Full summer had arrived, bringing Keigo’s seasonal temper with it. It was beneath him to be cranky, but the heat made him restless. This was the one time of year when he genuinely envied Jirou’s ability to sleep through anything, including heat waves.

The outdoor courts in the city became unspeakably muggy and sticky in the depths of summer. Keigo was extremely grateful that, this year, Tezuka had finally seen reason and agreed that their matches would be better held on the court at the Atobe house, where there was fast recourse to air conditioning. It was no great problem to chase off the staff, who didn’t really want to be out in this heat either, though the butler had given him a suspiciously pleased look while commenting on how nice it was that he had a friend who could visit so casually.

On second thought, Keigo imagined that Akihito was probably getting as tired of Keigo’s public pose as Keigo himself was. He’d always supported it cheerfully enough, but after six years it was undoubtedly getting old for both of them.

Besides, he was right. It was nice that Tezuka could visit and give Keigo a chance to work off his summer induced agitation.

Keigo stalked to his end of the court and rounded on Tezuka, waiting. His breathing deepened as Tezuka set himself, and he could feel his focus narrowing. The world ended at the square of chain link surrounding them. Response danced in every fibre of his muscles, waiting to leap out and answer his opponent’s moves. Tezuka cast the ball upwards and Keigo saw the trail it left in the air, was moving even as Tezuka’s racquet finished its arc.

He loved the speed of their games, the immediacy. And, when it came right down to it, the simple, unfettered force. Neither of them would ever hold back, and that release intoxicated him. All the tension he held around himself day by day, and honed to a tool that could shape his future, broke loose and rushed out from him, through him, like a wind storm. Transparent. Overwhelmingly powerful. Terrifying. Uplifting.

In this season, in this mood, it was even more. His restlessness drove him, flying ahead of the storm, seeking to spend himself into calm. Sometimes, not always, but sometimes, playing against Tezuka brought him to that calm. Other times he had to settle for the physical lassitude of worn out muscles.

His teeth clenched as he drove back a smash. It seemed that today might be one of the latter times.

It was a long game, and perhaps his edge of desperation was an asset of sorts, because he finally won it. But the restlessness still snapped through him. As he and Tezuka made for their water bottles, Keigo found himself wishing that the match hadn’t ended, that it could keep going for a while longer, even though they were both wringing wet and gasping for breath. As the sunlight glowed on Tezuka’s skin, Keigo found himself wanting, very much, to keep going.

And maybe, he thought suddenly, maybe he could.

The restlessness lifted his hand, and Keigo combed Tezuka’s hair back with his fingers. With his focus still limited to Tezuka himself, it made perfect sense to step in close enough to slide his mouth over Tezuka’s.

And perhaps Tezuka agreed that this was simply a continuation of the game by other means, or perhaps they were just both too tired to bother stopping themselves. After a single breath, Tezuka’s arm curled around Keigo, pulling him firmly against Tezuka’s body. Both Keigo’s hands found their way under Tezuka’s shirt, sliding up the sweat-slick length of his back, palms noting every curve and plane. He tangled one leg around Tezuka’s and breathed in Tezuka’s sigh. He felt Tezuka turning them both, felt the fence against his shoulders, shivered. He closed his hands over Tezuka’s hips and pulled Tezuka, hard, between his legs. His fingers tangled in Tezuka’s hair again, as Tezuka’s mouth moved down his throat. Tezuka’s hips flexed into his, driving him against the fence, against Tezuka’s hands as they slid down past Keigo’s waistband.

“Tezuka,” Keigo whispered, “yes, do it.” He felt Tezuka’s breath draw in against his neck.

“Atobe…”

“Now,” Keigo urged, drawing back far enough to yank down all the interfering cloth and stroke between Tezuka’s legs. The sound Tezuka made was too harsh to call a moan, the velvet voice rough against Keigo’s ear.

And then Tezuka was slipping down his body, far enough to lift Keigo’s legs, and Keigo knew he was going to have diamonds printed into his back from the fence, and he didn’t care. He was still running ahead of the storm, and this, this might be enough to calm him. His hands clenched hard on Tezuka’s shoulders, and he pressed all the tension of his body out to his hands, enough to let Tezuka…

…in. Burning. Stretching him apart. Rough and…

…hot. And Tezuka paused.

“Atobe,” he breathed, questioning.

“Don’t stop.”

“Keigo…”

“Don’t stop.“

Tezuka’s hand snaked between them, and strong, calloused fingers stroked up Keigo’s cock. He tried to arch into that touch and couldn’t, and then Tezuka was driving into him, hard and deep, and they were both moving, bodies never parting. The burning heat of the air, of the sunlight, of Tezuka inside him drowned Keigo’s senses, twined fire through every vein. He shuddered as the heat built in him, higher with every layer of sensation, pleasure shivering on the edge of bearable. He moved to meet it, as he always moved to meet Tezuka’s focus, Tezuka’s hands, racing, immediate, brilliant, and the fire rushed out, taking his breath more thoroughly than the longest match they had ever played.

They sank down in a loose tangle of limbs, and Keigo leaned his head back against the chain link. He felt Tezuka’s forehead fall to his shoulder. They were silent for several long minutes.

“Shower?” Keigo suggested, at last, with the casualness of exhaustion.

“Good idea,” Tezuka agreed in a similar tone.

It took another few minutes before they actually managed to get up.

Keigo had long ago decided that money wasn’t everything, but having it certainly made some things easier. For example, money, and Grandfather’s indulgence, had provided changing rooms with shower and bath right off the court. He had rarely been happier for them. He pulled Tezuka under the water with him, not least so that he would have someone to lean on if his legs decided to give out. They were considering it, he could tell. He sighed, happily, and stretched up into the spray, relaxed for the first time in days.

Tezuka was looking amused, possibly over Keigo’s expression.

“Hold still,” he murmured, and took the soap to wash Keigo’s back. Keigo was pleased, if a bit surprised. He hadn’t really taken Tezuka for the sort to indulge in affectionate gestures afterwards. He was more surprised to feel Tezuka’s hands on his hips, and Tezuka’s thumbs gently spreading him open. Checking for bleeding, he realized. He snorted.

“I’m fine, Tezuka. I know my own limits,” he said.

“Do you?” Tezuka sounded curious. Keigo waved a hand.

“And affair here and there at the seminars and camps. You know what it’s like.”

“Once or twice,” Tezuka admitted. His arms closed around Keigo. “Feeling better, now?”

Keigo started, and then laughed, leaning back against Tezuka.

“You know me too well,” he accused.

“I know you, period, Keigo,” Tezuka observed. The intimacy of his given name made Keigo pause. He turned his head enough to see Tezuka out of the corner of his eye.

“Isn’t that what I just said?” he asked, quietly.

Tezuka said nothing, just bent his head to place a kiss on Keigo’s shoulder, and Keigo slowly relaxed. It was nothing new. Not really. More like a piece of music, written for violin, played on the flute instead.

They stood together under the water for a long time.

End