Genichirou emerged from the shower, toweling the last water from his hair, and suppressed a sigh. His roommate was sprawled languidly, and quite typically, across his bed, smiling smugly at the ceiling and not saying a word.

Atobe could be quiet louder than anyone Genichirou had ever met.

“Good game, today,” Genichirou said, hoping to head off any of Atobe’s more histrionic gloating. Judging by the grin, Atobe knew what he was trying to do.

“It was,” he agreed, conversationally enough, though. “Too bad we couldn’t play to the end. I was looking forward to breaking that perfect form of yours.”

Genichirou snorted, stretching out on his own bed.

“Don’t think I could?” Atobe asked, lazily. “You’re too used to winning, Sanada.”

Genichirou cast a disbelieving glance at the next bed. “I’m too used to winning?” he echoed, and shook his head at Atobe’s smile. “You really never do change.”

“Of course not. Life would be boring if I did. Or, at least,” Atobe gave him a sidelong look, “your life would be.”

Genichirou propped himself up on his elbows, the better to stare. “I beg your pardon.”

Atobe shrugged. “It’s obvious you have to rely on other people for a sense of fun, not having any of your own.”

“And I suppose you can explain just what use that would be to me?” Genichirou challenged, exasperated.

Atobe’s suddenly speculative look was just a bit worrying.

“I could, I suppose,” Atobe said, rolling off his bed, and stepping toward Genichirou’s. “But I find demonstrations are far more effective than lectures.”

“Atobe, what are you doing?” Genichirou asked, warily.

“Demonstrating,” Atobe murmured, and leaned down and kissed him.

Startlement held Genichirou still through the rather lingering caress of Atobe’s lips against his. It was, in fact, several moments after Atobe drew back, with a gleam in his eye and a wicked smile, before Genichirou managed to get his voice working again.

“Atobe,” he choked, at last, “have you completely lost your mind?”

“No,” Atobe told him, calmly, settling on the edge of Genichirou’s bed. “It’s simply my unfortunate fate to love a good challenge. Unfortunate because I don’t get many of them. Getting you to loosen up a little, though, definitely qualifies.”

“And exactly what makes you think I’m interested in you?” Genichirou inquired, evenly. He ignored his hormones, which were taking notice of the apparently willing body now beside him, with great determination. That response was just a reflex; it didn’t count.

Atobe leaned down again, until he could murmur, deep and soft, in Genichirou’s ear. “Aren’t you? Don’t you want more of that passion you felt earlier today? Don’t you want to finish it? Don’t you want to feel skin under your hands? Don’t you want to feel fingers stroking you until can’t feel anything else?”

Genichirou closed his eyes, breath shuddering in his chest. The hot velvet glide of Keigo’s voice was more inciteful than another kiss could have been. This was still completely insane. But he was starting to find a sneaking appeal in the idea. Which, come to think of it, was a reasonably good description of Atobe in general.

Atobe’s mouth covered his again, and Atobe’s hands smoothed down his bare chest, fingertips circling gently here and there, making his skin tingle. Genichirou considered his options. He could be sensible and make Atobe stop, but his body was nearly screaming for him to just take what was offered. And, to be honest, he was just as frustrated by their aborted game as Keigo sounded. This was certainly one way to solve that. He sucked in a hard breath as Keigo’s palm brushed low across his stomach, just above the loose waist of his pants.

“You spend a lot of time listening to what your body tells you,” Keigo said, between kisses. “Don’t stop now.”

“Do you always have to get your own way?” Genichirou gasped, letting himself fall back against the cool sheets.

“Not always, but it is a nice feeling,” Atobe told him, pausing to get rid of his shirt before sliding down to join him. “You should try it some time, Genichirou,” he whispered.

“Oh?” Genichirou murmured, pulling Atobe’s weight on top of him.

“Mm,” Atobe agreed, smiling against Genichirou’s throat, and then sucking softly on his pulse. “Let me show you.”

Genichirou couldn’t help a laugh, though it was a bit breathless. “Always the same,” he repeated. “So show me, then.”

Keigo’s hands were slow, soothing, massaging his shoulders, his stomach, loosening the muscles that wanted to tense, smoothing Genichirou’s response to the touch on his skin from something sharp to something warm and relaxed. When Atobe’s teeth bit, softly, at his neck, at the soft skin below his ribs, and then, as Atobe slid cloth out of his way, inside his thigh, Genichirou only sighed. The sharpness made the warmth brighter. Atobe slid back up his body, and now they were completely bare to each other. Keigo’s tongue lingered over a nipple, and his hand slipped between Genichirou’s legs, fondling, coaxing; Genichirou moaned, softly, hands finding Keigo’s back and pressing him closer.

When Atobe’s fingers sought further back, though, he stiffened.

“Atobe.”

Atobe lifted his head, brows raised. “You didn’t strike me as the nervous sort. Surely this isn’t your first time?”

Genichirou narrowed his eyes. “Either way, what, exactly, makes you think I’m interested in yielding that way to you?”

Atobe’s brows climbed still higher, and he snorted. “Traditionalists. You’ll be the death of me. What,” he leaned over Genichirou and twined fingers through his hair, “makes you think I want you to yield?”

Genichirou blinked at him.

“This isn’t a game of winners and losers, you know. Who have you been going to bed with?” Atobe kissed him, somehow both languorous and impatient. “If it’s played right, everyone wins.”

Genichirou pushed Atobe back a little, so he could see his eyes. They were bright and open and sharp, the way he had only ever seen them when Keigo was in the middle of an all out game. There was no question of his sincerity, and Atobe apparently detected the softening of Genichirou’s rejection because he smiled, slow and wicked, and closed the distance between them until his lips brushed Genichirou’s ear.

“Let me touch you,” he coaxed, voice low and husky. “Just touch you. Let me stroke you inside. Let me taste your pleasure when your entire body tightens and climbs and burns. Let me touch you, Genichirou.”

Genichirou bit back a groan. There should be a legal limit on how many times Atobe was allowed to use that tone of voice in one night. “Remind me what the point of this exercise was,” he said, just a bit strained.

Atobe propped himself up on one elbow. “To demonstrate the value of a sense of fun,” he recited promptly. “Are you having fun yet, Genichirou?”

The quicksilver change of mood broke Genichirou’s tension, and he found himself laughing. He pulled Keigo down, and kissed him, hard.

“You’re the most infuriating person I think I’ve ever known, Keigo, not excluding Akaya,” he murmured against Atobe’s lips.

“Thank you,” Keigo smirked.

Genichirou sighed. “All right,” he agreed, at last. “On one condition.”

Atobe looked inquiring, and then arched a little as Genichirou ran a hand down his back and over his rear.

“That you let me return the favor at some point,” Genichirou said, hearing his own voice deepen almost to a growl.

Teeth gleamed in Keigo’s smile. “It’s a deal,” he purred back. He held Genichirou’s gaze while he sucked two fingers into his mouth and slowly drew them back out. Genichirou parted his legs to let Atobe settle between them, looking back with as much cool challenge as he could assume at the moment.

Genichirou couldn’t hold back a harsh sound as Atobe’s mouth closed, swiftly, over him, soft and wet and teasing. He twisted against Atobe’s weight over his hips as Keigo’s tongue swept over and around the head of him, almost too gentle, too warm. This pleasure was a maddening thing, enveloping him but impossible to grasp. This time, when Keigo’s fingers pressed against him, he welcomed the touch, firm enough to keep him from being driven absolutely wild. Keigo’s fingertips circled, nudging inward, a quiet insistence in counterpoint to the way his tongue flirted with Genichirou. When the fingers slid inside, the touch of Atobe’s mouth changed. He sucked, gently at first, but harder as his fingers thrust deeper, hot, sharp pleasure drawing Genichirou taut.

When those fingers curled, Genichirou cried out, the spike of sensation taking him by surprise. Keigo’s fingers stroked him, hard, relentless, sweeping him up in a rush of fire that denied any possibility of pausing or holding back. The sheet tangled in Genichirou’s fingers as he clutched at it, and he spread his legs wider, almost without meaning to, arching up into the hot pressure of Atobe’s mouth, the soft rasp of his tongue.

It was the pleased sound that Atobe made, a sliding murmur that hummed around Genichirou, that finally broke him. An electric tingle shot through the heat, drove up his spine, seized him and thrust him over the edge. A long moan wrung from his throat as fire clenched down on him again and again and again. When it finally subsided, he drew in a long breath and opened eyes he hadn’t realized were closed.

Keigo stretched, and laid himself over Genichirou’s body again. He propped an elbow at either side of Genichirou’s head and looked down at him with insufferable smugness.

“That isn’t a particularly endearing expression, Atobe,” Genichirou pointed out, dryly.

“You only say that because you’re lamentably ignorant of my better qualities,” Atobe told him, and then paused and looked judicious. “Less ignorant now, of course.”

Genichirou closed his eyes again and reminded himself, strenuously, that he had known for a long time that Keigo lived to get a rise out of people.

Speaking of rises, however… His mouth quirked and he ran his hands down Atobe’s body to his hips, lifting them until Keigo was braced above him on knees and elbows. Keigo raised his brows at him, but the dark blue eyes slid half closed as Genichirou reached between them and smoothed his hand down Atobe’s cock.

“Do you like this?” Genichirou asked, mindful of courtesy, even with a partner like Atobe.

“Mmm. Very much so,” Atobe murmured. “Such powerful hands you have, Genichirou.”

Genichirou tightened his grip, and Keigo stopped talking. His sighs were every bit as expressive as most people’s words, though, and Genichirou took a good deal of satisfaction in listening to him, in watching Keigo’s eyes fall closed and his lips part, in feeling him moving over Genichirou, rocking into his hand. He combed his free fingers through Keigo’s hair, softly, enjoying the faint curve it brough to Keigo’s mouth.

He was even willing to admit, strictly to himself, that Keigo was beautiful when he threw his head up, arching his back and driving himself into Genichirou’s hold with a low cry.

Not that it made him any less infuriating.

Genichirou knew he was smiling when Atobe dropped back down against him, limp and panting. He was still smiling, not quite able to stifle it, when Atobe slowly regathered himself and raised his head to look at him. Atobe snorted.

“As if you have any room to talk,” he muttered, letting his head fall back to Genichirou’s shoulder.

Genichirou stroked a hand down his back. “At least I have the manners to apologize if it annoys my partner,” he pointed out.

“Manners, is it?” Keigo said, somewhat muffled. And then he propped himself back up and gave Genichirou a lingering kiss. “Thank you, then. You were very gentle; I enjoyed it a great deal.”

Genichirou looked up at him, stunned. Atobe smiled, and hauled himself off the bed to saunter toward the closet where the extra towels were stacked. It took a few seconds for Genichirou to realize that Atobe had, very effectively, gotten the last word.

He rolled over and stifled a resigned sigh in his pillow, and reminded himself to look on the bright side. Only another handful of days, and he wouldn’t have to deal with Atobe anymore. Even though they were both going to be on the final team, singles players could get away with ignoring each other. Just another couple days, and he’d be fine.

End