of the grounds; I recall him remarking that it wasn't used at all, today."

"Well, let's go, then," Sanada growled, the look in his eye boding no good to Akaya for putting them all to this trouble.

Both teams trailed in the wake of their captains, and, sure enough, found their missing members playing a lively game against each other.

"Akaya!" Sanada snapped, pushing the gate open. Akaya started, missed his step and then missed the ball. He scowled at the ball, lying against the fence behind him, planted his hands on his hips and scowled at his vice-captain, too.

"Sanada-fukubuchou, that was game point, and you made me miss it!" he said, irate. Then his eyes actually focused on the teams, gathered and watching, and widened. "Ah." He edged a step back from the glares of his teammates. "Is it that late, already?" he asked, a bit weakly.

Echizen was less obvious about it, but his tug on the brim of his cap reminded Seiichi irresistibly of a turtle, beating a quick retreat into his shell. The two truants shared a speaking look, and returned, reluctantly, to their teams. Akaya slipped by Sanada hastily, cast an eye over the others and apparently decided Renji was least likely to pummel him over this affair, because he sidled behind their data specialist. Echizen, for his own part, seemed resigned to being pummeled, but chose the source by moving quickly into Momoshiro's orbit. Seiichi was interested to observe the similarity of reactions, between his team and Seigaku's. Really, it wasn't all that surprising that their junior players had so much in common.

"Akaya..." Sanada started, pausing when Seiichi touched his arm.

"Wait, Sanada," Seiichi said, looking over at Tezuka. "They caused us some inconvenience, but the idea isn't entirely without merit."

He could see the calculation running behind Tezuka's eyes. "Nor entirely without precedent," the other captain noted, in return. Seiichi smiled. This would be useful for everyone.

"I'll call you about schedules, later, then, shall I?" he asked. Tezuka nodded, and fished out a scrap of paper on which he scribbled a number.

"Yukimura, are you serious about this?" Sanada asked, softly. His brows rose when Seiichi looked around at him and smiled, bright and hard.

"Entirely."

He and Tezuka decided that holding this particular training exercise at Seigaku would be best. Tezuka's team was still a bit... tense where Seiichi's was concerned, and, if they wished to take the edge of hostility off that tension, giving Seigaku the comfort of their home courts would help.

Seiichi didn't explicitly suggest that Tezuka arrange for his non-regular players to be absent, but was very pleased to see, when they arrived, that his hints about over-reaction and unfortunate senses of humor had been taken anyway. All the moreso, as Niou had been bouncing, subtly but bouncing all the same, all day, and Fuji looked dangerously cordial.

"You're sure you don't mind giving your opponents such a close look at your play?" Fuji inquired, solicitously.

Niou rested his racquet over his shoulder and bared his teeth in a gleaming grin. "Ah, but that only goes for some, doesn't it? What do you say, Fuji? A match between the unpredictables should be fun, shouldn't it?"

"Possibly," Fuji returned, less cordial and more level. Echizen shot him a very sharp look.

Seiichi tilted his head, considering, and didn't interfere. Fuji had a history of taking rather extreme revenge on anyone who injured one of those Fuji cared for, and Kikumaru certainly fell into that category. But he invariably did it within the parameters of the game. Niou had watched Seiichi push Fuji all out, and would not be surprised by him now. Nor was he likely to mind the score all that much, since his goal, to judge by the glint in his eye, was to prod Fuji rather than to win. Seeing how Fuji responded to that could tell Seiichi a good deal about Fuji's current mindset within the game.

Yagyuu, however, seemed to have other ideas. "Niou-kun," he said, stepping forward.

Niou looked at his partner, brows raised. Yagyuu made a small gesture with one hand.

"Oh, come on," Niou responded, tone scoffing. Yagyuu lowered his chin just a bit, not taking his gaze off his partner. Niou looked at him, at Fuji, back at Yagyuu. "You seriously think...?" he trailed off, staring intently at Yagyuu.

"Yes, I do," Yagyuu answered, quietly.

Niou pursed his lips and bounced his racquet on his shoulder a few times. "All right," he declared, at last. "But only," he stepped closer to his partner, "if you take him instead."

Now Seiichi wondered whether he should interfere. When Niou looked at Yagyuu with that shining intentness he was asking his partner to become very dangerous. And Yagyuu rarely refused him. On the other hand, Fuji was likely the only member of Seigaku, short of Tezuka himself, who could deal with Yagyuu when he really let go. If Yagyuu didn't mind showing himself like that, Seiichi decided, he would let it happen.

Yagyuu's lips quirked with amusement. "Very well," he agreed, and looked over at Fuji. "If that's acceptable?"

"Either will do," Fuji answered, a glint of intent in his own eye.

Seiichi suppressed a smile. Fuji was likely about to get a better workout than he expected.

"Well, I suppose he isn't the only tricky player Seigaku has," Niou observed, "is he?" and his gaze locked on Inui.

One of Inui's brows lifted over his glasses. "Interesting," he murmured, and stepped forward. Niou tipped his head and gave Inui a lazy smile.

"Though I'd like to watch their match first," he added, nodding at Yagyuu and Fuji. "Wouldn't you?"

"Quite," Inui agreed, easily, and the four of them moved toward the courts.

Seiichi felt Renji, beside him, quivering with suppressed chuckles. Seiichi couldn't blame him. Clearly, to use Niou's own phrase, Niou had Inui's number.

Seigaku's vice-captain stirred, looking after the departing players with a tense line between his brows.

"Shouldn't someone..." he started.

"They'll be fine, Oishi-senpai," Echizen interrupted.

"The way those two set each other on?" Oishi said, sharply. His junior gave him the look of someone with a great deal to say who can't quite decide where to start.

Marui snapped a bubble. "You don't get it, do you?" he observed. "Kind of strange, considering you work the same way."

"What do you mean?" Oishi asked, tightly.

"Sure, they set each other on," Marui shrugged. "But they also hold each other back. You really don't want to think about what they'd be like apart."

Oishi's mouth thinned. He didn't reply, though, and one of the other players stepped in.

"I was right, wasn't I," Momoshiro said, looking intently at Marui. "You're the analyst. You don't act like it very often."

Marui traded him a narrow look back. "You should talk."

Momoshiro opened his mouth, closed it, and grinned crookedly. "You want to see about it?" he offered, jerking his head at the courts.

Marui blew a contemplative bubble. "Sure."

"Speaking of your dynamics as a pair," Renji said to Oishi, as another two players headed for the courts, "would you be interested in playing a doubles match against Genichirou and I?"

Interesting, Seiichi thought. Renji implied that Oishi and Kikumaru participated far more equally to create the pace of their games than their reputation suggested. On the other hand, Kikumaru's expression, at that offer, was not the expression of someone who left all the strategy to his partner. He looked, in fact, rather like a cat who'd seen something interesting moving in the grass. After a final, dour, look in the direction Yagyuu and Niou had taken with their opponents, Oishi agreed.

A brief competition of demurral ended when Kaidou managed to defer to his senior and sent Kawamura off with Jackal, following to take the second match, leaving only the captains, Akaya, and Echizen unemployed. Akaya and Echizen, Seiichi noted, were eyeing each other sidelong, and edging away from their captains. He stifled a laugh, and glanced over at Tezuka to see a spark of amusement in his eyes as well. Tezuka looked at Akaya, then back at Seiichi, lifting a brow. Seiichi smiled, glancing at Echizen, and nodded.

"Kirihara," Tezuka called.

Akaya looked around, blinking. "Tezuka-san?" he answered, surprised.

Tezuka picked up his racquet. "Come play a match," he directed.

Akaya's eyes widened, and he looked a question at Seiichi. Seiichi came and gave him a small push in Tezuka's direction, setting his other hand on Echizen's shoulder.

"Go ahead," he said, gently. Akaya's eyes picked up a glitter of excitement, and he nearly skipped off in Tezuka's wake. Echizen shifted under Seiichi's hand.

"Do you want to watch them before we play?" Seiichi asked.

Echizen looked up at him from under the brim of his cap. "If it's all right," he said.

Seiichi smiled down at him. "I admit to some curiosity myself."

So they stood at the fence and watched. Seiichi noted that Akaya, used to the more vivid playing styles of his teammates, and of Seiichi in particular, had a difficult time adjusting to the deadly understatement of Tezuka's game. Akaya knew what was happening, Seiichi thought; he just couldn't quite wrap his intellect around it sufficiently to plan. But the pressure Tezuka was putting on him, at least, was familiar, and Akaya answered it without thinking.

"That won't last him very long," Echizen muttered, in the tone of someone who had reason to know.

Akaya seemed to come to the same conclusion after three games, standing still and looking across the net at Tezuka. Seiichi could see him wavering, wanting to reach for his own newfound strength but hesitant to engage it with a strange player. Seiichi sympathized; it was an intimate and precarious thing, to play full out in a practice match, and Tezuka did not make a show of being receptive to it. Ironic, Seiichi reflected, considering that Tezuka was actually one of the most passionate players he had ever met. From this distance, Seiichi couldn't swear to it, but he thought Tezuka's eyes softened in recognition of Akaya's dilemma.

"Come," he ordered, quietly, and Akaya responded to the familiar sureness, even in an unfamiliar voice. When he served to start the next game, heads turned across the courts, and Seiichi watched Tezuka's expression take on the fierce edge of a serious game.

"Not bad," Echizen murmured. Seiichi glanced down to see a bright grin hiding under his cap.

By the end of the match, Seiichi was sure Akaya had recognized what Tezuka was, had touched the searing fire hidden under the coolness. Tezuka's word of mild approval, as they shook hands over the net, painted the quick blush that Akaya hated across his cheeks, even as his chin came up, proud and challenging.

"Shall we?" Seiichi asked Echizen.

Momo and Marui leaned against the fence, watching the show two courts over. Momo smiled to himself.

"Just like Echizen, to nab a match with the best," he commented. Marui snorted.

"It's really no wonder he and Akaya keep after each other; I think they have a lot in common."

Momo cast his erstwhile opponent a thoughtful glance. "You know, Marui-san," he said, slowly, "all of you are acting really different, today."

Marui cocked an eyebrow at him. "Of course we are," he responded, easily, "Yukimura's back."

Momo blinked at him. That went beyond dependence, all the way to psychosis, in his opinion.

"He... means a lot to your team, then," he hazarded, a bit uncomfortably.

Marui's exasperated sigh produced a particularly large bubble.

"Look, Momoshiro," he said, seriously, "you've had a taste of what it's like to have your captain be gone, right?"

Momo nodded.

"Well, try this," Marui continued. "Imagine for a minute that, before that, he'd spent months in the hospital, on life support, and no matter how often anyone said that whatever was wrong wasn't fatal, none of you could quite believe it, looking at him. And then he was gone for more months, recuperating, supposedly, only you could see him breaking up because it was going so slowly. Just what," Marui stabbed him in the chest with a finger, "do you think that would do to your team?"

Momo did try to imagine it, and had to fight down a sick shudder at the thought of Tezuka-san unmoving on a hospital bed. Marui, watching him narrowly, obviously caught it anyway.

"Exactly," he said, leaning back against the fence. "I'd bet that vice-captain of yours would snap from the pressure, and that Fuji at least, and probably Echizen too, would go off the deep end, and no one would be able to control either of them. Because, in some ways, the composition of our teams isn't all that different."

Well, Momo had known Marui had an eye for analysis, and he'd certainly hit all of that dead on target. He swallowed a few times before he could speak.

"I'm glad for you," he said, softly. "That he's back."

Marui directed a one-sided smile across the courts to where his captain was serving.

"Believe me, I'm glad for us, too."

All right, so Masaharu had to admit that his partner might have had a point. While it would have been a lot of fun to prod at Fuji while he was in the mood to take heads, it was also possible that Masaharu would have managed, by doing so, to incur a much longer-term wrath than would be convenient to deal with. Yagyuu, on the other hand, was letting Fuji take out his snit and providing Masaharu with an absolutely beautiful spectacle in the process.

The scritch of a pencil beside him made him grin. He wasn't the only one enjoying the show, of course.

"Your partner demands more of Fuji than I expected he would," Inui commented.

"Yagyuu is a strong player," Masaharu replied, giving nothing. Whatever this counterpart of Yanagi's could extract from watching the flaring, prismatic brilliance of Yagyuu's destructiveness slipping around and between the colder edge of Fuji's he could have. But Masaharu didn't share that well, and wasn't about to freely add anything to that notebook.

As the game in front of them ended, Inui tucked away his pencil. "Shall we, Niou?"

Yagyuu, facing them across one of the benches, nodded over their shoulders with a smile. "Yukimura-san is playing," he told them.

The heads of both Seigaku players swiveled as if drawn on one string. Masaharu grinned with delight. Yagyuu was in excellent form, today. Dangling a choice between observing Masaharu and observing Yukimura in front of these two was the kind of casual teasing Masaharu indulged in himself, as an alternative to, say, chewing his nails.

It was nice to know he was a good influence on his partner.

When Inui drifted across the path to lean on the fence of the other block of courts, the others drifted after him. Inui, Masaharu noted, was drawn to the greater power.

Yagyuu laid his hand on the fence, and Masaharu watched his mouth soften. "It's good to know he's back," he murmured.

"It is," Yanagi's voice agreed, from beside them. The four who had been playing doubles one court down from them had also emerged to watch Yukimura's match with Seigaku's prodigy.

"Provided he doesn't get too carried away," Sanada added, and Masaharu thought he was serious despite the smile lurking under his cool tone.

Of course, considering what he and Marui were fairly sure had happened the last time Yukimura had gotten carried away, Sanada probably had good cause for a little purely personal caution.

When Yanagi gave Sanada an inquiring look, though, their vice-captain nodded toward Tezuka. Yanagi pursed his lips.

"You have a point," he admitted.

Ah, so it was Yukimura's competitiveness Sanada was worried about. Fair enough, all three of them were insanely competitive. Which made Masaharu watch with a rather ironic eye as Sanada and Yanagi strolled in the direction of Seigaku's captain, presumably in order to restrain their own. Nor could he quite hold back a snort when Fuji, after contemplating the conversation for a moment, followed them.

"So, Tezuka burns hot, too, does he?" he commented.

Oishi stiffened. "Tezuka," he answered, rather pointedly, "doesn't need anyone to govern his actions."

Masaharu cocked his head at the other.

"Someone's holding a grudge," he noted, mouth tilted. Oishi rounded on him, eyes flashing.

"You nearly sent my partner to the hospital, do you expect me to just let that pass?"

"We all know the risks of the game we play," Masaharu shrugged. "Or, at least," he added, eyeing Oishi, "I would hope we do."

"That was an irresponsible game!" the other player snapped.

"You be responsible for yours, and I'll be responsible for mine," Masaharu told him, bluntly. For a moment he thought Seigaku's famously even tempered and moderate vice-captain was about to take that simple truth as a challenge.

"Niou-kun," Yagyuu spoke, quietly, one hand coming to rest on Masaharu's shoulder. "There's a point in what he says. The match played out that way because of my loss of control." He looked at Kikumaru, watching the exchange with dark eyes, and then back toward Yukimura. "I believe I can assure you that it won't happen again, though."

"Really?" Inui asked from the other side of them, sounding merely curious. Yagyuu chuckled.

"There is a difference between losing control and setting it aside," he pointed out.

Oishi was still glaring at them, but Kikumaru stepped in front of him and put a hand on his chest.

"Oishi. It's all right. Not," he cast a sharp look over his shoulder, "that I appreciated being woken up every hour that night. But I understand."

"But...!" Oishi started.

Kikumaru thumped him in the chest. "And so would you, if you thought about it for a second," he said, briskly, glancing at Yukimura. Oishi followed his eyes, and his mouth tightened.

"That isn't an excuse."

"Didn't say it was," Kikumaru pointed out. "I just said I could understand. Now come on. I want to play their other pair."

Oishi, after one last moment's resistance, gave in with a sigh and a slight smile, and let his partner drag him off.

"They're kind of cute," Masaharu said, placidly, and stretched. "So, Inui, you ready to play?"

Judging by Echizen's expression, he was less pleased by this match than their last, and Seiichi cocked his head, inviting Echizen to say whatever was boiling behind his eyes.

"I thought you agreed no holding back, last time," Echizen muttered, at last.

"I did," Seiichi agreed. "And I wasn't."

Echizen gazed up at him, skeptical, and then considering, and then his eyes widened, shocked.

"It was bad," Seiichi admitted. "And extremely frustrating; you'll find out the first time you're seriously injured."

He felt the shiver Echizen suppressed through the hand that still clasped his. Echizen shot a quick look at his captain before he looked back at Seiichi and nodded.

Seiichi was rather amused at Echizen's preoccupation, sufficient that he didn't seem to notice when he took the other half of the same bench Akaya was recovering on. When he did notice, he merely nodded.

"Good target you have," he commented.

"Mm," Akaya agreed. "Yours, too."

Seiichi choked down a laugh, seeing it's reflection in Tezuka's eyes. And then he had to stifle a surge of impatient desire. These were just practice matches, he knew that. He was sure Tezuka knew that, too. And he knew they really shouldn't play each other here, because once they got started he wasn't at all sure they would be able to stop. But he wanted so much to test himself against this one, and there was no guarantee they would play in competition, and he could tell from the shift in Tezuka's stance that he wanted to play too...

Genichirou and Renji came up on either side of him, and Genichirou's hand was on his back, calling for his restraint. Seiichi sighed.

"I know," he murmured.

He could still feel Tezuka's focus pulling on him, though, until Fuji moved, unhurriedly, past and brushed a hand over his captain's arm.

"Tezuka."

The others called them both back, back to being captains rather than purely competitors. Seiichi didn't resent it, and he didn't think Tezuka did, either, as the subtle tension eased back underneath his smooth surface. But he did wish, wistfully, for a chance to have it otherwise.

"So," Renji said, calmly, "if you've finished revealing Yagyuu for Sadaharu's edification, would you care for a match against me, Fuji?"

Fuji stiffened, as if at a threat. Seiichi supposed it had been, considering what long effort Fuji had put into concealing his style and his strength.

"Renji," Sanada admonished, "stop teasing him."

Renji raised his brows, as if to inquire what on earth Sanada meant. Seiichi shook his head.

"Come, now, Renji, where's your patience?" he asked. "If you can deal with Akaya you should be able to deal with Fuji."

Fuji gave him a downright indignant look. Tezuka, behind him, had a hand over his mouth. Sanada gave Fuji a long glance, and turned a hand up.

"Perhaps you'd care to play me?" he suggested, shooting a quelling look at Renji.

Fuji only hesitated a moment before agreeing.

"Excellent coordination," Tezuka remarked, blandly, as they watched the two depart.

"Mm," Seiichi agreed, pleasantly. "It's often useful." Renji merely smiled, satisfied with their successful triple-team of Fuji.

Tezuka checked his watch, and called to the two on the bench, "Echizen! Kirihara! B court."

"Sure."

"Right."

Akaya blinked, looking surprised at his own prompt response. "Even sound the same," he muttered, as he and Echizen collected their racquets. Echizen glanced at Seiichi on their way by, and gave Akaya an eloquent look of disbelief.

"Wait till you hear it," Akaya snorted.

Seiichi laughed, quietly. He couldn't quite tell whether that had been a warning to him, not to stray too far into the habit of controlling Tezuka's people lest the favor be returned, or simply a return on the favor of caring for Tezuka's people. Or possibly both; that sort of efficiency would be like Tezuka. He watched Sanada starting to drive Fuji with the pleasure he always felt watching the very best show their mettle. And watched Fuji taking out his frustration in an unusually straightforward fashion with the pleasure of accomplishment. Frustration was not, however, a very sustainable motivation.

"I can push him over the edge, Tezuka," he said, not looking at his counterpart, "but he will need you to catch him when he falls. After so long refusing to fly, he's afraid of the sky now. Afraid to fly for his own sake."

"I know," Tezuka answered, and Seiichi winced a little at the pain lodged in that deep, even voice. Renji's fingers brushed his wrist, gently, supporting. Reminded of his friend's presence, Seiichi looked around at him.

"Did you actually have someone else in mind?" he asked, knowing Renji would follow his veer back to the subject of match partners.

"I expect Momoshiro to go looking for Niou soon; Sadaharu will be free then."

"Momoshiro and Niou?" Seiichi echoed, intrigued.

"Momoshiro has been showing a steadily increasing tendency to seek out other analytical players to measure himself against," Renji explained. "I believe he's beginning to know his own strength."

"And Inui, hm?" Seiichi added, with a twinkle up at his friend. "Does he begin to know his own strength, too?"

"Yes," Renji answered, softly, giving him a direct look back.

Having heard Renji's opinion, past and present, about Inui's greater facility as a singles player than a doubles player, Seiichi nodded, satisfied. It wouldn't do Renji any harm to remember that side of his own strength, so often overshadowed by Seiichi and Sanada.

"And there we are, right on time," Renji said, looking up. "If you'll both excuse me."

"You know," Seiichi mentioned, under his breath to Tezuka, "I'm starting to wish for a tape of today."

Tezuka's mouth quirked up.

Seiichi considered the day a productive, if tiring one, and his team was relaxed and easy with their opposition when he gathered them back up to depart. Better yet, Seigaku was considerably more relaxed as well, and he exchanged a nod with Tezuka.

Of course, that increased ease had side effects.

"So," Echizen interjected into the parting pleasantries. "If he's the Emperor," waving a hand at the startled Sanada, "what does that make him?" indicating Seiichi himself.

"Echizen..." Oishi sighed, exasperated. Sanada looked like someone fishing for the right words to express his outrage.

Niou, however, blinked slowly at Echizen, mouth curling.

"Why, Kami-sama, of course," he answered, quite matter-of-fact.

Now Sanada looked like someone trying to decide which target to char to a crisp first. Renji, however, was overtaken by a coughing fit that was in no way convincing. Inui and Fuji were both snickering, despite Tezuka's stern look, and Echizen was grinning. If it weren't for Sanada's ire, and the sudden, knotted tension in Oishi, only defused by Tezuka's quick hand on his shoulder, Seiichi might have let it pass; but the vice-captains were clearly neither of them in the mood for Niou's antics. So he touched Sanada's arm, stopping whatever explosion that deep inhalation was the preface to, and pinned Niou with a sharp look.

"Enough."

Niou blinked at the touch of steel in that order, and raised his hands placatingly. Seiichi nodded, accepting. He turned back just in time to catch the mildly impressed look Echizen threw at Akaya, and the 'told you so' grin Akaya returned.

There were days when Seiichi wondered whether he ran a tennis team or some kind of home for incorrigible boys.

"We'll see you this weekend, Tezuka," he said, and herded his team in the direction of their bus.

"So," Akaya said, smugly, as they filed aboard, "do I have good ideas, or what?"

Half the team pounced on him.

End

Credit

This story takes place in a quantum bubble of the Challengeverse (maybe it happened, maybe it didn't), immediately following "The Continuation of War". Tezuka offers Oishi some support after his very bad day. Porn with Characterization, I-3

It had not been a relaxing day for Oishi Shuichirou.

To be sure, practice wasn't normally somewhere he relaxed. But today had had more than its fair share of stress. On top of the general run of keeping the team focused, there was the vastly increased problem of keeping them focused on actually practicing against Rikkai instead of attempting to one-up the other team. The attitudes of the Rikkai players had not helped in the least.

No, that wasn't fair, Shuichirou told himself. The attitudes of their singles players were really quite reasonable, even Kirihara's. Of course, very few people gave Tezuka attitude for long once they had played against him. Well, very few people, aside from Echizen, who gave absolutely everybody attitude, and could actually be considered becomingly respectful, by comparison, for moderating the back talk he gave his captain.

But he was wandering from the subject. The subject was the doubles players, and specifically that Niou character. His partner, at least, had seemed vaguely remorseful about knocking Eiji unconscious, but Niou had brushed it off. Shuichirou felt his teeth grinding, and made himself stop. Again.

He didn't lose his temper very often, but he would have this afternoon. Not even over a direct offense, either, no, it had been the crack about Niou's own captain that had been the last straw, and Shuichirou would have exploded, if Tezuka hadn't noticed. The hand on his shoulder had startled him out of what Shuichirou was guiltily aware was an irrational anger, and the silent support of Tezuka at his back had given him the moment of calm to take a good deep breath and not yell.

It didn't particularly surprise him that Tezuka had quietly fallen in beside him when they all left. He knew Tezuka worried when Shuichirou lost his cool, and he had to admit that the company was welcome, now. Tezuka's company in private, where their long familiarity let him relax his usual reserve and show himself to Shuichirou more openly, would be especially welcome.

At his gate he looked a question at Tezuka and received a tiny smile back. Tezuka would come in for a while, then.

Up in his room he let his bags thump to the floor, and leaned his hands on his desk, blowing out a long sigh.

"I'm sorry about that, Tezuka," he said. "You shouldn't have to deal with me acting immature, on top of everything else..."

Tezuka's hands closing over his shoulders stopped him.

"Enough," the deep voice behind him said, quietly. "No one can keep a perfect temper all the time."

"Except you?" Shuichirou murmured, ruefully.

"I'm just a little better at putting it off until later."

Shuichirou sighed again, more softly, as Tezuka's thumbs stroked down his neck, coaxing away a little of the day's tension.

"I shouldn't need you to make allowances for me," he insisted, though.

Tezuka pulled Shuichirou around and into his arms. "I said, enough," he warned, the warmth and amusement in his eyes belying his stern tone. "You let yourself be more open than I do, and have the problems that go with that. Why should I be unwilling to help you with the problems when the openness is exactly what I need? Both in my vice-captain and in my friend."

Shuichirou leaned against his friend and rested his forehead on Tezuka's shoulder, smiling just a little. They'd had this conversation often enough that he knew he wouldn't win it. Nor did he really want to. He just couldn't help saying so, when he felt as if he was taking advantage of Tezuka's strength. He saw enough of Tezuka's honest emotion and response to know that, while the strength in question was impressive, it wasn't limitless. Tezuka always insisted that it was a more than even trade, though. And, to be honest himself, Shuichirou always relaxed quickly with the reassurance of Tezuka's arms around him.

"Better?" Tezuka asked.

"Yes," Shuichirou laughed. "Better. Thank you."

"No need." Tezuka freed one hand to lift Shuichirou's chin. "Shuichirou."

Hearing Tezuka's dark velvet voice wrapped around his name always made Shuichirou shiver, and his lips were already parted on a quick breath when Tezuka's mouth covered his. The heat wound its way into his bones, and Shuichirou moaned softly. Tezuka kissed him deep and swift, again and again, the way he kissed when he wanted to lay Shuichirou down and open his legs and touch him until he was incapable of thinking.

Tezuka seemed to especially enjoy that last part.

Shuichirou pressed against Tezuka's body, offering his assent, and went willingly when Tezuka's hands guided him down to the bed. Long fingers flicked open his shirt and pants, as Tezuka's lips traced down his neck.

Opened them, but didn't pull them off.

"Tezuka," Shuichirou murmured, shifting under him. It always made him feel a little more... wanton when Tezuka touched him without undressing him first. As if what they were doing was more urgent, even when they went slowly. As if the presence of clothing somehow emphasized how undone and open it was. How undone and open he was, under Tezuka's hands.

Tezuka's fingers stroking his chest were a silent question; Tezuka knew that he was hesitant, sometimes, about this. But it excited him, too, and his hand over Tezuka's, moving it down, was an equally silent answer. Tezuka's lips curved against his throat.

One warm, strong hand slipped into his open pants, closing around him, and Shuichirou gasped, pressing up into it. Tezuka stroked him firmly, mouth tracking over Shuichirou's shoulders, pushing his shirt further off, before wandering down his stomach. Shuichirou shuddered as Tezuka's hands slid down his hips, pushing his pants a little further down even as Tezuka's legs spread his apart.

Tezuka paused, kneeling above him, hands resting on the arch of his hipbones.

"Tezuka?" Shuichirou asked, breathless.

"Your strength is part of your magnificence, Shuichirou," Tezuka said, voice low. "Never doubt that I find you magnificent."

Shuichirou's breath caught in his throat, and Tezuka's smile acknowledged both the flush that heated Shuichirou's cheeks and the wonder that softened his eyes. Tezuka leaned down to kiss him, once, softly.

And then the heat of his mouth closed over Shuichirou's cock, and Shuichirou's thoughts were washed under the abrupt surge of tense pleasure. His senses took over the moment, filling his mind with the rough brush and bind of cloth against his skin, the press of Tezuka's fingers, the sleek, wet glide of his tongue, demanding reaction from Shuichirou's nerves, stroking liquid heat down them until Shuichirou couldn't help but answer those demands with long, deep shudders of pleasure that raked through his body and took away with them his ability to move.

Not, he reflected, a little lightheaded, that this was all that different from the results of Tezuka's demands on the court.

Fingers brushed against his cheek, and Tezuka laughed, softly, that rich sound that so few ever heard.

"You certainly look more relaxed, now," he commented.

Shuichirou looked up at him and smiled. "So do you," he said, quite truthfully. The bittersweet-brown eyes were warm, the faint pinch between the brows was gone, and Tezuka's mouth was gentler than anyone but Shuichirou probably ever saw it. He drew Tezuka down to lie against him, tangling his fingers in soft, springy hair.

"Rest a little," Shuichirou suggested. "You had a long day, too."

"Mmm," Tezuka agreed, winding an arm around Shuichirou. "Good idea. Especially," and the deep voice took on a hint of teasing as it breathed in Shuichirou's ear, "since you'll need your rest later."

Shuichirou flushed again, abruptly aware of his still rumpled condition, and felt more than heard Tezuka's suppressed chuckles.

"Tezuka!" he laughed.

End

Dislocated

Immediately after "The Continuation of War", Yanagi and Inui finally get around to talking about how they parted. Drama With Romance, I-4

As the Rikkai team made their way back to their bus, Renji found himself pausing for one more look back toward Seigaku's courts. He had, perhaps unwisely, let himself be drawn into playing a second doubles match, today, this one against Yagyuu and Niou.

As a pair with Sadaharu.

They had both evolved over the years, of course, but they had also watched each other do so, and, while their particular moves had changed, their coordination was achingly familiar. He had read descriptions of how it felt to have a dislocated joint realigned, and, from what he recalled, it sounded remarkably like what he had felt this afternoon: a sharp pain accompanied by a hard wrench and a sudden feeling of rightness. Despite his distraction by such contradictory feelings, which he suspected Sadaharu shared, they had won.

Actually, Niou's expression of indignation when they did had been rather amusing.

And despite his own knowledge, well borne out, now, that both of them played better in singles than in doubles, he found himself reminded of something he missed. Perhaps, he thought, whimsically, the first doubles partner one really had rapport with was like first love; it always had a special place.

"Renji?"

He started, and looked around to see Seiichi smiling at him, sympathy in his eyes.

"Do you want to stay a little longer?" Seiichi asked, gently.

"I don't..." Renji broke off. For the life of him, he couldn't say whether he wanted to or not.

Seiichi shook his head at Renji, and reached up to take his shoulder and shake him lightly. "You need to settle this, Renji. If nothing else, until you do you'll be vulnerable to the same kind of shock he gave you last time."

Having a solid reason to go along with his ephemeral ones made Renji feel better about the prospect, and he smiled back, bowing his head to the knowledge that lurked in Seiichi's gaze.

"Thank you," he murmured.

"Don't be foolish," Genichirou said from behind him, hand warm on Renji's back. "We'll be waiting for you when you get back."

Renji knew without looking that Genichirou's expression was softer than his tone, and nodded.

After waving his teammates onto the bus, and thinking a little, Renji stationed himself five and a half blocks away from the school, under a handy chestnut tree. It should be far enough that anyone Sadaharu might walk with would have turned off already.

When Sadaharu appeared, and spotted Renji waiting there, his mouth took on a very satisfied quirk, by which Renji deduced that Sadaharu had predicted this turn of events.

"Renji," Sadaharu greeted him, just a touch smug.

"Sadaharu," Renji returned, suppressing a chuckle and falling in beside his old friend. "Do you have your room on separate environmental control yet?"

Sadaharu waved a hand. "I'm waiting until fall for that; my schedule is too irregular in summer to get good results."

One of the things he had missed, Renji reflected, was someone who genuinely took Renji's informedness completely for granted.

"Will that give you results in time for this year's Exposition?"

"The baseline will be a little short, but the lower number of variables will make the entire study much cleaner."

"That must be a pleasant break from the data you deal with all summer," Renji murmured.

Sadaharu shot him a sidelong look. "Data that changes makes an equally pleasant challenge," he countered. Renji smiled.

Sadaharu was a scientist to the core, and had a true scientist's drive to constantly improve and adjust his models. It was a good thing, because otherwise, Renji was convinced, the frustration of attempting to map such stubborn imponderables as human performance in a game like tennis would have driven him mad within six months. The fact remained that Sadaharu was a scientist and looked for patterns that were stable.

When dealing with people, one had to look for patterns that moved, as well.

"And you?" Sadaharu needled. "Still cluttering your mind with the latest novels by Touma Shigure?"

Renji chuckled. "Much of history is written by storytellers," he pointed out. "Comparing a contemporary story to contemporary events allows me to recognize the patterns of reinterpretation when I seem them in historical accounts."

Sadaharu sniffed.

"Oh, come now," Renji sighed. "Don't pretend you don't know the value of including emotional elements in calculations. Not when you demonstrated it so very well at the Regional finals."

"That was different," Sadaharu insisted, as he opened his front door and waved Renji inside.

"How?"

"That was you. It was personal."

Renji paused in toeing off his shoes to cast an exasperated look over his shoulder. For all his finickiness over his data, Sadaharu was as capable as the next person of fuzzy logic when it suited him.

"The most objective observation is always personal for someone, Sadaharu," he admonished. "The observer always has a reason for observing."

Sadaharu, too, paused, in the act of opening the door to his room. He gave Renji a crooked smile.

"You really will make an excellent professor," he said, echoing their childhood nicknames.

"So will you," Renji observed, closing the door behind him. "We'll just be in different departments."

This time Sadaharu stopped dead in the middle of the room, a soft, surprised laugh escaping him. Renji remembered that this was what they used to say to each other when they made plans to work at the same university when they grew up. And to move in together, getting a nice, big apartment in...

"Shiodome," they said, together, and were both still for a moment, looking at each other through a tangle of memory and dreams so dense that Renji felt it like a knot in his chest. He thought about his comparison of first partners with first loves, and reflected that Sadaharu was probably both to him.

It was Sadaharu who broke the moment, turning to his desk to set down his bag. He had always been the one less comfortable with interpersonal nuances. Renji accepted the tacit request to change the subject and went to take a look at the bookcase. The Yukawa and Kaku were expected; the Kurzweil was a bit of a surprise, and he adjusted his assumptions about Sadaharu's English proficiency to reflect it.

He had to stifle a laugh at the two novels by Touma Shigure.

But he did wonder about the couple of notebooks marked Recipes. "Sadaharu?" he asked, brushing his fingers over the spines.

"Ah," Sadaharu said, pulling one out, "a little in the way of biochemistry."

Renji raised his brows. Sadaharu flipped the book open and handed it to him with a faint smile. He read over the lists of ingredients and effects, brows climbing even higher at the recorded effects on other people. When he reached the section titled Penal-Tea he couldn't help himself and burst out laughing until he had to lean against the shelves.

"Sadaharu! You didn't!"

"It operates as a very reliable motivator," Sadaharu said, serenely, only the evil curl to his smile giving him away.

Renji shook his head. "You and your sense of humor," he mock lamented. "Niou was entirely correct about you." He ruffled a hand through Sadaharu's hair, unthinking, and they both froze.

Their old gesture, just as automatic as the old names. Just as easy. Just as hurtful, now.

Sadaharu snatched a deep breath and backed up to sit on his bed, head bent.

"Renji." The low voice was huskier than usual. "Why didn't you tell me you were leaving?"

"I didn't want to think about it," Renji told him.

"And?" Sadaharu prodded, still low but harder now.

"Your tone tells me you already know," Renji hedged. He knew he was avoiding the point, but to speak of it now would make the pain new again, and wasn't once enough?

"Tell me," Sadaharu insisted, roughly.

"And when I did think about," Renji admitted, eventually, "I thought that it would push you away from doubles, and into singles. Where you belong." He could see the muscles along Sadaharu's jaw standing out, and he didn't want to say the next thing, but Sadaharu had asked.

"And I was right," he finished, softly.

Sadaharu's mouth tightened, and he nodded, a little stiffly. "You were always better at people," he said, flat and toneless. "It was a good move, for our games."

Both statements were completely truthful, and made Renji's heart feel like lead. He had known what he was doing, then, but he hadn't understood what it would mean, and he couldn't leave the results to lie where they had fallen. He crossed the room and laid his hands on Sadaharu's straight, tense shoulders.

"I'm sorry," he told his once-best friend. "I should never have done that. Not to a friend."

Sadaharu's head came up quickly, and his mouth was uncertain now. Renji knew he had unbalanced Sadaharu's decision to focus their interactions solely through the lens of the game they both played, had intruded more personal matters back into the issue. But this was one pattern he found he needed to at least try to break.

"Can you forgive me?" he asked, quietly.

Slowly, the tension drained away under his hands, and Sadaharu's expression settled, a little wistful but at ease, and open in a way Renji hadn't seen in years.

"Yes," Sadaharu answered.

"Thank you," Renji whispered.

Sadaharu heaved a sigh, and leaned forward to rest his forehead against Renji's chest, clasping his hands loosely behind Renji's knees. Renji passed his hand through Sadaharu's hair again, tightening his other arm around Sadaharu's shoulders. The stillness this time was comfort, as their memories settled into alignment with their present.

Eventually Renji broke the silence, passing a hand over Sadaharu's shoulder and down his arm. "You really have gotten much stronger," he noted. Sadaharu snorted.

"Chasing after Tezuka, I've had to," he pointed out.

"Is he your goal, still?" Renji asked, curious. Having observed Tezuka's pattern of trying to make his team members aware of the breadth and variety of the world of tennis as a whole, he would be very surprised if Tezuka had not been trying to do something about that.

"One of them," Sadaharu answered, after a pause. Renji smiled down at the dark head leaning against him. Then Sadaharu looked up, an inquiring tilt to his brows. "Is Yukimura one of yours? I've never gotten enough data on the two of you to tell for sure."

"Not exactly," Renji answered, still running his fingers absently through black hair that was becoming more mussed than usual. "I like to match my skills against his, but it isn't from any particular drive to exceed him. It's just that he calls out my best; it's what he does for all of us, really. It's his gift." He paused, and then added, more softly, "He's the one who sent me to you."

Sadaharu tilted his head, mouth quirking in the terribly familiar preface to teasing. Renji braced himself.

"Did he?" Sadaharu asked, tone suspiciously light.

"Yes," Renji answered, warily.

"Well, I suppose I had already gathered that he didn't mind sharing," Sadaharu murmured, as if thoughtfully.

"Sadaharu..." Renji growled, throttling down the urge to blush. His friend's toothy grin didn't help matters any. "Toy with me, will you?"

"Who said I was?"

Renji looked down at Sadaharu, trying to place the expression on his face now. Sharp. Almost challenging. But there was amusement running under it, too, and that wistful edge once again.

"Aren't you?" he asked.

"Merely examining your reaction," Sadaharu defended himself.

Oh, yes, Sadaharu could split hairs with the best. Renji ran his fingers down Sadaharu's jaw, tilting his head up, and leaned in a little.

"And is this the reaction you expected?"

"It was one I considered." The quickening pulse under Renji's fingertips contradicted the steadiness of Sadaharu's voice. "Previously, I had calculated the probability as fairly low, though."

Renji thought back to the knowing look in Seiichi's eyes, to Genichirou's reassurance. If he wanted to do this they would have no problems with it. They knew he would be back.

Did Sadaharu?

Renji raised his hands to Sadaharu's glasses, and Sadaharu let him remove them. Dark eyes gazed back at him with an undeniable edge of desire, but also with an awareness and reserve that told Renji that his friend did understand.

"You really don't mind?" he asked, hesitant for once.

"Anything more would be too much, Renji," Sadaharu told him, gently.

Just because Sadaharu wasn't as good as he was at calculating interpersonal reactions, Renji reminded himself, didn't mean his analytical skills were any less. And he had often applied them to their particular relationship with downright dazzling success. So be it, then.

He set one knee on the bed, and pressed Sadaharu down with a hand on his chest. The other hand braced him as he leaned over his friend, brushing a light kiss against Sadaharu's lips before nipping softly at his throat. Sadaharu's body tensed against his.

"Renji!" he gasped, hands closing on Renji's shoulders.

"You're used to being the one who causes this response, not the one who gives it, aren't you?" Renji murmured against his ear. A shiver answered him. "Do you need that, Sadaharu?"

Long fingers spread against his collar bone, slid down his chest. He lifted his head to see Sadaharu's eyes. They were bright and laughing, the way Renji hadn't seen them for a very long time, as Sadaharu shook his head.

"Not with you," he said, simply.

Renji smiled and leaned back down, tasting Sadaharu's caught breath as they kissed again.

He went slowly, savoring the strength with which Sadaharu answered his kiss, his hands against Sadaharu's skin. Feeling Sadaharu arch under the stroke of Renji's fingers down his chest or thighs, seeing the sleek lines of his muscles tense into sharp definition when Renji pressed his lips to the hollow of Sadaharu's hip, hearing his low moan as Renji parted his legs, these wrapped around Renji tighter than any physical grip could have. Seeing the abandon in Sadaharu's eyes now, he recognized the pretense he had seen on the court for what it was: the shell of this loosed passion. The knowledge that Sadaharu trusted him, again, with so much of himself stopped Renji's own breath. The note of that trust in Sadaharu's voice, when he called Renji's name, even more than the heat and welcome of the body twined with his, drew Renji, helpless, over the edge of pleasure.

It was a long time before he could raise his head from the curve of Sadaharu's shoulder, or relax the trembling tightness of his hold.

"Renji," Sadaharu said, eventually, sounding thoughtful.

"Mm?"

"You said Yukimura isn't you goal; that you don't play like that."

Renji propped his head on one hand so he could see Sadaharu's face. "Yes."

Sadaharu tilted his head on the pillow. "Does that mean you're going to have a problem playing all out against me?"

Renji stroked his fingers down Sadaharu's cheek, silently acknowledging the similarities Sadaharu had seen. "No," he said, softly. "I won't. Seiichi sent me back to you today, and he'll send me back to you this weekend, too."

An appreciative smile curved Sadaharu's mouth. "You have a good captain."

"Yes," Renji agreed, shoving back the shudder that tried to walk up his spine at the memories of Seiichi's absence.

Sadaharu seemed to feel it anyway, and pulled Renji back down to him. "It's all right," he murmured. "He's back."

Renji sighed, and nodded. Sadaharu's arms tightened, and an edge of teasing crept into his voice.

"Can you stay a while longer before I send you back to him?"

Renji laughed, quietly. He'd forgotten how easily Sadaharu could make him laugh. He twined their fingers together and settled closer.

"Of course."

End

Cloud to Cloud

Immediately following "The Continuation of War", Kirihara finds himself somewhat disturbed by the day's experiences, and Yukimura offers him reassurance. Porn with Insights, I-4

The lurch as the bus stopped woke Akaya from a half dozing dream that promptly escaped him. All he remembered was that it had involved cutting a tall chain-link fence. And that Fuji had been mixed up in the project. There were really days Akaya wished his subconscious could just send him a memo. Stumbling off the bus, rubbing his eyes, Akaya glanced up at the sky; clouds were piling up, though it wasn't getting any cooler. They might have rain soon. Time to be heading home.

He didn't move, though, as the rest of the team scattered towards their own homes. Instead he stood still and tried to put the day's events in some kind of order in his head.

"Akaya?" Yukimura-san's voice asked beside him, soft enough not to startle. Yukimura-san smiled a little when Akaya blinked at him. "Worn out?"

"Not really," Akaya shook his head. He was a little tired, certainly, but not worn out. He was in better training than that.

Yukimura-san's eyes sharpened. "Confused?" he guessed.

Akaya bit his lip. That would be it, yes.

"Tezuka-san," he started, "it was... and when you played Echizen..." Why, he wondered, couldn't he put this coherently?

"What, worried I want to replace you?" Yukimura-san asked, lightly.

Akaya winced. Oh, yes, that was right; because it sounded so stupid when he did. Yukimura-san patted his shoulder.

"I shouldn't tease you," he sighed. "It can be confusing. Good rivals are as close as your teammates; closer, sometimes."

That, Akaya decided, was exactly what was making him uncomfortable. He looked aside.

"Akaya." Yukimura-san's hand turned Akaya's face back toward him. "You are one of mine. Don't forget that. Even if you defeat me, you will still be one of mine."

Akaya wanted to let that reassurance comfort him, to let that hint of wildness glowing in Yukimura-san's eyes wrap around him, but he remembered seeing it earlier today. While his captain was playing Echizen. He found himself nibbling on his lip again.

Yukimura-san's expression turned considering. His hand cupped Akaya's cheek.

"If I asked you to come home with me tonight, what would you say?" he murmured.

Akaya felt his eyes widen. He had really tried to stop hoping that Yukimura-san would ever say something like that to him. And when they both let go, on the court, let the brilliance take them, it was enough for him.

Except...

Except that that was the problem right now, wasn't it? He had watched Yukimura-san share that with someone else, today—and found out, himself, that he could share it with someone besides Yukimura-san. He found himself longing for some connection that he knew wouldn't be shared outside the team, like that.

And Yukimura-san was offering it.

"Yes," Akaya whispered, shakily.

Yukimura-san smiled, and leaned forward to brush a light kiss across his lips. "Come, then."

Akaya spent the walk in a bit of a daze.

They reached Yukimura-san's home just as clouds overran the sky, and the wind started to pick up. It still wasn't cooling off, Akaya noticed, eyeing the sky. The wind was warm and heavy with the touch of water, and a flash of heat lightning showed the edges of the clouds for an instant. A soft sound beside him made Akaya look around to see Yukimura-san also watching the sky.

"We're in for a storm, it looks like."

Watching the wind lift and twine through his hair, seeing the dark sky reflected in his eyes, Akaya was struck by the whimsy that if this particular weather had human form it would be Yukimura-san. He looked so at ease, not even swaying with the gusts.

And then Yukimura-san looked at him, and held out a hand, and matters of more immediate concern returned with a rush. He let Yukimura-san lead him inside, trying to calm his heart rate.

Though he was a bit startled when Yukimura-san immediately threw open both the windows over his bed. Yukimura-san noticed his look, and one corner of his mouth tugged up.

"Most of the windows at the hospital didn't open very far; it didn't take long to get fed up with it."

Akaya shivered and nodded, subdued. Yukimura-san came and took Akaya's face between his hands, turning it up.

"That won't do," he murmured, and bent his head to kiss Akaya's lips apart.

Akaya barely noticed Yukimura-san undressing him until he realized that he was leaning against his captain's body without a thread of clothing between them, and released a breathless moan into Yukimura-san's mouth. Slim, strong hands traveled down his back, settled on his hips, moved him the few steps to the bed.

Scooting back on the sheets, momentarily without Yukimura-san's touch to distract him, Akaya felt suddenly shy, and cursed his quick blush once again for giving him away. He looked up at Yukimura-san through his lashes to see a gentle smile and eyes bright with amusement. His captain pressed him down and stroked his hair back, soothing.

"So shy, Akaya? After the way I've seen you tease Genichirou, I'm surprised."

Akaya turned his head away to press a hot cheek against the cool cotton under him. "That was Sanada-san," he mumbled, "that's different."

Yukimura-san's fingers closed on his chin and turned his head back. "Does that mean I can stop worrying about you teasing me?" he asked, lips just brushing Akaya's.

Akaya's breath caught on a faint whimper. "Yes, Yukimura-san," he husked.

Yukimura-san's lips covered his, softly, fingers smoothing over Akaya's ribs, down his hips, feather light on the insides of his thighs. Akaya arched up, shivering, and then sank back, open and yearning under those hands. With his eyes closed, Akaya found it hard to tell, sometimes, what was Yukimura-san's delicate, inciting touch and what was the brush of that heavy wind blowing over them. It only got more so when Yukimura-san drew him up onto his knees and into the path of the air curling through the room.

His captain's fingers brushing his entrance was one touch he couldn't mistake, though, and another low sound escaped him. Yukimura-san held Akaya close against his body and touched him slowly, coaxing and teasing and gentle. Akaya stretched against him, wanting, asking silently for more than this soft stroking. When Yukimura-san's tongue traced down Akaya's neck and over his shoulder, Akaya tossed his head, bowing back over the arm that held him with a gasp, because it was suddenly too much for nerves brushed to hypersensitivity.

"Yukimura-san," he choked, "please..."

He broke off with a breathless moan as Yukimura-san's fingers finally slid into him, a presence spreading him open around itself. Yukimura-san leaned over him, a familiar electric edge in his dark eyes, and the wind stroked his hair across Akaya's skin as his mouth moved over Akaya's chest. The gentle touches left Akaya limp in his hold, breathing in faint sighs as his captain's strength wrapped around him. Silent flickers of lightning painted red across his closed eyes.

When Yukimura-san drew him back up and turned him to face the window, Akaya found that he had to lean back against the support of Yukimura-san's body behind him to keep from collapsing in a heap. That support was as familiar as the demand in the kiss that Yukimura-san turned Akaya's head back to meet, and the compelling pressure that opened him slowly, steadily. Familiar in a new form. Akaya's small, desperate sound, as Yukimura-san slid all the way into him, was caught by his captain's mouth on his before Yukimura-san's lips curved.

"Akaya," that soft voice stroked against his ear, sounding pleased and reflective, both, "you give yourself to me so easily."

Akaya rested his head back on Yukimura-san's shoulder, shivering as his captain took the opportunity to press his mouth to Akaya's exposed throat. "You take me so completely," he whispered, both an explanation and a plea.

True lightning etched the fast moving sky in front of them, and the thunder that followed it drowned out any reply Yukimura-san might have made. Akaya didn't care, because Yukimura-san was moving, now, slow and hard, holding Akaya tight against him. The stretch and slide of it burned through Akaya, started sweat on his skin that only made the glide of Yukimura-san's hands sleeker. The increasing power of the wind washing across them did nothing to cool Akaya; it was still warm, almost skin-warm, and played between his spread legs as lightly as Yukimura-san's fingertips.

Akaya's senses slid into each other. The rhythm of Yukimura-san moving in him matched itself with the rhythm of the increasing thunder, a breathless pause before the echoing shock of each thrust. The hot, tense pleasure licking at his nerves felt like the bright, soundless bursts of heat lightning, flickering from cloud to cloud, building and never grounding. Akaya wanted it to ground, to strike down, to find some bridge of release, and found his voice long enough to call his captain's name, needing, asking. Yukimura-san shifted, harder, deeper, and he spoke into Akaya's ear, voice low and clear.

"Come with me, Akaya. Let yourself go."

Fingers stroked down his length and drew Akaya's pulse and breath with them, wringing out of him like the desperate gasps that wrung free from his throat with each spasm, leaving him lax and panting in Yukimura-san's arms. He felt very much like purring. Yukimura-san laughed, softly, and laid him down, leaning beside him and smoothing damp strands of hair away from his eyes. Akaya smiled and turned his face into Yukimura-san's hand, laying a shy kiss in the palm. Yukimura-san was breathing deeply, the same indefinable glow hovering around him as did after a serious game. He bent down and caught Akaya's mouth with his, somehow both wild and soothing.

"Feeling less confused?" he asked on a teasing note.

Akaya looked up through his lashes with a wicked grin. "As long as you aren't planning on taking Echizen to bed."

Yukimura-san's laughter was bright and rich. "Definitely not," he assured Akaya, chuckling.

Akaya curled contentedly against his captain's side and listened as it began to rain.

End

Fly

Side-story to the Challenge arc. Fuji finally plays a serious match against Tezuka. Drama With Porn, I-4

"If I become a hindrance, remove me from the team." Shuusuke looked over his shoulder with a smile, only to rock back on his heels as Tezuka's hands closed hard on his shoulders and shook him once.

"No. I will not." Tezuka's voice was harder than his hands.

Shuusuke frowned. Tezuka wasn't normally this demonstrative, no matter how angry he got, nor this blindly stubborn. "Tezuka..."

"I will not take you out. You have what it takes to win, Fuji, and you will use it. You will use it, or you will tell me now that you're quitting the team."

Shuusuke's head came up.

"You will not put this responsibility off onto me, Fuji," Tezuka said, so low his voice almost disappeared into the sound of the rain. "I say you can play seriously when it's necessary. If you don't believe that, then you're the one who's going to have to say it."

"And what makes you think that it's necessary against my own team?" Shuusuke asked, sharply.

Tezuka's brows flinched together, but his voice was level when he returned, "What makes you think it isn't?"

Shuusuke shook his head, helplessly. He couldn't; he just couldn't. Not again. "Tezuka, why are you pushing this?"

Tezuka was silent for a long moment before his mouth tightened and he closed the distance between them. Shuusuke stiffened, wondering for one wild second whether Tezuka would actually strike him.

Instead, Tezuka kissed him.

Shuusuke's thoughts dissolved in a swirl of confusion. This wasn't... they had only ever kissed once before, and that had been in jest. Shuusuke had flirted, on occasion, certainly, because it was fun to prod at his friend. In his own quiet way, Tezuka had prodded back, when no one else was around. This was not a joke, not when Tezuka's mouth had opened his and Tezuka's tongue was inviting him. This was serious. For all his confusion, though, Shuusuke liked the feeling of kissing Tezuka just as much as he had sometimes thought he might, and he leaned into it.

When Tezuka drew back it took a few moments for Shuusuke to find his voice again. "What was that?" he asked, at last.

"An answer to your question," Tezuka told him, soberly.

Shuusuke tried several different ways of fitting those parts together before he gave up. "What?"

It was hard to tell, behind the speckles of water on Tezuka's glasses, but Shuusuke thought his eyes turned a little sad.

"Never mind. We should go dry off, Fuji. Come on."

Shuusuke was terrified.

All right, perhaps that was a bit strong, but it had been a very long time since he'd felt this kind of tension. Even longer since he'd had butterflies in his stomach and shaking hands over a tennis match. He spent a moment wishing he'd made time to stop off at a shrine on his way here, and pray for this to go well one more time. He didn't think he could stand losing twice.

Not the game. He'd been losing games to Tezuka for years, quite cheerfully, at least until Tezuka started getting angry over it. Not the game, but the closeness.

Not again.

He'd been resigned, when his family moved, to losing the friends he'd had. He had never, for one moment, suspected that the move, and the new people he met at his new school, and the way their challenges had drawn his tennis out further than ever, would cost him his brother. The shock had almost killed his game for good. But he'd pulled himself together, and forced himself to trust that Yuuta would find his own way and his own strength.

He'd just been a little more careful, next time.

Care was not, apparently, what Tezuka wanted from him, though.

This was the first match he had played against Tezuka since that alarming one when Tezuka had come back from Kyuushuu. Shuusuke had managed to forget, until Tezuka's first lethal return in that game had reminded him, what Tezuka had told him before; he didn't just want Shuusuke to play seriously against other teams. He wanted Shuusuke to play seriously against everyone.

Shuusuke walked onto the court, reminding himself that Tezuka was not Yuuta. Which should be an obvious and intuitive sort of thing, but...

Shuusuke sighed. He could believe his fears or he could trust Yukimura's judgment. One or the other. Because if Yukimura was right, and Shuusuke continued to refuse to play Tezuka seriously, he would lose Tezuka more surely than he had lost Yuuta for a time. If there was any justice in the world, his two fears should cancel each other out; after all, they could not, logically, both become true.

His stomach clenched in stubborn denial of logic.

Shuusuke closed his eyes and took a deep breath, working his hand around the ball he held. If he was going to play seriously, neither fear had any place here. He could not think of his opponent as his friend and captain. Another breath. And another. He opened his eyes and looked over the net to see Tezuka looking back at him... not like a friend and a captain. The brightness in Tezuka's eyes, the smooth tension in his stance—that was more the way he had seen Tezuka look at Atobe, at Sanada, at Yukimura. It helped.

Shuusuke set himself. He had to be ready for a return that would demand effort from him, immediately. He had to be ready to give that effort. He searched for the eagerness he had felt only a few times before, for the focus that only wanted to outreach his opponent. He thought it was there, ready for him, if he could just stop thinking and throw everything into the game.

"Everything," he murmured to himself, tossed the ball up and served. The return left him no time to think, and he felt his body start to relax.

It helped that he had faced Yukimura first. The speed and force of their volleys was not a total shock, and he was almost prepared to plunge into it.

Almost.

He wasn't sure anything could really prepare a person for this, for the shiver of fire down his nerves that said, yes, he could return that, he could drive this opponent back, he could win this if only he let himself burn.

And he did, one return after another, not just waiting for Tezuka's form to break, but driving him to show an opening. The game had its own momentum, played like this, its own rhythm; the pace wasn't in Shuusuke's hands, nor in Tezuka's. They drew each other on, faster and faster, until Shuusuke almost thought he shouldn't feel the surface of the court under his feet anymore. He felt like he was flying, like the fierceness of effort had lifted him up and thrown him forward.

The moment, when he saw the opening for the last shot, when the world crystallized into perfection and he couldn't possibly have stopped the stroke that smashed the ball home, felt like he was breathing sunlight, hot and beautiful and brilliant.

Tezuka looked at the ball, where it had rolled to the fence, for a long moment before he drew himself up. "Game and match, 7-6," he said, evenly, and turned back to Shuusuke. "Your match."

Shuusuke swallowed hard, coming down from the high of the game with a jar. Every anxiety he had shoved aside to play immediately assaulted him again, and he had no idea whether he succeeded in hiding his apprehension as he approached the net. He offered his hand silently, afraid to say anything at all.

A faint smile curved Tezuka's lips. "Good game," he said, clasping Shuusuke's hand firmly. Shuusuke searched his eyes; there was a light in them, bright and dancing, to match the pleasure behind that smile. Shuusuke's knees wobbled just a bit with relief. It was all right. Tezuka didn't resent losing to him. He really didn't, and it was really all right, even if his expression did bear a slightly unnerving resemblance to some of Echizen's...

Shuusuke cut off his own mental babbling with an effort, and fetched in a deep breath. He smiled at his friend. "You too."

The wobble in his voice betrayed every effort to control the one in his legs, and Shuusuke was lightheaded enough that this was terribly amusing. He didn't manage to choke back the laugh, either, and suddenly he was shivering and couldn't stop.

"Fuji." Tezuka's hands on his shoulders steadied him a bit, and Shuusuke leaned on him, trying to get control of himself.

"I'm fine," he assured his friend, aware that the undertone of giggles probably didn't make that very convincing. "I'm all right."

"I know you are." Tezuka didn't go.

Shuusuke took a few deep breaths and managed to convince his legs to support him again. "Did you expect this?" he asked, ruefully. He was almost positive Yukimura had spoken to Tezuka on the subject.

Tezuka raised a brow. "I expected a good game, if you ever chose to play me seriously."

Shuusuke's mouth quirked. There were times it was hard to tell whether Tezuka was answering his question or not. That was fine, though, it reminded him of something else. "You know, the last time we had this discussion, on this court, you kissed me," he noted.

Tezuka's eyes darkened a little. "I'm sorry," he said. "That had no place in our discussion; I certainly shouldn't have done it because I was angry. I wanted... to remind you there are things that require passion."

Shuusuke decided lightheadedness was a good thing; it let him act instead of watch and think and wait. He stepped closer, nudging the bottom of the net out of his way. "Would you like to try again?" he asked, lightly.

Both brows went up, this time. Shuusuke smiled and put a hand at the back of Tezuka's neck, urging him down. There was a certain amount of resistance, and Shuusuke expected Tezuka to be hesitant.

He wasn't.

He was slow and sure, and his arms, around Shuusuke's waist, were gentle. He kissed softly, as though he wanted to soothe the anxiety Shuusuke had refused to voice. Shuusuke's breath caught. Yes, Tezuka had seen it.

The softness was almost shocking, but a welcome shock. Shuusuke leaned into Tezuka, and a small sound found its way up his throat. After the burning flight of the game, and the stunning drop when it ended, he very much wanted something to ground him. This was not familiar. Neither of them had ever acted to see if there was anything beyond the teasing. But it was unmistakably Tezuka he was kissing, and that was familiar enough.

Though the setting could use a little adjustment.

Shuusuke drew back with an annoyed noise. "I want to get this net out of the way," he said, distinctly.

Tezuka's hands found his hips, stopping him. "Fuji, an all out game takes everyone like this, to one degree or another. You should wait until you can be sure."

Fuji burst out laughing, and not, this time, with hysteria. "Tezuka," he chuckled, "for a perceptive man you can be so dense sometimes." This received a rather cool look in response, and Shuusuke shook his head. Trust Tezuka to think first of the game and second of the fact that they had spent over a year dancing around this moment. It wasn't as though Shuusuke hadn't had time to think things over; he certainly hoped Tezuka had, too. "I am sure," he said, firmly.

Tezuka stilled. "Really?"

Shuusuke's lips curled up. "Exceedingly," he confirmed, and closed a hand in Tezuka's shirt to drag him down for another kiss.

This time, Tezuka met him a good deal faster. His arms locked around Shuusuke hard enough to rock Shuusuke up on the balls of his feet. Ah, good; he wasn't the only one who'd been considering it. This kiss was fierce and hungry, and it wasn't only Shuusuke's groan that echoed through it.

At least until the net intruded again. Shuusuke winced, and growled, "Definitely get the net out of the way."

They both pulled back, and stared at each other, silent calculation running back and forth.

"The showers?" Tezuka suggested, at last, and Shuusuke relaxed. He'd been a little afraid Tezuka would insist that acting on this would be disruptive to the team. Shuusuke didn't doubt for a single second that the good of the team would trump both friendship and lust, for his captain. The fingers drawing circles at the small of his back, however, promised otherwise.

"Wonderful idea," he agreed. And it was. It was a Sunday, no one else was around, and Tezuka, thanks to his several official positions, had the keys to just about every room in the school building. Shuusuke was hard pressed not to laugh as they strolled casually toward the changing rooms, not touching. What a delightfully irrational day he was having.

He had not entirely expected Tezuka to help him undress... if help was what it could be called. He supposed he should have, though. Tezuka never did anything half-heartedly, once he made up his mind. He leaned back against Tezuka, purring as Tezuka's palms slid over the hollows of his hipbones, pushing his waistband ahead of them, and reflected on the benefits of this tendency.

One of them was a marked decrease in Tezuka's normal reserve. When Shuusuke pressed against him, under the water, Tezuka welcomed him with no sign of hesitation or stiffness. Well, Shuusuke amended to himself, with a tiny grin, none aside from what there should be. He shifted a little, rubbing his hip against Tezuka, and savored Tezuka's quick breath and the fingers that dug into his waist. Tezuka definitely wanted him; it was nice to be sure. He leaned up to lick water off Tezuka's lips, and sighed as Tezuka's mouth closed over his.

To be sure, it was difficult to keep track of the soap while kissing someone, but they both had good reflexes. Still. Shuusuke tugged Tezuka a little out of the spray, so he wouldn't lose his lather and have to distract himself from the body tight against his to hunt for the soap again. He stroked slick hands down Tezuka's back, tracing skin and muscle, and laughed a little at the nubby roughness of a washcloth over his own shoulders. It was a pleasant almost-scratch down his spine.

Shuusuke's hands reached Tezuka's rear and moved down, feeling Tezuka's muscles flex and tense. Shuusuke slid his fingers between Tezuka's cheeks and pressed against him; Tezuka's teeth closed on Shuusuke's lower lip, and Shuusuke made a low, approving sound.

The sound became a moan as the washcloth moved down and rubbed over his own entrance. The rough cloth made him tingle, and Tezuka's fingers, within it, pressed hard, circling, until Shuusuke's body opened to that touch, just a little. Shuusuke clutched at Tezuka, pushing up against him, and Tezuka's hand settled into small nudges that still made Shuusuke's breath skip. His fingers flexed against Tezuka, and Tezuka bent his head to Shuusuke's ear.

"Next time."

Shuusuke laughed. "Promise?" he asked, voice husky with the tension low in his stomach.

"Yes," Tezuka answered, so unequivocally that Shuusuke knew this was one of the times Tezuka was answering more than one question. He promised that there would be a next time. Good.

"Then yes," Shuusuke whispered.

Tezuka's hand, in the cloth, pressed harder again and Shuusuke wondered for a moment whether Tezuka was going to drive all the way into him with that tantalizing roughness. But the cloth drew back, and Tezuka's bare fingers touched him, slick and fast, and sank into him before Shuusuke's body recovered from the change. Shuusuke groaned as his muscles caught up and closed, working tight around Tezuka's fingers. He was glad that Tezuka moved them only slightly, at first. Shuusuke wound his arms around Tezuka's shoulders and leaned against him as those fingers stroked slowly in and out of him. He wasn't sure whether their kisses distracted him from the sensation or added to it; whichever it was, it was good.

Tezuka's tongue was in his mouth when the fingers inside him curled and Shuusuke barely had the presence of mind not to bite down. Fire flared up his spine, liquid and bright. Again. Again, and Shuusuke jerked against Tezuka's body. Never mind slow. Never mind careful.

"Tezuka," he gasped, rough and breathless, "now."

He nearly howled with frustration when Tezuka's fingers stilled. "Are you sure you're ready?" Tezuka asked.

His voice was admirably solemn, but Shuusuke had known him long enough to be fairly sure he was being teased. "Tezuka," he growled, narrowing his eyes. "I'll remember this."

A slight quirk to Tezuka's mouth gave the lie to his serious tone. "I would hope so."

Shuusuke snaked a soapy hand between them, and closed it over Tezuka's erection, pulling a sharp, uncontrolled sound from him. "Now," Shuusuke demanded.

Tezuka chuckled a bit unevenly, and slid his fingers out with a last flirt that left Shuusuke's knees weak. "Turn around, then."

Shuusuke braced his hands against the tile wall, voicing a pleased murmur as Tezuka moved against him. He breathed carefully, biting his lip as he ordered his body to relax around the hardness pressing into him. Another breath. Another. There was a twinge, and Tezuka was inside him, and Shuusuke's breath left him.

"All right?" Tezuka asked, sounding a little tense.

"All right," Shuusuke assured him. It ached, a little, but the openness and the warmth of Tezuka's hands smoothing up and down his back overrode it.

The openness, especially. Shuusuke pressed back a little; he wanted that feeling deeper inside him. Tezuka took the hint. He dropped a kiss on Shuusuke's shoulder, licked the moisture from his skin on a path up the side of his neck, moved forward, slowly. Shuusuke's breath broke into pants, and he shivered, glad of Tezuka's hands on his hips, steadying him. It felt open and full and hard and, above all, hot. Tingling, sparkling heat, rippling out from that marvelous place Tezuka's fingers had found. Tezuka's hips met his, cradling them, and then he was pulling back. Pressing in. Back. In. Slow and open and hot.

It was overwhelming, and Shuusuke wanted more. He reached between his legs, stroking himself, and moaned at the added layer of pleasure, brighter, smoother. It wound around the hardness of Tezuka inside him, and Shuusuke's hand tightened, quickened. Tezuka matched his movement, and Shuusuke cried out. This was the rhythm he wanted, and his body recognized it, moved with it, quick spasms rocking him against Tezuka's thrusts, driving his hand down. Heat coiled around him, tightened, tightened again, and he felt Tezuka driving into him raggedly, thrust against his own grip harder, felt the tightness snap. The fast, tingling heat exploded through him, and he felt himself bucking against Tezuka, straining into the tide of fire until it ran out.

Little details returned slowly. The tile was cold against his hand. His legs were shaking a bit. Tezuka's arms were around him, holding tight, and Tezuka's breath was hard against his ear. Slowly, they drew apart and came together again under the water, leaning on one another. Neither of them spoke, as they finished washing, trading the soap back and forth silently. Shuusuke didn't mind; he was used to quiet from Tezuka. They dried off still in wordless, comfortable familiarity. Though, again, not total familiarity. He smiled when he emerged from toweling his hair and felt Tezuka behind him, combing fingers through it.

"I was never entirely sure how serious you were, you know," Tezuka said, tone musing. "About any of it."

Shuusuke's smile twisted wryly. "Hard for anyone else to be sure when I wasn't sure myself."

"Are you now?"

"Can you tell now?" Shuusuke asked, half teasing.

Tezuka's hands slid down to his shoulders. "Yes." It was half a statement and half a demand, and maybe a hint of a question.

"Yes," Shuusuke agreed, softly. Yes, he was serious, now. About all of it. The idea still scared him, just a little, the idea that he might not be able to back away from this thing he had found in himself when he let go and played with everything. But it really was incredible. And with Tezuka... He shivered. "Tezuka..."

Tezuka pulled him around and kissed him, a fierce, burning kiss. Shuusuke let other considerations fall by the way for the time being and answered him very seriously indeed. It truly was appropriate that unleashing himself on the court had washed away his hesitation to close the last distance with Tezuka. He rather suspected it was what Tezuka had been waiting for. They were both breathing quickly when they parted.

"Ah, now, this time I understand you," Shuusuke murmured.

Tezuka smiled.

End

Circle

The long awaited last match of Nationals. Drama, I-4

Seiichi smiled when he saw the lineup Seigaku had settled on. He wasn't surprised to have been right, but it was still satisfying to know for sure.

He ignored the chatter of the spectators around him and turned back to beckon his team. They gathered around, in a circle of concentration that shrugged off the excited speculation eddying past them. Seiichi's smile changed, undiluted pleasure added to the satisfaction. It was the last round of Nationals, and they were ready.

"We were right," he said, without preamble. "They put Oishi and Kikumaru in Doubles Two, and Fuji and Kawamura in Doubles One. Renji."

Renji nodded, and picked up the briefing. "They're targeting Jackal and Marui, it's clear. They hope to set the pace with the first match; it's a good move. Kikumaru has the best chance of returning your specialties, Marui. Be careful of that."

"We know," Marui answered for both. His eyes were sharp, but a little distant, the way they got when he was planning ahead, and Seiichi understood the concern behind Renji's hesitation. Seiichi also expected Jackal's faint smile and nod, though, reassuring them that he would be ready to ground his partner.

Niou sniffed, looking irritated.

"Oishi and Kikumaru are a responsible doubles pair," Seiichi noted, catching Niou's eye. "I'm not surprised that they accepted the needs of the team as a whole over their own desire to even the score from last time."

Niou returned his look, expressionless, for a breath, before breaking into a wicked grin. "I suppose it does leave Fuji for us," he allowed.

"Don't ignore Kawamura," Renji told him, a touch sternly. "He doesn't play with a great deal of finesse, but he has the raw strength to break past Yagyuu, and Fuji has the subtlety to save that for a decisive moment. If it weren't for the fact that we need both of them in singles, I would have recommended setting Seiichi and Genichirou against this pair."

Yagyuu's mouth tightened, and he nodded. He laid a hand on Niou's shoulder, as his partner started to say something else. "You won't really have any complaints about this match, will you Niou-kun?" he asked.

Seiichi almost laughed at that not-quite-question. To anyone who knew them, the very evenness of Yagyuu's voice was more suggestive than any insinuating purr, and Niou's eyes brightened at the implicit promise of mayhem.

"Singles will be Inui, Echizen and Tezuka," Seiichi picked up the account, stifling his amusement. "I think we all know what to look out for?"

Renji and Sanada nodded.

"And their alternate is Momoshiro. Which has a certain symmetry, if, as I suspect, he is the one chosen to be captain next year," he finished, raising a brow at Akaya.

Akaya seemed caught between blushing and snorting. "That's the only symmetrical thing. As if they would get far enough to play me next year," he said, settling on his customary arrogance toward outsiders.

"Watch you don't get too relaxed about that," Sanada said, sharply.

Akaya heaved a put-upon sigh. "Yes, Sanada-fukubuchou."

The entire team lightened a little at this byplay, easing into the balance they would need for the matches. It never ceased to astonish Seiichi that Akaya managed so consistently to finesse just the right tone without, as far as Seiichi could tell, ever being conscious of what he did. He hoped that Akaya would be able to manage the change in approach he would need, next year, when he was not the baby of the team but its captain. Now wasn't the time for that worry, though, and he glanced around, gathering up his team.

"Let's go, then."

Renji frowned a little, as he watched Jackal and Marui play. He didn't say it out loud, because it would be bad for morale, but the match was going exactly the way he had been afraid it would. It would be a close loss, but it would be a loss. Kikumaru and Oishi were playing the game too close to the net, making Marui do all the work, and it was distracting him from finding an opening in the other pair's play to exploit.

Renji was aware that Marui had good reason for his self-confidence, and that it was that confidence that kept him from calling Jackal to the front to help. Unfortunately, in this case, that confidence was about to draw Marui one fatal step too far. Renji would have preferred to say so, beforehand, to recommend that Jackal and Marui play more closely than usual, but Seiichi had thought otherwise. He had said their play would be more injured by lack of confidence and discomfort with a change in their style than it would by a close loss.

On reflection, Renji had agreed that overly conservative play had a ten percent higher chance of losing, in any case.

That didn't make it any easier to watch Marui wearing down, or Jackal starting to worry. Or to watch Marui finally call his partner forward from guarding the back, just barely too late to recover. Renji watched the last games play out silently. There were times, he thought, eyeing his friend and captain as Seiichi also watched, expressionless, when he thought Seiichi had a far colder streak than he himself.

And then Seiichi turned his head, and Renji saw the tension in the angle of his jaw and the shadows in his eyes, and changed his mind.

Seiichi stood as Marui and Jackal came off the court, and held out a hand to welcome them back. Jackal's shoulders straightened a little at that, but Marui dropped his eyes.

"Enough of that," Seiichi said, gently. "You did well."

"I got rattled and missed my judgment," Marui contradicted, frowning. "We could have taken them, if I'd just closed our formation up sooner!"

Seiichi suddenly had the waiting tension in every line of him that Renji saw whenever Seiichi had spotted a chance to hammer through his opponent's defenses and was letting it come to him.

Jackal closed a hand on Marui's wrist. "Bunta," he said, quietly, "are we a doubles pair or not?"

Marui looked up at him, eyes blank and wide. His mouth opened on what Renji calculated was almost certainly an Of course we are, and closed again. After a long moment, Marui smiled, a small, tilted smile more serious than he usually let anyone see.

"Yeah, we are," he said.

"Good," Seiichi told them, briskly. "Then you can both work to redress this weakness. Very few pairs will be good enough to put that kind of pressure on Marui, but you need to be prepared to shift the way you support each other when it does happen. Trust each other enough to break your usual style when it's holding you back."

Jackal and Marui both nodded.

"I'll expect to see you take them, next time," Seiichi said, smile sharp and uncompromising.

Renji, satisfied that Seiichi had those two well in hand, looked over at Seigaku. Kikumaru was still bouncing, despite his obvious exhaustion. He had driven himself very hard, to seal off Marui's trickiest shots. Oishi was watching him, apparently waiting out the enthusiasm before trying to get his partner to actually rest. Wise man, Renji decided. Fuji and Kawamura were getting ready.

Renji checked Yagyuu and Niou's preparations, and nodded, pleased. Yagyuu held his head just the little bit higher that meant he was ready to play without restraint. Niou was bouncing, just slightly, on the balls of his feet. Renji looked back at Seigaku and caught Sadaharu's eye.

Sadaharu adjusted his glasses with the elegant deliberation that said he conceded some point of argument to Renji. Renji smiled. So, Sadaharu knew how the next match was likely to go, too. They both folded their arms and turned toward the court as the Doubles One pairs were called forward.

"Niou, Yagyuu," Yukimura spoke as they passed. Masaharu really hoped he wasn't about to say anything that would discourage Yagyuu from the lovely edge he had going.

"I don't want to see any injuries today. That said, consider who you're playing and defend yourselves as you see fit."

The dark eyes were sharp and demanding, but they were used to that, and Masaharu's mouth quirked as he looked over at Fuji and Kawamura. Even if he'd never watched Fuji play, he'd have had some idea what Yukimura meant. Yukimura liked Fuji, as a player. Yukimura liked things that were dangerous. As logical progressions went, this one was extremely simple.

"We will use all necessary caution, Yukimura-san," Yagyuu assured their captain. Yukimura nodded, releasing them, and Masaharu couldn't help a thin smile as they met their opponents at the net. Fuji still didn't like them much, if the glint in his eye was anything to go by; that was just fine.

Sure enough, Fuji started things off in high key with that tricky underserve of his. Masaharu stood still and watched its course before turning to nod over his shoulder to Yagyuu. The range of variation on that ball was wide. Even Yagyuu would have a low chance of catching it, unless something gave him a clue where it was headed. Masaharu moved with the next serve, focused down and moved with the ball, trusting Yagyuu's sense of his partner's position to let him track the ball by Masaharu's movement. Masaharu smiled again, as the ball went singing back over the net. He did so enjoy frustrating people, and this promised to be a good day.

They worked through Fuji's favorite moves one by one. Masaharu stayed at the net to give him a couple inviting smashes while Yagyuu fell back to the baseline to catch the Drop. Fuji's eyes narrowed. Masaharu moved even closer to the net to catch Fuji's Swallow before it could land. Fuji's mouth twitched at one corner. Kawamura anchored his positions well, but Masaharu left his returns to Yagyuu, and kept his focus on Fuji. He could feel Yanagi's disapproving look, and it was with great difficulty that he restrained himself from winking at his teammate. If he also managed to take in the Great Master of all Data, it would be a nice bonus; it didn't happen very often.

Wind touched the back of Masaharu's neck, and he let himself bare his teeth at Fuji, daring him. A spark snapped in those burning blue eyes, and Masaharu set himself. Sure enough, this ball swept up, just out of his reach. He heard it land behind him. Held his breath, timing it. Fell away to the side, as Yagyuu cut in front of him and swatted the returning ball out of the air, spiking it over the net.

Kawamura barely caught it, as Fuji wavered, slow to shift his own focus from Masaharu, who had held it the entire match, and Yagyuu hammered a return between their opponents, securing the game.

Masaharu stretched, pleased. It had worked like a charm. He'd watched Fuji play several times, now, and had decided that Fuji's temper was every bit as vicious as Akaya's. It was just far better controlled. He'd mentioned to Yagyuu that, when Fuji was angry, everything else became locked out of his attention. His partner hadn't been especially pleased that Masaharu wanted to be the one to bait Fuji, but he'd finally agreed that it was the best division of forces.

"Talk about holding a grudge," Masaharu called to Fuji, lazily. "You ever let anyone even their own scores? Anybody ever tell you you have a Messiah complex?"

Fuji came very close to snarling at him, before Kawamura drew him back, speaking softly.

Now, Masaharu let his eyes cross Yanagi's, as he turned. Yanagi had a sardonic smile on his face, and nodded once, agreeing that, yes, Masaharu had had him going for a little while.

One last touch to go.

The fact was, Masaharu mused as they waited for their opportunity, Fuji was a stronger player than either he or Yagyuu. But he was new enough to his real strength that he tended to fall back on his bag of tricks, instead, his established counters. His long-standing style was a mix of subtle head games and brutal, game breaking shots.

Masaharu could identify.

And that, of course, was what made this particular trick work. If he were calmer, Fuji would know that Yagyuu was the greater threat, but he had been used, for so long, to being the most dangerous thing on the court that his first instinct was to be most wary of the one who was most like him. If Fuji figured all that out, Masaharu doubted he would ever be able to take Fuji again. In the meantime, though, Masaharu thought, seeing the coup de grace coming, they had the upper hand.

Yagyuu set it up with a Laser. And Fuji fell back, letting Kawamura catch and return it with that stunning Dash Hadoukyuu of his.

Masaharu and Yagyuu both stayed exactly where they were, letting the ball sizzle past without attempting to return it. A murmur went up from the watchers, the same shock that he saw in their opponents' faces. Masaharu caught Fuji's eye, and shrugged, smiling. He could see Fuji's jaw set from across the court.

Because he knew, and now Fuji knew he knew, that Fuji always acted to protect his teammates. He wouldn't allow Kawamura to injure himself by trying a shot like that twice. The sacrifice of a point, even if it meant the sacrifice of a game, as this one did, was worth it when it went that last step to unsettle the other pair's strategist. If Fuji had moved fast enough to turn that around on Yagyuu, Seigaku would probably have taken Doubles One, also.

But it wasn't happening today.

Masaharu was deeply tempted to throw Kikumaru's favorite saying at Fuji, as they shook hands at the end of the match, but Yagyuu had obviously gauged his mood, and murmured a warning, "Niou-kun." So Masaharu restrained himself.

"Spoil-sport," he said, very softly, to his partner as they moved back to their benches.

"What?" Yagyuu asked, with the faint smile that said he was teasing. "Am I not enough for you? You want to prod Fuji until he explodes for your edification, too?"

"No such thing," Masaharu defended himself, pleased with his partner's smooth presence beside him, relaxed and powerful in the wake of the match. "His edge is much too brittle."

Yagyuu chuckled softly, as they came to Yukimura.

"Very good," was all their captain said, but his tone was just as pleased as Masaharu felt.

Masaharu spared Yanagi an especially smug smile, as they switched places, which Yanagi, typically, declined to acknowledge.

Or perhaps he was actually preoccupied, this time. He stood next to Yukimura, tapping the edge of his racquet against his hand, looking very thoughtful. In fact, any more thoughtful and Masaharu would have to call him troubled and he thought they'd had enough of that.

"What is this, Yanagi?" he called. When Yanagi turned, Masaharu gave him his best wolfish grin, the one that made opponents start backing away. "Are you the Master, or aren't you?" he demanded.

Yanagi regarded him evenly for a long moment, and a sharp smile curved his mouth. "Yes, Niou. I am."

Masaharu settled back, satisfied, as Yanagi stepped onto the court. Generally, Yanagi was the least fun of any of his teammates to watch, but lack of confidence would only make someone like him more boring. The players exchanged few words at the net. Masaharu supposed they didn't need many for this little rematch. The handclasp looked friendly.

The smiles, on the other hand, looked rather bloodthirsty. Well, whatever worked for them.

And then Yanagi set himself to serve, and Masaharu sat upright.

"Your eyes are gleaming all of a sudden, Niou," Yagyuu observed, dryly.

"Look at him," Masaharu murmured.

With each breath, it seemed that one kind of tension washed out of Yanagi, and another took its place. He was absolutely still, but that stillness seemed to contain all possible movement. Masaharu's lips drew back off his teeth. He'd seen Yanagi do this before, against Sanada a couple times, against Masaharu himself a couple times.

"What... what is he doing?" Akaya asked, softly, frowning at Yanagi.

"He's modeling the game," Masaharu answered. "All of it. Every way he can see that it might go. And a little more."

Akaya turned the frown on him, and Masaharu laughed.

"He's keeping a space open, in his head, for the unforeseen. Like calculating with an infinite thrown in." Masaharu sighed. "I've never been able to take a single, damn point off him when he gets like that."

Akaya thought about that for a moment, and shivered. Masaharu could sympathize; it was pretty unnerving, especially when you were right on the other end of it. He looked at Inui's tight smile, and decided the Seigaku player knew what was happening.

It was a brilliant match, Masaharu had to admit. Not the kind he usually enjoyed most, but the tearing speed, and cutting precision, combined with that sense of the real game happening somewhere in the players' heads before either of them touched the ball, rushing ahead of the actual moves in starbursts of possibility, was breathtaking. It was also a close match. Yanagi managed to open it up to a two game difference only once, and Inui closed it again, quickly. Masaharu thought he might know, now, why Yukimura was so pleased that Yanagi wanted to play Inui again. Seeing a single style matched against itself, he saw how these two drove each other to find and hone the flashes of vision and analysis that had probably led them both to choose this style in the first place.

He decided, again, that Yukimura had a ruthless streak to top either Sanada's or Yanagi's, when it came to making his players stronger. And to think, he'd almost forgotten, while his captain was gone...

This match, Yanagi won, though both players looked satisfied, as they met at the net again, smiling and breathless. Yanagi said something that actually made Inui laugh, and they parted again, back to their teams. Yanagi returned Yukimura's satisfied look with a serene expression, and touched Sanada's shoulder as he stepped forward.

"Enjoy yourself, Genichirou."

Genichirou's mouth quirked as he heard Yanagi's words. Yes, he told his friend with a sidelong look, he wouldn't get distracted by assumptions this time, as he had last time. The curl of Yukimura's lips, as he looked up at his vice-captain, said he knew what Genichirou was thinking. Genichirou stifled a sigh. Not that it was surprising; the last time he'd gotten a shock that bad, it had been at Yukimura's hands.

"Pace yourself, Sanada," Yukimura told him, eyes turning serious again. "You aren't used to letting yourself go completely, the way Echizen does."

"I haven't played you this long for nothing," Genichirou murmured.

"No," Yukimura agreed. "But I'm your captain; you expect it of me."

Genichirou snorted. "Expecting anything of that one seems to be an invitation to disaster," he noted.

Yukimura laughed. "You'll be fine," he declared.

Genichirou met Echizen at the net, and the boy eyed him from under the brim of his cap with a cocky smile.

"Ready to lose again?" he asked.

Genichirou's eyes narrowed, and the only thing that kept his teeth from grinding was the tiny voice of conscience mentioning that he had set himself up for that.

"The question," he returned, not bothering to keep the growl out of his voice, "is whether you are ready to fight."

Echizen's smile faded into a hard, focused look. "Yes," he said.

"Good," Genichirou answered, and they both turned toward their respective positions.

Genichirou took a deep breath to calm himself, turning the periphery of his spirit inward, settling into concealment, the moving silence of the Forest. A part of him still protested that this was ridiculous, that he couldn't possibly need this level of tactic, but he ignored that reflex. The last game against Echizen had demonstrated that matching pure speed and strength against him was the riskiest possible way to play. Genichirou thought it likely that he did have an edge, provided he used his own capabilities sensibly and didn't squander his chances. But Echizen had an undeniable advantage in how quickly the depth of his potential could grasp the heart of an opponent's moves, on such simple ground, and it would be a foolish gamble to meet him only there.

The wisdom of that choice was illustrated when Echizen sent the Wind slicing over the net. One of Echizen's greatest weaknesses was still his lack of subtlety. Another two tries, and Genichirou could see in Echizen's eyes that he understood how Wind broke against the Mountain each time, but didn't yet know just why he was having such a hard time seeing where the ball would go when returned. Exactly because the unyielding mental state of Mountain and the deep-rooted strength of that return was something Echizen understood in his bones, he had yet to grasp the concealment that Forest laid over it.

Echizen really had no understanding of defensive techniques. Considering that they were Tezuka's greatest strength, Genichirou couldn't stifle a chuckle as he thought of how frustrating Echizen's captain must find the boy's relentless attack mentality. The alarming part was that Echizen still stayed close to him, this match. Neither of them could open a substantial lead, but Echizen was keeping up with a handicap. Genichirou had to admit, he was a worthwhile opponent.

Which was why, at three games to three, he took the brakes off. Unlike Yukimura, and, it was clear, Echizen himself, he didn't like to do this. He could ride the edge of it, let his reflexes respond directly to his perceptions without the mind's interference, and yet still think ahead. But the feeling of it, suspended, or perhaps free falling, scared him sometimes.

Not that he had ever admitted that to anyone but Yukimura and Yanagi.

This state was to his usual focus on a game as a typhoon was to a thunderstorm. He loosed himself, and the rest of the world went away. There was only him, and the one across the net, burning as hot as he was.

In the end, Genichirou thought later, perhaps it was that fire that made the difference.

The tension of containing himself, of enclosing his responses within the silence of the Forest without slowing them or pulling them short, sawed at his nerves. The hot edge of Echizen's game called to the heat of his own, tugged at him to abandon concealment and strategy, to gamble speed against speed and strength against strength. And perhaps it tugged him just far enough, because as their shots clawed at each other, neither willing to yield the two consecutive points that would mean a win, he saw Echizen's eyes blaze and sharpen.

And something reached out to him, palpable as a sudden low pressure front.

And Echizen drove himself just that touch faster than he should have been able to move and caught the ball whose direction he should not have been able to predict.

And it was over.

Genichirou wavered on his feet, pulling himself back to everyday awareness. This was the other reason he wasn't too fond of doing that; no matter how the match ended, it always came as a shock. Rather like hitting the ground after a long fall. He wasn't sure why some people professed to enjoy the sensation. He shook himself, and walked steadily to the net.

At least, this time, Echizen hadn't actually collapsed, though he didn't look far from it. Genichirou clasped his hand, briefly, and then grabbed his shoulder to keep him from falling.

"You need to turn on your brain, and learn to pace yourself, Echizen," he observed, disapproving. "If you had had a second match today you would have been absolutely worthless. I have no interest in losing a good opponent to his own stupidity."

Echizen sniffed, attempting not to lean on his support.

"I think your coach may have some words to say to you on that subject, too," Genichirou noted, looking over the boy's head at the formidable old woman now standing with her hands on her hips and a rather tight mouth.

Echizen winced, and then glared up at him. "It worked," he said, pointedly, or as pointedly as someone whose legs were shaking could.

A faint, unwilling smile pulled at the corner of Genichirou's mouth. "I expect your captain will agree with you on that," he allowed. "Go see, before you fall over, and I have to carry you. Again."

Echizen growled, and stalked back toward his team, just a bit wobbly.

Genichirou headed back to his own team, where Yukimura's sparkling eyes said that he was suppressing laughter.

"I'm glad that one is Tezuka's problem not ours," Genichirou snorted.

Yukimura lost it and laughed out loud. "So, are you satisfied?" he asked, when he could speak again.

Genichirou considered. "For now," he said, slowly, "I think so. Next time... we'll see." He needed to think over what this match had shown him about his own play. No one had ever broken the Forest before, let alone lured him out of it by appealing to his own desire for the straightforward. Perhaps... perhaps it was time to gamble, and see what he could make of that.

Yukimura smiled. "Good," he said, softly. He stood and stretched.

"Now."

Seiichi heard the murmur of his club, as he stepped out across from Tezuka, and knew his smile had changed. Yanagi had told him, once, that it was quite noticeable, that shift from simple pleasure to the exaltation of hunting. The world brightened, sharpened, deepened. Tezuka's focus slashed against his, answering, though Tezuka's own expression only changed slightly. A brightening of the eyes, a flex of the stern mouth. Seiichi wondered, in passing, how many opponents failed to notice those tiny signs until it was far too late.

Not that Tezuka hid a thing, really. Seiichi was aware of the spectators quieting, understanding the intensity that sang between the players. It didn't particularly matter to him one way or the other, now. Nothing mattered, now, but Tezuka's presence and movement, the ocean deep stillness waiting on the other side of the net.

They started fast, neither of them seeing any reason to hold back. Seiichi was unsurprised to be caught up immediately in the Zone. He played with it a little, angling his returns here and there, to see whether pure speed or strength could break it. In a way, he was pleased that the answer was no. He knew that Tezuka was, in fact, very fast and strong, but this technique had always looked like something more than the proper application of brute force. It was good to have that confirmed. Seiichi sank himself into observation of Tezuka's play, seeking the key, reaching out to encompass Tezuka's game and know it.

Seiichi's attention was especially caught by the savagery under Tezuka's precision. There was a wildness there, an implacable ruthlessness like the flood of a river in spring. And yet, it was still fine and subtle. Seiichi was enchanted. He didn't wonder, anymore, that Tezuka concealed himself behind such a flat mask; because it wasn't, really, either of those things, now, was it? It was simply the face of his wildness, as passionate and featureless as as a wind storm, something that didn't translate into social charms.

Understanding that lack of cultivation, for all Tezuka's fine edge, Seiichi thought he might know what the Zone was. Which was good, because he couldn't afford to run around too much longer, looking for it. His next swing took a little longer, lingered, and Seiichi concentrated on the sweep of it, the way he would on the sweep of his brush or pencil, drawing a line... there. He matched the lines the ball drew against the sensation of it on his racquet. Yes. This would be a delicate thing; the Zone could be overpowered, certainly, but that would leave him in no position to catch the next shot. But if Tezuka spun the ball this way, then the line Seiichi needed to gentle it into was... there. Yes. He knew it now, and smiled at the hard light in Tezuka's eyes that said Tezuka was coming to know him, as well. He wouldn't truly wish it any other way.

He had never played a game this intense and also this intricate. The score was moving in fits and starts, a sudden twist yielding a few points until the other player caught it and they were at stalemate again. A corner of Seiichi's mind thought that it probably looked like a punishing rhythm to maintain, this stop and start. But, from the inside, it never stopped. He and Tezuka were never deadlocked, they were constantly moving around each other, sliding against and past each other. That, however, was all in the connection that they wove between them, the net of senses they each cast over the other, and he doubted most of the distant spectators noticed it. His team, perhaps, and Tezuka's, and likely a handful of the rivals who had come to witness the match.

Seiichi was hard pressed not to laugh when they reached six games to six. He would have to ask Yanagi when it had last happened, that all three singles matches went to tie-break. Later. Right now there was only he and Tezuka and the game.

Except that... there was more, today.

Seiichi paused as he started to serve, tipped his head. There was more than just he and his opponent in their game. Puzzled, he glanced at the stands, and his eyes crossed over his team. Their presence had never intruded into his game before, but here they were, now. Akaya, leaning against the fence, eyes wide and fascinated; Renji standing quiet, with a hand on Akaya's shoulder; Marui, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees; Jackal standing beside him, calm and immovable; Yagyuu, smiling softly, hands light on the rail; Niou, slouched back, grin sharp as a knife, eyes laughing; Genichirou, sitting poised and still, hands open and easy, gaze burning.

They were with him; their absolute belief in him folded around him, wove into his awareness. For the first time, they gave back what it had always been his place to give to them, and Seiichi let out a tiny breath as he felt the last, thin, sharp band of fear that this year had cinched around him crumble. Looking back across the net, he met Tezuka's faint, quiet smile, and saw the slight beckoning movement that invited him to play this match to the end without the need to prove anything but the joy of the game itself.

And now Seiichi laughed. Laughed freely, and cast the ball up, feeling his team gathered at his back, and sent it singing over the net toward whatever future he and his opponent, and their people with them, could create today.

End