One of the things Kunimitsu found most fascinating about Keigo was how changeable he could be. He could be accommodating one moment and utterly intransigent the next. And there was no guaranteeing that either was genuine, not simply a lever to turn his audience to his hand. The only time Kunimitsu was entirely sure of his honesty was on the court.

Or, of late, in bed. Between them, it almost came to the same thing.

Normally Kunimitsu simply had to be grateful for his years of experience with Fuji’s social duplicity, which gave him some preparation for riding out Keigo’s occasional, mercurial enthusiasms with some degree of equanimity. Though he only pointed out that fact when he had some reason to want to rile Keigo. Today called more for bemusement than equanimity, actually.

Kunimitsu had known that Keigo had strong opinions on music. He had known that Keigo enjoyed classical music. He had known that Keigo’s taste had some odd quirks, after coming across his copy of Bach pieces played on synthesizer. He had not quite expected that, upon his confession that he was entirely unfamiliar with American blues and country music, he would be more or less dragged to Keigo’s room and planted on an enormous floor pillow at what Keigo claimed was optimal distance from his impressive array of speakers in order to listen to some of Keigo’s collection.

Upon completing these arrangements, Keigo had promptly retired to his couch with a copy of The Frogs and seemed to be ignoring Kunimitsu’s presence.

Definitely bemused.

He had to admit, the music was interesting. The woman singer had an impressive range, and a powerful voice, clear and throaty by turns. He could only pick out about two thirds of the words, but what he did understand veered between brash and poetic.

Perhaps it wasn’t so surprising that Keigo liked it.

When the music ended, he stayed reclined on the pillow, looking up at Keigo’s ceiling. One verse had stayed with him, echoing in his head.

Now, we have learned to build
Out of concrete, out of steel,
And our buildings stand a thousand years and then
Even they are bound to fall.

But the women cross the river
Never learned to build a wall.

Keigo entered his field of vision, and stood looking down at him.

“Kunimitsu?”

“It’s… good,” Kunimitsu said, quietly. He and Keigo were both very accomplished at building. That song made him wonder what it would be like to not be. Another line returned to him. The women cross the river, they can kill you with their eyes. That he had felt. Perhaps they were closer to living without walls than he had first thought.

When they were honest with each other.

And perhaps Keigo saw his thoughts in his eyes now, because his own eyes darkened. Kunimitsu shifted under the heat of that look, and lifted a hand to Keigo.

Keigo sank down to kneel over his body, and twined his fingers through Kunimitsu’s hair. The force of his kiss came as no surprise; Keigo was an aggressive lover as often as he was playful or languid. Kunimitsu hesitated as his hands found Keigo’s back, though. There was something different this time. Something in the slide of Keigo’s tongue against his, in the hand tilting his head back. Something in the way Keigo held his body over Kunimitsu’s, not touching yet.

Kunimitsu’s breath tripped as the difference slid into focus. There was no hint of pliancy in Keigo’s movement.

In the abstract, he’d known this was coming from the start. It would have been absurd to imagine that Keigo would be willing to give way to him always. In a way, Kunimitsu was surprised it had taken this long for Keigo to decide to turn the tables. But that didn’t really lessen the immediate shock.

Kunimitsu’s effort to rearrange his expectations was caught short when Keigo dipped his head and closed his teeth over Kunimitsu’s throat. His body snapped taut as a drawn bow against the one above him, breath leaving him in a sharp, uncontrolled sound, and he shivered as Keigo drew away, slowly, lips whispering after the sharp scrape of teeth. Kunimitsu lay, shaken, as Keigo cupped both hands around his face.

“You’ve never done this the other way around, have you?” Keigo murmured. Kunimitsu shook his head, unwilling to trust his voice. Keigo’s hand trailed down his chest as he leaned forward to breathe against Kunimitsu’s ear. “You know what I want, though.”

Kunimitsu reflected that Keigo had a significant advantage when it came to these things, because if ever a voice was made for seduction, it was Keigo’s, with a tone like sandwashed silk stroking bare skin.

“I want to see this powerful body spread out under me,” his lover continued. “I want to hear your voice roughen and break because of what my hands are doing. I want to feel you sigh because I’m inside you. And I want you to feel what it’s like, Kunimitsu. What it’s like to let go. To let someone else take trouble for your pleasure.” His hand traced the tension in Kunimitsu’s muscles, and he shook his head a little. “I won’t do anything to hurt you, Kunimitsu. If you don’t trust my gentleness, at least trust my skill.”

That was such a Keigo thing to say that Kunimitsu lost a bit of tension in a smile.

“That isn’t it,” he answered, quietly. “I just… didn’t expect to… like that.” It was the intensity of his own response that shocked him, the rush of heat that had answered Keigo’s gesture of dominance. He had not expected it to arouse him.

He was also surprised to look up and see Keigo regarding him with some exasperation.

“Kunimitsu,” Keigo sighed, “pleasure is pleasure. You can’t give any mind to what lesser people think about giving or receiving it.”

That, too, was so purely Keigo that Kunimitsu couldn’t restrain a chuckle. On the other hand, it did make sense of why Keigo had been willing to receive from Kunimitsu at all. Sometimes, Keigo’s airy disregard of any stricture that happened to inconvenience him did have advantages. Kunimitsu brushed the backs of his fingers against Keigo’s cheek.

“Come, then,” he invited.

Keigo’s mouth covered his again, as Keigo undid the buttons of his shirt and brushed it aside. Kunimitsu let his head fall back, let the shudders run through him, at the sharp catch of Keigo’s teeth against his throat, again, and nipping at the shivering muscles of his stomach, and at Keigo’s fingers drawing light patterns over his shoulders and collarbone. Those long fingers undid the button at his waist delicately enough that they never touched his skin, and somehow that care and control called out a deeper shiver than anything else.

Having dealt with the last fastenings, though, Keigo chose to coax off Kunimitsu’s shirt first. And then, with the kind of caprice that could only be deliberate, rose and slowly stripped off every thread of his own clothing. Kunimitsu wondered whether Keigo was trying to unsettle him, keep him off balance. Or maybe it was the reverse, because the bare line of Keigo’s body leaning over him was familiar. Keigo smiled at Kunimitsu’s faint sigh, and his tongue stroked the hollow of Kunimitsu’s shoulder.

His left shoulder.

Kunimitsu’s hands closed hard over Keigo’s ribs as a violent shudder tore though him. Why was he remembering that first match now?

“Not to injure, Kunimitsu,” Keigo said, low, “but isn’t that how we are? It matters who wins, but it matters more that we play with everything. I don’t want anything more than everything you are.”

It made perfect sense, which was probably why Kunimitsu had sought more from Keigo than the occasional game in the first place. Giving everything. Accepting everything. That was, indeed, how they were. A soft moan rose in his throat as Keigo’s tongue caressed that tender skin again. And then the inside of his elbow. And then the inside of his wrist. Those soft, sliding touches over pulse points tingled, rippling out though his blood, and Kunimitsu was gasping by the time Keigo reached his palm.

Midnight eyes gazed down at him as Keigo took Kunimitsu’s fingers in his mouth, tongue curling around each one and stroking up the sides, teeth nipping at the tips. Keigo drew back only to trace the lines of Kunimitsu’s palm with the tip of his tongue before sucking two fingers in again. One hand drifted down, trailed over Kunimitsu’s stomach, between the open edges of his pants, and drew a thumb down the hard length still covered by smooth cotton, suggesting, promising. Keigo’s tongue sliding over his fingers, and Keigo’s fingers brushing over his cock somehow slid together into a single touch like an electric shock.

Kunimitsu felt like a plucked string, held between those two points of contact, vibrating to a single note. It startled him, and he tensed against it. That only made it strong enough to force a harsh sound from him. Even Keigo’s full weight covering him didn’t damp that vibration completely.

And then Keigo brushed back his hair, and his mouth closed on Kunimitsu’s ear. Every muscle in Kunimitsu’s body seemed to unstring itself at once, and his bones started to melt.

Trust Keigo to go straight for the weak point.

Kunimitsu made a low, soft sound and closed his eyes, turning his head to give Keigo a better angle.

“There, now,” Keigo whispered, between nibbles. “You’re extremely responsive when you’re not thinking, Kunimitsu. I didn’t quite expect that.”

Kunimitsu didn’t bother to reply; he wasn’t sure he could at the moment. He could barely gather the coordination to shift his weight as Keigo drew off the last of his clothing, and didn’t move while Keigo padded briefly into his en suite bathroom to fetch something. Kunimitsu didn’t see what it was, as Keigo dropped it beside them, but given the circumstances he could make an educated guess. Keigo settled between his legs, and suddenly Kunimitsu felt as though a flock of butterflies were fluttering against his nerve endings. Keigo slanted a look at him, and then pressed an open mouthed kiss to the inside of his knee, tongue curling around the tendon behind it. The lips against his skin curved into a smile at the harsh breath that drew out of him.

“Mmmmm,” Keigo murmured. “You let go more easily than I thought you would. Enjoyable, isn’t it?”

He laid a path of kisses down the inside of Kunimitsu’s thigh, and the last one became a gentle bite that somehow turned Kunimitsu’s half-tensed muscles to water. As his legs fell further open a detached corner of Kunimitsu’s mind noted that Keigo was well on his way to getting everything he’d said he wanted. From the lazy smile Keigo wore as he stroked a hand down Kunimitsu’s stomach, he was well aware of the fact.

And then the wet heat of Keigo’s mouth closed over his cock, and detachment fled. Keigo’s tongue fulfilled what his fingers had promised earlier, sliding against him, flirting, slow and sensuous, twining around him and pulling him toward the edge of pleasure, before he drew away, leaving Kunimitsu panting. His breath left him entirely, on a small aaahh, as Keigo’s fingers slipped under him, warm and slick, pressing slowly into him, answering the yearning Keigo’s mouth had roused.

Keigo’s timing was flawless, as usual. The strangeness of the sensation didn’t catch up until Keigo’s fingers stilled, inside him, waiting. Kunimitsu twisted against it, a little, muscles twitching, and Keigo stroked his fingers out just a bit, and then back in. That was better, smoother, and Kunimitsu released a sigh as he looked up into Keigo’s eyes, intense and focused as his lover leaned over him.

“It’s the movement you like, hm?” Keigo asked, not waiting for an answer before he stroked deeper, and Kunimitsu let his eyes fall closed as he rocked into the touch. It was strange, but also… almost soothing. A massage for muscles normally unregarded. A tingling expansion, like the first stretch after waking in the morning.

And then Keigo’s fingers curled, pressing, and fire raced outward from them. Again, and again, and Kunimitsu didn’t bother trying to hold back the sharp cry or stop his body from jerking against that rush of sensation.

“Good?” Keigo purred.

“Yes,” Kunimitsu answered, hearing his own voice husky and breathless. “Yes.”

Keigo smiled, slow and heated, and drew his hand away, lingering, caressing. It moved to the base of Kunimitsu’s spine, rubbing gently, loosening the tension there.

“Ready?” Keigo whispered.

Kunimitsu nodded, eyes holding Keigo’s burning gaze. That gaze held him, steadied him, as Keigo pressed insistently against his entrance.

“Now it’s your turn to relax for me, Kunimitsu,” Keigo said, softly, hand soothing against his back.

Kunimitsu knew this would be difficult, and probably painful, if he couldn’t relax. He rested his mind against the intent of Keigo’s eyes; it would be all right. He pulled in a deep breath, and when he let it out he let all the tension, even that of pleasure, flow from him. And while he was suspended in that liquid moment, Keigo sank into him, opening, stretching, a long, smooth motion until Kunimitsu’s muscles clenched against the intrusion and Keigo halted, a gasp wringing from him. Another breath and he was all the way in, and immediately drawing back a little and rocking home again.

The stretch burned a bit, but the movement soothed it, warmed it, and the slick glide back and forth pressed hard against the place Keigo’s fingers had teased and caressed. Tiny showers of sparks cascaded down his nerves, and pulled a long, low moan in their wake. Keigo’s thrusts started to lengthen, deepen, and his hand moved from Kunimitsu’s back to reach between his legs, clasp around him. Fire trailed after Keigo’s fingers, wrapped around Kunimitsu, flaring with the rhythm of Keigo driving into him.

And Kunimitsu finally let go all the way, not thinking, not anticipating, not worrying. He abandoned himself to the pleasure of Keigo’s touch, so hard, so gentle, arching into it. They moved together, finding a pace that flowed, faster and faster, like running downhill. Running until they didn’t touch the ground, gasping for breath, almost flying with the speed, the sensation, the electric, singing tension building under Keigo’s hands on him, the burning, sleek movement of Keigo so deep inside him, opening him out, out, until the tension snapped like current grounding and he lost himself in the shuddering tide of heat.

When he had recovered himself enough to open his eyes again he saw Keigo, propped on one elbow beside him, regarding him with an expression of great smugness.

“Enjoy yourself?” Keigo purred, spreading a hand over Kunimitsu’s chest.

“It’s a good thing I already knew you don’t have any modesty at all,” Kunimitsu observed, dryly. Keigo arched an arrogant brow.

“What could I possibly have to be modest about?” he asked.

Kunimitsu didn’t trouble to answer. There was no reasoning with Keigo in a mischievous mood. Instead he nudged Keigo’s arm out from under him and pulled his lover down into his arms.

“Yes, I did enjoy myself,” he murmured before Keigo could express his indignation.

“Hmph,” Keigo snorted, but stretched against him, pacified, and carded his fingers through Kunimitsu’s hair.

They lay in the fading afternoon, exchanging slow kisses, and Kunimitsu decided he could let the thinking and worrying that Keigo had taken from him wait a while longer yet.

End

A/N: This story is titled after a Linda Ronstadt album I was listening to while writing it. My Atobe seemed very fond of it; it was the first time I’d ever heard this muse fanboy over anything. The lyrics quoted are from the second to last song on that album, “The Women ‘Cross The River”. The Frogs is a play by Aristophanes, poking fun at the strictures of the stodgy old school of art in the person of Euripides, as always.