Songs for Singing: All In One

Shishido and Ohtori hang on to each other through the year they can’t play together as a pair, and finally get a clue about how much they’re attracted to each other.

In the Forest of the Night

Takes place in Current Tenipuri Year. Ohtori reflects on the pair he’s found himself a part of. Drama With Romance, I-3

Character(s): Ohtori Choutarou, Shishido Ryou

Choutarou couldn’t remember precisely when Shishido-san had started calling him by his given name. It had been some time during those first, grueling, late night training sessions. He did remember being surprised by it. A number of things had surprised him, right around that time.

He had never, before that, given much thought to the cutthroat system of Hyoutei’s tennis club. It was just the way things were. Well, he had noticed that it seemed to make for astonishing rudeness among the pre-Regulars, but that didn’t have to affect him. Choutarou had been raised to show courtesy; Otou-sama always said it was one of the best ways to disarm an opponent. So he was polite to his peers and his seniors, both, and lent a hand wherever one seemed needed, and devoted every bit of his strength to working his way up the ranks. It hadn’t taken long. The grumbling of people with less dedication had little meaning to him. By the same token, it was pleasant, the mass support that Atobe-buchou’s hand with the club placed at his back once he was a Regular. But Choutarou never deceived himself by thinking that his performance rested on anything but his own will and effort. The shape of the system that went on around him didn’t matter.

And then Shishido Ryou had come to him, after his sudden defeat at Fudoumine’s hands, and asked for help with some training. Choutarou had agreed, as he always did, though the help Shishido-san wanted had been a bit out of the ordinary. He had watched Shishido-san drive himself to catch an unreturnable serve with his bare hands, night after night, and seen something he hadn’t expected.

After very little observation, during his first year, Choutarou had decided that no one among the Regulars shared his own dedication, with the exception of the captain. They were all very talented, but also flippant and careless, not devoting anywhere near the concentration that Choutarou thought the game called for. Under the floodlights, though, in the burning of Shishido-san’s eyes, in the scrapes and bruises and blood on the court, in his voice with every snarl of Next!, Choutarou had seen drive and will to match his own.

That was what had driven him to break his usual reserve and plead with Sakaki-sensei to reinstate Shishido-san. And when their coach’s threat had brought home, for the first time, the cold finality of Hyoutei’s system, it was that recognition of kinship-at-last that had driven him to lay his own position on the line. He would certainly have regretted it, if he had lost his place. But if Hyoutei’s system had no room for the pure determination and burning edge that Shishido-san had reached, then perhaps Choutarou truly didn’t and couldn’t belong there, either.

Not that he hadn’t been extremely relieved when Atobe-buchou had stepped in.

And when Shishido-san had finished trading insults with Atobe-buchou, and it had taken some time for Choutarou to figure out that this might be Shishido-san’s way of thanking their captain, he had turned to Choutarou and called him by name. That was the first time Choutarou really remembered, though at the same time he had recalled an increasing number of Choutarous slipping in among the Ohtoris during the weeks they worked together.

No one else at the school called him by his given name.

Choutarou wondered, sometimes, if Atobe-buchou had seen it starting then. It would explain why he had immediately thrown them together as a doubles pair. It was the kind of thing that he, long acquainted with Shishido Ryou, might well have seen at once.

It took Choutarou somewhat longer to realize that, when he had given Shishido-san his support, he had gained something in return, tossed in his path as easily as Shishido-san might toss him a towel after a long practice.

Shishido-san’s loyalty.

Choutarou was friendly with many, but friends with few. It was the way he had always been. Shishido-san didn’t seem to care. He breezed through Choutarou’s public manners as casually as he elbowed past Atobe-buchou’s arrogance. Ohtori Choutarou was now his partner, and his friend, and that was that.

Choutarou had been stunned.

He had never known someone who would so freely grab his arm to get his attention, grin at him to share an inside joke, yell at anyone he found giving Choutarou grief about his control and then turn around and lecture Choutarou himself about the same thing. He had certainly never known anyone at Hyoutei who matched his focus on the court without hesitation or complaint. But Shishido-san did all of that, now. And, for the first time since he had entered the tennis club, Choutarou had relaxed. As part of a pair, his success was no longer purely dependant on his own effort and will; but Shishido-san’s fierceness left no room for anxiety or reluctance to depend on him.

When they had beaten Oshitari-senpai and Mukahi-senpai at doubles, Choutarou had returned Shishido-san’s brilliant grin with a smile so open it felt strange on his face.

Shishido-san’s determination for him, and pride in him, when it came to defeating Choutarou’s own weaknesses, had, for the first time, given Choutarou more than his own will to support him.

Shishido-san’s spendthrift energy and warmth had drawn Choutarou in until he found it hard to imagine living without them. But in another half a year…

A cold, dripping waterbottle against the back of his neck pulled Choutarou out of his introspection with a yelp.

“You’re miles away, Choutarou,” Shishido-san chuckled, dropping onto the bench beside him. “What’s up?”

“I was just thinking,” he said, taking a sip of water to cover his confusion.

“About what?” his partner prodded, leaning back. He waited while Choutarou gathered his thoughts.

“This spring, mostly. Graduation,” Choutarou answered, finally. “I… don’t really like the thought of playing alone again.”

“Who said anything about alone?” Shishido-san asked, sharply. Choutarou blinked at him. “Just because we can’t play together in the tournaments for a year, that doesn’t mean a thing. We’re a team, Choutarou. The Shishido-Ohtori pair. Got it?” Shishido glared at him, the one that meant he thought his partner was being dense.

“Of course,” Choutarou said, slowly, “but it will be two years before we can play as a pair again.”

“Bullshit,” Shishido-san pronounced. Choutarou opened his mouth and closed it again. He contented himself, at last, with raising his brows at his partner. Shishido-san grinned, teeth gleaming.

“First class doubles pairs are hard to find,” he said, “especially at the really competitive schools. They’ll let us play. You’ll see. Atobe likes to win.”

Ah. Shishido-san did have a point. And Choutarou had no doubt that Atobe-buchou would have a good deal of influence, even as a second year.

“So,” Shishido-san continued, “the only thing you have to worry about next year is keeping Hiyoshi from trying to take over the entire world.”

“Shishido-san, he’s not that bad…” Choutarou began, a smile starting at the corners of his mouth.

“I imagine I’ll be stuck as the one who gets to try and keep Atobe’s ego from gaining any more mass, than, say, Jupiter,” his partner continued, blithely.

“Shishido-san…” Choutarou was laughing now.

“And we’ll have to get together often to blow off steam about what a pain they are to deal with, and since we’ll be together we might as well get in some match time while we’re at it, right?”

“Yes, Shishido-san,” Choutarou agreed, once he caught his breath.

His partner nodded at him, firmly.

“Don’t you forget it, Choutarou.”

“I won’t,” Choutarou promised.

End

Fearful Symmetry

Snippets of how Ohtori and Shishido keep company while they’re apart, during Ohtori’s third year of junior high and Shishido’s first year of high school. Drama With Romance, I-3

Character(s): Ohtori Choutarou, Shishido Ryou

Ohtori

At the end of the first day of his last year of junior high school, Choutarou found Shishido-san leaning against the wall of the school grounds, waiting for him. Tension he had carried all day without noticing unwound from his shoulders.

“Shishido-san,” he greeted.

“Choutarou. How’d it go? Is it Hiyoshi?” Shishido-san fell in beside him, hitching his bag over his shoulder. Choutarou nodded.

“Hiyoshi-kun is captain this year. I think it will work well. He’s very different from Atobe-san.” It didn’t need to be said that Atobe-san had the ability to back up his flamboyance, and anyone else who tried to use the same style to lead the club was likely to make a fool of himself. Shishido-san chuckled, just a bit nastily.

“Yoshimaru-buchou is already worrying about Atobe.”

“But seniority won’t let Atobe-san take his position,” Choutarou said, puzzled. “Not even Atobe-san.”

“No. But he’ll be playing as a Regular; no one really doubts that. And it won’t be fun, being captain when the ace who can beat his socks off is a first year,” Shishido-san pointed out.

Choutarou smiled at Shishido-san’s glee over his captain’s discomfiture. Yoshimaru-san must be the quiet type; that always made his partner uncomfortable. He listened, as Shishido-san detailed the quirks and attitudes of the high school tennis club, in a better mood than he’d been all day.

Shishido

Ryou eyed the sakura trees along the route home with annoyance. Sure, they were pretty, but they also made a mess, and you’d think the things would have finished blooming by now. It was getting on toward summer.

“Shishido-san?”

Ryou glanced back at his companion with a quick grin.

“Yeah, so, anyway, Kaa-san said it would be fine with her, even if we run late and you wind up staying for dinner now and then. I figure it’s easier to get work done with company; even if we’re not studying the same things.”

Choutarou still looked hesitant, but Ryou knew better than to take that personally. His partner was just allergic to putting himself forward, at least socially.

“I’ll have to ask,” he started, and Ryou’s grin widened.

“No you won’t. Kaa-san decided to call your mother herself. They agreed to trade off who feeds us.” Ryou nudged Choutarou in the ribs to make him close his mouth. “The direct approach runs in the family,” he added.

“So does thinking ahead of your opponent,” Choutarou told him, with a small smile to show he was teasing. Ryou was pleased. Most people would probably say Ohtori Choutarou wasn’t capable of teasing, or of a smile that bright. Nice, but distant, most people would say. Not, Ryou thought, smugly, with him.

“Just anticipating my partner,” he corrected, easily. The way they should be.

Ohtori

Shishido-san flopped down on the bench beside Choutarou and grabbed for his water bottle.

“Is anything wrong, Shishido-san?” Choutarou asked. “You seemed kind of distracted today.”

It was as polite a way as he could think of to point out that Choutarou didn’t normally win when they played singles against each other. It was getting closer, but still. Shishido-san shook his head and tossed Choutarou his own water.

“Just had a weird night,” he said, reassuringly. Choutarou raised his eyebrows. Shishido-san made a face.

“I was out playing pool last night, and ran across Seigaku’s Fuji.” He shuddered, though Choutarou thought he probably did it for effect. “Never, ever trust that guy, especially if he’s smiling. He completely fleeced four players in an hour, and three of them were the kind who usually do the fleecing themselves. And when one of his fellow sharks took exception to being cleaned out, Fuji backed him off without even raising his voice. He’s seriously creepy.”

Choutarou found himself smiling just a little at the disgruntled tone of Shishido-san’s story telling. He rather thought that Shishido-san’s real distraction came from the reminder that he wasn’t playing in the tournaments this year, while Fuji was. It was something close to unheard of, to have two first years among the Regular team, but Seigaku’s high school captain was apparently more interested in giving talent free rein than abiding by seniority. Hiyoshi-kun had smiled an extremely sharp smile, when he’d heard, probably at the idea of what Atobe-san would have said when he heard.

“I think another doubles pair has showed up, Shishido-san,” he said, instead. “Do you want to ask them for a game?”

Shishido-san’s eyes glinted, annoyance forgotten.

“Why don’t we do that?”

Shishido

Ryou still hadn’t managed to stop snickering by the time he met Choutarou to walk home. His partner gave him an inquiring look.

“Did something happen at practice, Shishido-san?”

“You could say that, yeah,” Ryou snorted. “Oshitari and Mukahi finally got walked in on. And the best part,” he added, snickering again, “was that Oshitari just looked over his shoulder, told them to come back in fifteen minutes, and kept right on. In the general club room, no less! I knew it was gonna happen some day.”

Choutarou cleared his throat, and Ryou saw that he was blushing. Whoops. Sometimes he forgot just how reserved his partner was about personal things. He patted Choutarou’s shoulder.

“Didn’t mean to embarrass you, Choutarou. It was just that everyone’s reactions were hysterical! You should have heard Atobe reading Oshitari the riot act about doing things with style.”

Ah, there was the little smile, again. The one from their early days as a pair, that meant Choutarou wasn’t entirely sure, yet, that he should be showing that he was happy or amused. A change of subject would probably make him relax again.

“So, how did your matches against Fudoumine go?” he asked, “I meant to come watch, but Atobe was feeling like a bastard and practically dragged me to the high school matches instead.” And he was going to get Atobe back for that. He was not married to his partner, thank you very much, he just cared more about Choutarou than the entire high school tennis club put together.

“Tachibana-san couldn’t make it to this match, to watch, either, and there’s really an edge they lack when he’s not there,” Choutarou said, a hint of disapproval in his tone. “It went all the way to Singles One, but we won.”

“Completely uncool,” Ryou agreed, firmly ignoring the small voice in the back of his head that was pointing out certain similarities to his own performance without Choutarou.

That was different. Choutarou wasn’t the center of his game; he was just… the other center of his game. Ryou had to shake his head at himself, wryly, before bumping Choutarou with his shoulder.

“So, your mom make any more of those killer chocolate cookies this week?”

Ohtori

Choutarou was having a very bad day. His E string had broken last night, and the store close to his house didn’t have the brand he favored. He’d had bizarre dreams that he couldn’t remember very well, involving a tennis court that somehow had nets all over it. The lingering restlessness from that had distracted him so much he’d burned three pieces of toast in a row, before Okaa-sama made him sit down and let her do it.

Normally, a match, especially a tournament match, let him put things like that aside, but today he was playing Seigaku’s Echizen-kun in Singles Two, and somehow it was just the last straw. Despite all the concentration and discipline he could muster, Choutarou couldn’t shake the horrible, foggy feeling of losing right from the start.

He tightened his mental grip as much as he could, preparing to serve.

“Choutarou!”

His head snapped up at the sound of his name, and he spun to see Shishido-san standing behind him, one hand wound into the fence. Choutarou recognized the look on his face. It was the same one he’d had while they worked on controlling his serve. Impatient. Sharp. Burning with incontrovertible belief that Choutarou would succeed.

Choutarou took what felt like his first real breath all day, and nodded. Shishido-san smiled back, bright as sunlight flashing off a knife.

All right, maybe he’d have a little more sympathy for Fudoumine next time. Maybe.

These days Echizen-kun could return over half of Choutarou’s serves. This one was not one of that half. As Echizen-kun shook out his hand, he gave Choutarou a one sided smile, eyes interested for the first time this match. Choutarou let his own mouth curve slightly, cool and pleased.

He knew Shishido-san was grinning, behind him.

Shishido

Ryou closed his History of the Heian Era text with a thump and cast himself back, carelessly, across Choutarou’s bed.

“I will be so glad when it’s next year,” he commented to the ceiling, knowing Choutarou would have looked up at the rustle when he fell back. “I mean, singles is fun, and all, but it’s just not the same.”

“Me, too.” Choutarou slipped out of his desk chair to sit leaning against the bed. “There’s just something… missing.”

“Yeah,” Ryou agreed, softly. It was almost enough, just to hang out with Choutarou, to share frustrations over their teams, to redesign the curriculum when they got bored with their homework. And they had played together a lot this year. But there was an extra edge that came with playing as a pair, against real challenges, that the street courts only supplied once in a blue moon.

Though the street courts did make it easier for Atobe to come watch them unobtrusively. Which he was capable of, if he put his mind to it. Being himself, Atobe hadn’t said a thing, but Ryou hadn’t known him this long for nothing. He had no more doubt that he’d be able to talk Atobe around to supporting he and Choutarou.

“Besides,” he went on, mood lightening a little, “somebody’s got to get Oshitari and Mukahi’s heads out of the clouds. They think they’ve got a cakewalk to Doubles One next year.” He turned his head, crooked grin meeting Choutarou’s sudden, brilliant smile. There was confidence there, and anticipation.

“Too bad Oshitari-senpai and Mukahi-senpai will have to settle for second,” Choutarou said, reaching out his hand to his partner. Ryou clasped it.

“Yep. Too bad for everyone else.”

End

Burning

In the winter of Ohtori’s third year of junior high and Shishido’s first year of high school. Shishido reflects on his partner, and their bond as a doubles pair. Drama With Romance, I-3

Character(s): Ohtori Choutarou, Shishido Ryou

The first time Ryou found himself admiring his partner’s body, he chalked it up to hormones and went on from there. He’d read his mother’s old human biology textbooks, and knew he was at the age where these things were supposed to start happening. It wasn’t the first time he’d caught himself looking at one of his teammates, either.

After a few months, though, he started noticing something.

When he looked at Choutarou the appreciation wasn’t colored by his usual awareness that he’d sooner sit through a makeover with his brother’s girlfriend than let the person in question within actual arm’s reach. And half the time it wasn’t precisely Choutarou’s body he was appreciating. Of course, Choutarou was striking to look at; the contrast of silver hair and large, dark eyes got lots of attention. But what caught Ryou’s attention was the poise of that tall figure; the straightness with which he always held his shoulders; his habit of running a hand through already rumpled hair, making it glow as it feathered down again; the way his eyes brightened and warmed, like chocolate melting, when Ryou complimented his technique.

By the time Ryou figured out that he was genuinely attracted to his partner, and it probably wasn’t going away, he had it pretty bad.

Some people, especially a certain other, really annoying, Hyoutei doubles pair, might have said it was a perfect setup. Ryou knew better. For one thing, he had no idea what Choutarou liked. His partner’s reserve made him one of the most asexual people Ryou had ever known, short of Hiyoshi. And while Choutarou was a lot nicer about rebuffing advances than his yearmate, everyone who made one to date had still been turned away.

Ryou had no intention of screwing up their combination by coming on to his partner if Choutarou wasn’t interested. He and Choutarou were already as close as siblings, without the disadvantage of having annoyed each other all the while growing up. Ryou valued that very highly. His hormones could damn well go sit on ice. He stared out his bedroom window at the light dusting of snow glittering on the trees and houses. It was certainly the right season.

Well, spring would be here soon, and Choutarou would graduate, and they would be in the same school again. He could always keep an eye out, and see. He was pretty sure that, when Choutarou made up his mind what he was interested in, it would show in spite of that reserve. For one thing, Choutarou tended toward the intuitive the same way Ryou tended toward the analytical. With him, everything just was. Which was an occasional drawback when it came to finding and training out his technical weaknesses, but that was what partners were for. For another thing, Choutarou let a lot of his reserve go with Ryou.

Ryou grinned up at his ceiling, remembering his absolute shock, that day he’d heard Choutarou put his position on the line for the sake of Ryou’s. That had been the first day he’d seen a hint of the shy, friendly brightness beyond the steel determination that was Choutarou’s trademark as a player. That, as much as Choutarou’s genuine respect for him in his hour of disgrace, had reconciled him to playing as part of a doubles pair.

“Shishido-san?” came his partner’s quiet voice from across the room. Ryou rolled over to see him stacking his books, papers neatly tucked away.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think all doubles pairs are this close?”

Ryou blinked, startled once again at how closely their thoughts matched sometimes.

“Where did that come from?” he asked. Choutarou drew his knees up and rested his chin on them, looking thoughtful.

“My History and Society course is talking about how chance influences events, and it just started me thinking. It was really chance that we wound up as a pair. But we work together really well in doubles, because our styles and personalities fit. And that made me wonder about what it is that makes doubles in general work. All the really good pairs that I’ve seen seem… very close. I wondered if that personality match is necessary.”

Ryou regarded his partner. Was Choutarou’s reserve starting to rebel against that closeness? It didn’t seem likely; Choutarou had always seemed pleased, almost relieved, that he and Ryou were so in synch. Still.

“We’re closer than just a personality match would make us,” he observed. “Compatible personalities can happen even with people who have barely met.”

Choutarou nodded, solemnly. No clues yet.

“I think the best pairs probably are all close like this. It would take kind of a strange mind to share so much understanding in a game and then just drop it when the game ends,” Ryou said, carefully. “Do you mind?”

Choutarou blinked at him, brown eyes wide.

“Oh! No, that wasn’t what I meant, Shishido-san,” he assured his partner. Ryou relaxed again, mouth quirking.

“You sure?” he asked. Choutarou smiled, and Ryou savored more of that brightness that Choutarou didn’t show to anyone else.

“I’m sure,” Choutarou affirmed. “I was just wondering about what that means for a pair like Inui-san and Kaidou.”

Ryou thought about it for a long moment, and then almost fell off his bed laughing at the mental pictures.

“Shishido-san,” his partner admonished, but Ryou could hear the edge of suppressed laughter in his voice.

“I just,” he gasped, “had this image of the two of them griping over Tezuka, the way we do over Atobe and Hiyoshi…” He dissolved again, and this time Choutarou was laughing too.

When they calmed down again, Ryou felt satisfaction displacing the uncertainty of his earlier thoughts. As long as he was the one who made Ohtori Choutarou laugh out loud, the rest of it was almost beside the point.

End

Tyger

Ohtori and Shishido finally come to terms with their attraction, and their partnership. Romance With Drama and Porn, I-4

Character(s): Ohtori Choutarou, Shishido Ryou

Pairing(s): Shishido/Ohtori

Choutarou had learned years ago that a cool response was his best revenge on hecklers. So, when one of the second years suggested that Shishido-san must have done some extraordinary favors for Atobe to have arranged for the Shishido-Ohtori pair to play, despite Choutarou only being a first year, he didn’t twitch. He wanted to feed the smirking bastard his own racquet, but he knew that wouldn’t help anything in the long run.

For one thing, he knew no one actually believed any such thing. Shishido-san’s… discussion with Atobe-senpai had been quite vehement and perfectly public. Half the club had hung around while Atobe-senpai had arranged for Choutarou and Shishido-san to play a match with the current Doubles Two pair. Their resulting win didn’t count toward team rankings, since it had been after actual club practice time, and theoretically their coach was not aware of it. But Choutarou was quietly permitted to play as a pair with Shishido-san again. He had known there would be resentment, as they advanced, even without Atobe-senpai’s silent warning just before their “trial” match began.

“If you think we aren’t strong enough to be candidates for the Regulars, you’re welcome to try proving it, Senpai,” Choutarou suggested, calmly, now. The smirk turned into a grimace, which made him feel a little better. What he spotted over the heckler’s shoulder made him feel a great deal better.

“That Shishido…” the second year spat, only to be cut off by a razor sharp voice behind him.

“Yeah? What about ‘that Shishido’?”

Choutarou couldn’t help a tiny smile as the heckler and his two friends whirled around to see Shishido-san leaning against the fence.

“You have a problem with me?” Shishido prodded, pushing away from the fence and advancing. “Or my partner?” he added, eyes narrowing.

He watched their disorderly retreat with a gleam of satisfaction, before sighing.

“It’s fun to watch ’em run, but there are times I wish I had your cool, Choutarou. Furokawa’s going to be a pain for weeks after this.”

Choutarou bit back his initial response, but then thought again. This was Shishido-san, after all. His partner. So.

“I’m glad you don’t, Shishido-san,” he said, quietly. Shishido-san turned toward him, one winged brow lifting.

“Why not?” he wanted to know.

“It’s… a cold way to be,” Choutarou explained. “You’re not a cold person.”

Shishido-san’s expressive mouth twisted, wryly.

“And you are?” he asked smacking Choutarou on the shoulder with the back of his hand. “Don’t give me that, Choutarou. Maybe you can fool the rest of them, but I know you better.” Choutarou ducked his head.

“Yes. But you’re… you’re very passionate, Shishido-san. I’m not like that.”

They walked in silence until he turned toward the classroom buildings.

“You have something else today?” Shishido-san asked, surprised.

“I wanted some extra time to practice with the piano this week. The tutor said it would be all right for me to come in late, as long as I lock up behind me.”

“Yeah?” Shishido-san tipped his head to the side. “It bother you to have an audience?”

Choutarou was startled. Shishido-san had heard him play before, but usually by coincidence. He’d never asked to listen.

“It won’t bother me,” he said, at last, “though I’m afraid you’ll be bored.” Shishido-san’s mouth quirked.

“Doubt it.” He fell in beside Choutarou again.

All right, so Shishido-san didn’t look bored, as he slung himself into one of the chairs in the second music room while Choutarou started working through his warmups. That was good. It made it easier to slip into the music when he started practicing for real, listening, feeling, for the moments when the flow hitched, places he needed to go back and smooth. When he snuck a look at Shishido-san, between pieces, he looked relaxed and contemplative, eyes half shut. It was a rare look for Shishido-san to wear, but Choutarou had seen it enough to know it wasn’t boredom. In the end, he was comfortable enough to wrap up with a run through one of his own rare compositions.

He had written this one last year, trying to catch a moment in the music. It was a day he and Shishido-san had been playing each other, on one of the courts near Shishido-san’s house, and a storm had driven them under cover. Shishido-san had stood at the very edge of the pavilion, staring raptly at the sky and laughing with each especially impressive crack of thunder. He had leaned into the storm, the way Choutarou had seen him lean into a good opponent. The idea of playing a storm had taken Choutarou’s fancy, and he’d tried to sketch out, in music, what it might feel like.

He took a deep breath and let it out as the last chord slid through his fingers. The stillness just after was one of the things he played music for, the peace after the rush. When he looked up, he was almost surprised to see Shishido-san still there, eyes burning into him. Shishido-san stood, without speaking, came to Choutarou’s side, gripped his shoulder and shook him, gently.

“And you think you aren’t passionate? Choutarou, for a smart guy, you can be really dense sometimes. Just because you don’t show it in many ways doesn’t mean it isn’t there,” he said, seriously. “I haven’t seen you underestimate yourself very often. Don’t do it now.”

To hear that from the one person whose judgment Choutarou was willing to trust as he would his own laid peace over him as deep as the stillness after a good performance.

“Thank you, Shishido-san,” he murmured. Shishido-san smiled down at him, the small smile that meant something was going their way. The thought flickered across Choutarou’s mind that Shishido-san was close enough to kiss him.

He almost swallowed his tongue in startlement. Where had that come from?

“Choutarou?” Shishido asked, looking concerned. “You all right? You looked kind of odd for a second, there.”

“Yes, I’m fine,” Choutarou assured him, automatically. “I think I just spaced out for a minute; it’s been a long day.”

“You can say that again, Mr. Two Club Overachiever,” Shishido-san teased. “We’d better get you home before you fall asleep on your feet.”

Choutarou laughed and agreed, but when he finally went to bed that night he didn’t go to sleep for a long time.

It was not news to him that he was powerfully drawn to his partner. When he had spoken of Shishido-san being passionate he had left out the parts about how it infused everything he did. Every gesture practically glowed with it, like the corona during an eclipse. It fascinated Choutarou, and all the more for the contrast it made with his own reserve and containment. Their complementary natures were as much what made them an outstanding doubles pair as the similarity of their drive and will to succeed.

Choutarou had thought that was all it was.

He decided to test it with a little thought experiment, of sorts. He closed his eyes on the dark room, and cast his mind back to himself sitting at the piano and Shishido-san standing beside him. How would he have felt if Shishido-san had closed that last distance, run his hand up Choutarou’s neck to tangle in his hair, leaned down and touched his lips to Choutarou’s…?

Tingling heat shot through him, curling low in his stomach. Choutarou’s eyes snapped open to stare at the darkness, breath fast, heart pounding. All right. So. Yes. He really was attracted to his partner. Fine.

Now, what on Earth was he going to do about it?

Choutarou’s thoughts insisted on running in circles, and they were starting to make him dizzy. The most reasonable thing he could do was decide whether he thought Shishido-san shared his attraction or not, and either tell him, in the first instance, or do his best to ignore it, in the second. The problem came in step one.

Shishido-san sought him out, even when they weren’t practicing. Shishido-san used a language of expressions that was just between them. Shishido-san acted like Choutarou’s wellbeing was an extension of his own, and cared for it as matter-of-factly. Those were things that Choutarou had seen established couples do. But it could easily be that Shishido-san did all that because they were a team, and friends, without being at all attracted to Choutarou. Then again, he touched Choutarou far more easily than he did anyone else. But, then again, it could just be…

Around and around.

And underneath it all, the intuition that he should just speak up, pushing against the fear of damaging what they already had.

The court was one of the few places he could put it all aside, because a game was a game and training was training, and nothing interfered with that. But Shishido-san was starting to notice his distraction whenever Choutarou stood still for more than a minute. There were a few things about which Shishido-san could show great patience, but his partner holding out on him did not seem to be one of them. It only took a few weeks before he cornered Choutarou while they were packing up after practice.

“All right, Choutarou, give. What’s got you so wound up, lately?” Shishido-san didn’t look up from zipping his bag, but his tone was not casual. Choutarou bit his lip.

“It’s nothing, Shishido-san, there’s just been something on my mind.”

“Yeah, I got that part. You’re throwing yourself into games like you don’t want to come out the other side.” Shishido-san blew out an exasperated sigh, and stood directly in front of Choutarou. “C’mon, what’s up?”

Choutarou couldn’t quite bring himself to look Shishido-san in the face when he was so close, and contented himself with examining his partner’s shoes instead. “It’s nothing. Really,” he murmured. He could hear the frown in Shishido-san’s voice, when he spoke.

“Choutarou, you’re starting to make me nervous, here. Come on, look at me.” When Choutarou didn’t look up, his voice lowered, half an order and half an entreaty, “Choutarou…”

That tone, and Shishido-san’s hands closing over his shoulders, drove Choutarou’s head up. Shishido-san was leaning forward, barely a hand-span away. His breath caught, and a shiver sheeted over him before he could stop it. Choutarou was sure his eyes were as wide as an animal’s caught in oncoming headlights.

Shishido-san was his partner, the one he willingly shared his mind and heart with when they played; he knew Choutarou. Choutarou felt apprehension, but no surprise, to see Shishido-san’s expression changing, the frown of irritation and concern giving way to surprise, to inquiry, to a thoughtful examination that finally faded into a look almost as wide-eyed as Choutarou’s own.

“You’re kidding me,” he said, softly.

Choutarou wanted to look away again, but since he couldn’t give himself a reason for doing so, any longer, besides cowardice, he swallowed hard and kept his eyes on Shishido-san’s. His partner was very still for twenty heartbeats; Choutarou counted them. And then one of Shishido-san’s hands rose to his chin, thumb settling against his cheek. Choutarou’s breath stopped entirely.

“You sure?” Shishido-san asked, tone gentler than ninety-eight percent of the tennis club would probably ever credit. Choutarou remembered Shishido-san asking him the same thing, the first time they had talked about just how close they were becoming. Warmth started in his chest, unlocking his lungs.

“Yes,” he whispered. Shishido-san’s thumb brushed over his mouth, and he had to close his eyes for a moment. When he looked up again, Shishido-san was smiling, crookedly.

“Is this what you’ve been so knotted up over?” he asked. When Choutarou nodded, Shishido-san shook his head.

“My partner, the brilliant idiot,” he said, mock-disgusted. “Even if I didn’t want you too, did you think I’d be upset about it or something?”

Choutarou felt a flush rising in his cheeks, and glanced aside as far as Shishido-san’s hand would let him.

“You should know better than that, by now,” his partner admonished. “And, anyway, if I’d had any idea you felt like this I would have done something about it a lot sooner, believe me.”

Choutarou looked back at Shishido-san, ruefully.

“Actually… I only realized a few weeks ago,” he admitted. Shishido-san leaned over him, laughing softly.

“Choutarou,” he chuckled, before his lips covered his partner’s.

It was… Shishido-san. Impulsive, and casual, and impatient. Sharp and sleek. Warm and open. And Choutarou relaxed into that warmth, the way he always did.

“Well,” Atobe-senpai murmured to Shishido-san, as practice broke up two days later, “that’s certainly one way to increase the effectiveness of your combination.”

“One more comment like that, Atobe, and I’m gonna see if that mouth of yours is big enough to fit your racquet into,” Shishido-san growled back.

Choutarou steadfastly made as if he hadn’t heard a thing, as Atobe-senpai strolled off, laughing low in his throat. He was deeply grateful that no one else seemed to have noticed anything; he really didn’t feel that it was anyone’s business but his and Shishido-san’s. As they headed toward Shishido-san’s house, it being his turn to host homework and snacks, Choutarou couldn’t help asking, though.

“Shishido-san, why are you and Atobe-senpai like that? I mean,” he hesitated, “you’re… friends… aren’t you?”

“Yeah, well,” Shishido-san snorted. Then his mouth quirked, reminiscently. “It goes back a long way. Atobe and I were in the same class almost from the start, and it was hate at first sight.” He glanced at Choutarou, with the tilt of brows that meant he was just a little embarrassed.”We’re both kind of attention hogs; even Atobe admits that, though he has different words for it, of course. I forget what we were even arguing about, actually. I do remember that he made one smart remark too many, and I hauled off and socked him one.” Shishido-san grinned, showing a lot of teeth, at what seemed to be a happy memory. “I also remember being surprised that he gave as good as he got.” The grin twisted. “Atobe has always fought dirty, unless he has a reason not to.”

Yes, Choutarou had noticed that. He’d spared a moment to be glad, every now and then, that being one of Atobe-senpai’s team was apparently sufficient reason.

“Well, one of the Elementary teachers had probably just been to a developmental psychology seminar, or something,” Shishido-san continued, a bit tartly, “because they shut us up in a room together to cool down.”

“Um,” Choutarou commented.

“Yeah. Thing was, in a way it worked. We didn’t spontaneously become buddies or anything like that, but we did agree that, while we hated each others guts, we were even more pissed off at the adults who thought we would fall for a set up like that.” Shishido-san shook his head. “The older I get, the more I understand why Tou-san says they couldn’t pay him enough to teach at Hyoutei. But it’s been like that ever since. We have enemies in common, goals in common. And he doesn’t try to wrap me around his finger, and I always give him straight answers.” Shishido-san shrugged. “It works out.”

Maybe, Choutarou reflected, as they made their way up to Shishido-san’s room, they had both needed someone to be open with. Really open.

They shed their bags, but Shishido-san stopped him before he could pull out his books.

“You have anything that needs doing right away?” he asked. A tingle danced down Choutarou’s spine.

“No,” he answered, softly, taking a small step toward his partner.

“Good.” Shishido-san smiled, slow and pleased, sapphire eyes darkening as he ran a hand up to the nape of Choutarou’s neck and tugged him down to a kiss.

Choutarou pressed a little closer to Shishido-san’s body, opening his mouth as the tip of Shishido-san’s tongue skated over his lower lip. Shishido-san seemed to take the hint, because his lips curved against Choutarou’s, and he pulled his partner down to his bed. Choutarou let out a tiny laugh when Shishido-san planted an elbow on either side of his head and just looked down at him with the glowing smile he gave Choutarou when they won a hard game. Choutarou reached up, and Shishido-san’s smile curled in just a little at the edges as Choutarou ran his hands through the brush of thick, silky hair. It was soft against his palms.

“You’re just going to look, Shishido-san?” he asked, moving one hand to touch his fingertips to his partner’s mouth. He gasped when Shishido-san captured one, delicately, between his teeth, touching back with his tongue.

“Mmm,” Shishido-san purred, letting go. “You mind if I touch?” His voice made Choutarou shiver, lower and huskier than usual, and the spark in his half-lidded eyes suggested just what kind of touching he meant.

“I don’t mind,” Choutarou whispered, a little breathless. He wasn’t entirely sure, himself, how far he was ready to let this go, but he wanted Shishido-san to touch him. He wanted to add the warmth of Shishido-san’s hands to the warmth of his partner’s simple presence and smile.

“The Student Council are sadists,” Shishido-san said, conversationally if a bit muffled against Choutarou’s throat, as his fingers worked their way down Choutarou’s shirt buttons. “They design these uniforms to be taken off, and then expect us to keep our minds on studying.”

Choutarou’s chuckle unraveled as Shishido-san’s hands stroked down his chest, brushing his shirt aside. His breath escaped on a soft aaaahh when Shishido-san slid down him to trace the muscles of his stomach with a warm tongue. His insides felt shivery, uncertain, as if he’d stepped into a fast elevator down. When Shishido-san bit down, gently, it felt like a static shock, and Choutarou arched up off the bed with a sharp sound.

“Shishido-san!”

His partner moved back up to kiss him, pressing him down with the comforting weight of his body.

“Too much?” Shishido-san asked.

“I…” Choutarou actually couldn’t make up his mind about that. He certainly didn’t want to stop. So he asked something else, instead. “Shishido-san… would you mind? If I touch?”

Shishido-san grinned, and rolled them both over, taking Choutarou above him. “Feel free,” he said.

The shirt was, as Shishido-san had pointed out, quick work, and Shishido-san made small, appreciative noises as Choutarou explored his chest with light fingers. It was when he got to the pants that Choutarou hesitated, glancing up at Shishido-san to make sure this would be all right. Holding Choutarou’s gaze, reassuring him more by action than any words could, Shishido-san reached down and unfastened the button and zipper himself before leaving it to Choutarou again. Choutarou had to tear his eyes away from his partner’s before he could continue.

Seeing Shishido-san lying naked on a bed was a very different matter than seeing him changing into or out of uniform, and it stopped Choutarou again, all his attention taken up with tracing the lines of Shishido-san’s body, dark against the white sheets. A soft laugh drew his eyes up to Shishido-san’s face, and his wicked smile, as he stretched like a cat, muscles shifting and flowing under his skin.

“Like what you see, Choutarou?” he asked, teasing.

Choutarou swallowed, and nodded, and came to him, touching his partner with something like wonder. Shishido-san’s skin was fine-grained, smooth as he stroked across it, and his partner sighed and stretched again under his hands. A pleased smile curled Choutarou’s own lips as he glanced down and noticed just how much Shishido-san was enjoying this. Slowly, hesitating a little, he reached down and curled his fingers around Shishido-san’s length.

“Choutarou,” Shishido-san breathed, harshly. “Oh, yeah.”

Choutarou stroked him, gently. He hadn’t quite realized, touching himself, how soft this skin was, and feeling the heat of someone else’s arousal against his palm was… very different. He was breathing almost as fast as Shishido-san. Small things lodged themselves in his memory: the flex of Shishido-san’s moan; the line of Shishido-san’s leg as he drew one knee up; Shishido-san’s hands fisting in the sheets, not trying to return anything yet, leaving this moment to Choutarou; the arch of Shishido-san’s throat as he threw his head back, suddenly voiceless, hips thrusting up into Choutarou’s hand; the way Shishido-san was still hot to his touch when he finally fell back, panting.

Choutarou was just starting to wonder about the mechanics of cleaning them up when Shishido-san slitted his eyes open and laughed. He fished around the headboard of the bed without looking, and extracted a box of tissues. When Shishido-san had applied those and tossed them over the side, he pressed Choutarou down and kissed him slowly.

“So, can I return the favor?” he asked, his tone playful but his eyes serious.

“I’d like that,” Choutarou said, softly.

“See? I told you you were, so, passionate,” Shishido-san observed as he stripped off Choutarou’s remaining clothing. “Or maybe I should just say aggressive.”

“Shishido-san,” Choutarou laughed, feeling a blush cross his cheeks.

“Hmmm.” Shishido-san covered Choutarou’s body with his own, drawing a quiet gasp from Choutarou, before he spoke again. “You know, all things considered, it’s probably all right to be a little less formal now.”

Choutarou blinked up at him for a moment before he actually understood. The formalities were so automatic for him… But his partner had a point.

“Shishido,” he essayed, a little shyly. His partner’s bare name in his mouth somehow felt more intimate than the bare skin against his own.

“Mm. Better,” his partner purred, nudging Choutarou’s head up so he could lick teasingly at the tender skin under his jaw.

Choutarou closed his eyes. If what he wanted was the openness that his partner offered him so freely, it was only right… And this was his partner, he was safe here…

“Ryou,” he whispered. He heard his partner’s breath catch, and then he was being kissed, hard, caught up against Ryou’s body so tight he almost couldn’t breathe, though he didn’t miss it just then, kissed again and again.

“Choutarou.” His partner’s voice was rough against his ear.

Choutarou was still a bit dazed when Ryou slid down his body, but Ryou’s fingers stroking him hard focused his attention. The hot, wet slide of Ryou’s tongue licking up his length, delicately as he might an ice cream cone he wanted to make last, knocked him back again. He shuddered at the soft, quick touches, moaning when the heat of Ryou’s mouth finally closed around him. That heat raced through him, snatching him up like a wave ready to throw him to shore, and the speed of it might have frightened him without Ryou’s hands to steady him, remind him of who was with him. Choutarou closed his own hands, hard, on Ryou’s arms and let the wave of heat and pressure and pleasure take him, lift him, cast him forward and out of himself.

Ryou was holding him when the tremors running through him finally relaxed, and he turned his head into his partner’s shoulder, shaken but pleased.

“All right?” Ryou asked, quietly. Choutarou nodded, and a thought struck him, prompted by the knowledge in his partner’s voice when he asked.

“You’ve… done this before.”

“Yeah; a fling here and there at the seminars and camps,” Ryou answered, shrugging.

“I think I’m glad for that,” Choutarou murmured, wrapping an arm around Ryou’s waist. His partner chuckled.

“Good.”

Choutarou lay, thinking about how comfortable Ryou’s arms around him, and Ryou’s hand rubbing his back, were. Comfortable, comforting, warm and natural. Intimate. He stirred.

“Ryou?” he started, still shy with his partner’s name.

“Mm?” There was a happy, satisfied grin in that small noise, and Choutarou smiled before biting his lip.

“Will you mind if I call you by your family name, at school, still?” he asked, softly. “It’s… this is…”

“Personal,” Ryou finished for him, holding him tighter. “Of course I won’t mind.”

“Thank you.” Choutarou settled a little closer, into peace deeper than he had ever felt, even with his music. Clearly, he thought, smiling to himself, the closeness and the touching hadn’t been just because Ryou was his partner.

Clearly, there was no “just” about their partnership.

End

Confluence

Mild chaos and vast snarkiness as many paths cross at a music store. Drama With Romance, I-3

Character(s): Atobe Keigo, Echizen Ryouma, Fuji Yuuta, Mizuki Hajime, Momoshiro Takeshi, Ohtori Choutarou, Shishido Ryou, Tachibana An, Tachibana Kippei, Tezuka Kunimitsu

Pairing(s): Mizuki/Yuuta, Momoshiro/Ryouma, Shishido/Ohtori, Tachibana/Fuji, Tezuka/Atobe

Tezuka

Kunimitsu had some misgivings about accompanying Keigo to a music store. Particularly one this large. Music was, after all, one of Keigo’s enthusiasms. He could only hope Keigo had entertained the other people in the train car more than he had alarmed them, holding forth as energetically as he had on the antecedents of jazz. He hesitated to think what would happen if they found a knowledgeable clerk inside for Keigo to chat with.

Blackmail was, however, blackmail, and Keigo had threatened to select things for Kunimitsu’s collection if he didn’t come along to make his own choices.

“So,” Keigo said, looking around with a gleam of avarice in his eye, “where shall we start?”

“Your show,” Kunimitsu told him, evenly, “at least until it comes to my collection. Wherever you like.”

Keigo looked to be in a mischievous mood, to judge by the look of Well, of course that he flashed Kunimitsu before leading the way through the racks. After a brief stopover in Pop they finally fetched up at the border of Jazz and Classical.

“Mm. Akiko Yano, Nunokawa Toshiki, Raphael Lima, Ishmael Reed, now there’s one I didn’t expect, even at this store. And why,” Keigo added in a long-suffering tone, “can’t anyone ever catalogue Gershwin properly?”

“Well,” came a light voice behind them, “surely not everyone can be blessed with your incisively discerning taste, Atobe.”

Kunimitsu turned to see Fuji, Tachibana beside him, smiling with the kind of earnest sincerity that could only be fake. He glanced aside to see how his companion was taking it. Keigo studied the rack in front of him with a thoughtful look for a moment before one side of his mouth twitched up. He wrapped arrogant entitlement around him like a robe and turned as well.

“Of course,” he agreed, carelessly, stance suddenly a pose for admiring crowds.

Kunimitsu caught Tachibana’s eye, full of amused sympathy, and shrugged an eyebrow. Still, it might be a good idea to redirect the two before innocent bystanders happened along and entered the line of fire.

“Similar taste in music, too?” he mused to no one in particular. Fuji’s smile didn’t flicker, but Keigo gave him a cool look.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t seriously be suggesting that Fuji’s tastes run to Zig Noda.” He had drawn a breath to continue when Fuji’s slightly frozen expression stopped him.

“Kose Kikuchi,” Fuji admitted, after a moment.

They turned as one to glare daggers at Kunimitsu, who refrained from responding. Tachibana had a hand over his mouth.

“Similar instruments,” Keigo declared, “do not equate to similar styles.”

“Quite so,” Fuji agreed, stepping toward a different rack. “And it was Roy Hargrove that I particularly hoped to find today.”

“The latest album?” Keigo asked, sharply, discarding his front in face of a possible threat to his program of acquisition. “I hope there are two copies, then, I’d hate for you to be disappointed, Fuji.”

Of course, Kunimitsu reflected, as Keigo strode after Fuji, his genuine behavior didn’t always differ that markedly from his public act. Particularly when one of his enthusiasms was involved. Tachibana leaned against the rack beside him, looking after the other two.

“Shuusuke is still annoyed with you over that particular observation,” he noted.

“I’m not surprised,” Kunimitsu said. “Keigo is, a bit, too.” Tachibana gave him an oblique look.

“If you knew it would irritate them, why did you say it?” he asked. Kunimitsu folded his arms.

“Better they be annoyed with me than each other. Imagine the consequences.”

Tachibana rubbed his fingers over his forehead, suddenly looking a little pinched. “I’d really rather not.”

Kunimitsu looked at him sharply, questioning. After a moment Tachibana shook his head.

“It’s more his story than mine,” he said, quietly.

“Mm.” Still, Kunimitsu had to respect the point. He had entrusted his friend to Tachibana years ago; it was good to know the trust wasn’t misplaced.

Atobe

“Metheny is one step away from elevator music,” Keigo snorted, as he and Fuji made their way back to their respective partners. “Next you’ll be telling me you like Yanni.”

“A narrative format keeps music from becoming meaninglessly abstract,” Fuji countered. He paused long enough to give Tezuka something Keigo read as a vindicated look. Probably because they were disagreeing. Keigo considered weighing in with a smug smile of his own, but decided it would detract from the point.

“Well. Isn’t this quite the congregation?” asked a new voice. Keigo glanced around to see Mizuki Hajime and Fuji’s brother, Yuuta, come around the corner from the next aisle. Something in the quality of the silence beside him drew his gaze back to Fuji, and he almost took a step away.

The gleam of more or less good natured mockery in Fuji’s eyes was swallowed into a flat, icy blue, slick as the side of a glacier. Any hint of a smile fell away like a dropped piece of paper. It wasn’t an expression Keigo had ever seen on Fuji before, not even when he was playing for real. A quick look at Kunimitsu showed enough disturbance in the line of his mouth that Keigo didn’t think he was familiar with this either. Tachibana had closed the distance between he and Fuji, and laid an unobtrusive hand on his back.

“Mizuki,” Fuji stated, soft and flat.

Yuuta looked edgy, but Mizuki merely clasped his hands behind his back and smiled.

“Shuusuke. You’re looking well.”

Keigo was, a bit unwillingly, impressed with Mizuki’s nerve. Or, possibly, his mental instability. A corner of Fuji’s mouth twitched, as though he were suppressing a snarl. Keigo was wildly curious about exactly what Mizuki had really just said; subtext almost dripped from that simple greeting.

Tachibana’s presence abruptly became more noticeable. Keigo, familiar with the ways a person could draw the eye, noted with interest that Tachibana did it without even shifting his body language much. He didn’t step forward, or loom. He simply straightened, and his presence washed out from him, momentarily overwhelming even the intensity of Fuji’s focus, pulling Mizuki’s gaze away from his target. Tachibana gave him a hard look. After a moment, Mizuki inclined his head and opened one hand, palm up.

If Keigo had to guess, he would judge that Tachibana knew what was unspoken between Fuji and Mizuki, and had warned Mizuki to back off from the subject. And Mizuki, for whatever reason, had acknowledged Tachibana’s right to interfere and accepted the warning.

And for some reason that had caused Yuuta to relax. Fuji too, after a stiff moment.

Keigo stifled a sigh, resigning himself to the hell of ungratified curiosity, because, even if Kunimitsu knew what was going on, Keigo knew he would never get the answer out of him.

“You two have fun, then,” Yuuta said, running a hand through his hair, and sounding a bit rueful. “I’ll just be over there.” He slipped back into the other aisle, leaving both his brother and his lover looking after him, the one bemused and the other affectionate. Though it took Keigo a second look to place the expression on Mizuki’s face, before it reverted to a more accustomed smirk as Mizuki turned back to Fuji.

“He doesn’t like listening, when it gets to be about him,” Mizuki told the elder Fuji. That, at least, made sense to Keigo. Everyone who had any contact with either of them knew that Yuuta was a bone of contention between Fuji and Mizuki.

That cold tension was singing through Fuji again, though not quite as intensely as before.

“So many assumptions, Shuusuke,” Mizuki murmured. “Where would be the challenge in that?” Then he practically grinned. “So, what are you here for today?”

Keigo studied Mizuki. Unlike Fuji, Mizuki looked exactly like someone in the middle of a good game: breathing light and fast, eyes wide and brilliant. He’d long suspected that Mizuki liked to do things indirectly, and that his airs and affectations were as much a front as Keigo’s own. He’d suspected that it was done for Mizuki’s own amusement, and that he snickered up his sleeve at everyone who took the flouncing and strutting seriously. This was the first time he’d really thought that tennis itself might only be a medium for Mizuki, not a goal.

Fuji waved a hand at the racks around them.

“We came for music,” he answered, in the tone of someone dealing with an idiot. Mizuki merely smiled.

“Ah. Not the company of friends?” He paused, and Keigo sniffed at the melodrama. “But I suppose not, given the conversation as we arrived. Really, Shuusuke, anyone would think you were jealous.” His glance flicked toward Kunimitsu.

Keigo was about to snort, because hadn’t he and Fuji been over that already? But the shift in Fuji’s weight, the tense and twist of his hands, stopped it. Keigo’s eyes widened. There must be some truth in what Mizuki was saying, or Fuji wouldn’t be reacting like this. From the way Kunimitsu stiffened beside him, he had caught some of it, too.

And that was enough for Keigo to interfere.

“Jealous?” he drawled. “You should check your facts, Mizuki. Envious, now, that’s a bit more likely.” It wasn’t easy to lounge while standing upright, but that’s what talent was for. Tachibana was looking at him with a mix of disbelief and amusement. Kunimitsu was completely poker faced, except for the angle of his brows, which communicated a certain resigned affection to Keigo. Fuji slanted a wry glance at him, appreciating the double edge of Keigo’s intervention.

Mizuki looked at him with irritation before narrowing his eyes. When he spoke, it was to Fuji, every nuance of tone and stance saying that Keigo’s interruption was insignificant.

“You have my sympathy, of course. It can’t be easy to lose such a subtle bond to someone so greedy that he can’t stand not to be the center of attention.”

Now it was Keigo’s turn to suppress a snarl, because he’d be damned before he gave Mizuki the satisfaction. Of course, the delivery annoyed him infinitely more than the accusation, which he’d heard with tiresome frequency. A part of him, however, had to appreciate the precision of the attack. It played perfectly off the manner of intervention he had chosen, and also seemed to touch on a genuine sore point with Fuji. He filed that last observation away for future consideration.

Yes, this was definitely Mizuki’s true game.

Keigo’s own response rallied though, just as for any other attack. That moment after he had spoken, a flash of surprise had shown in Mizuki’s eyes, as if he’d forgotten Keigo’s presence. Combined with his choice of counter, Keigo rather thought it indicated something about Mizuki. It was, after all, easiest to recognize a weakness one shared. He wondered whether Fuji had caught it.

Ah, yes, there was the smile. The dangerous one.

“Perhaps,” Fuji answered in his most dismissive tone, and turned most of the way away from Mizuki to smile far more softly up at Tachibana. Keigo detected subtext again, since Tachibana didn’t really seem the sort to typically touch his lover’s cheek in public the way he was right now.

Mizuki certainly seemed to get it, as his expression turned extremely disgruntled for a moment. Keigo rather thought all four of them were waiting for a classic Mizuki temper tantrum. He, at least, was quite surprised when Mizuki merely nodded, eyes sharp, conceding the game if not the match.

“Another day, then, Shuusuke,” he murmured, and turned to follow the path Yuuta had taken.

Tachibana looked after him, down at the still glinting eyes of his lover, and finally over at Kunimitsu.

“Tezuka,” he said, wearily, “is it one of your requirements for team members, to be pathologically incapable of refusing a challenge?”

Keigo chuckled. “You’re just noticing?”

Yuuta

Yuuta slipped around the end of the cd racks, and nearly ran over Tachibana Ann, who was peering through a gap at the confrontation on the other side.

“Oh, not you, too,” he groaned. She gave him a stern eye.

“Your boyfriend is crazy,” she declared. “What did he do to make Fuji-niisan look like that?”

“None of your business,” Yuuta told her. “And Aniki is my brother, in case you’ve forgotten. You already have one, what do you want with another?”

“Unlike some people, I happen to like big brothers,” she shot back. Yuuta sighed, and leaned against the rack opposite.

“Knock it off, Ann, you’re not that stupid.”

She had the grace to look slightly abashed, as she tucked her hair back. “Well, no,” she admitted, in a less aggressive tone, “but there are really times, Yuuta.” Yuuta glanced aside. Aniki knew that Yuuta loved him. That was all that mattered. Right?

“Aniki and Mizuki had… a fight. Kind of,” he offered. “I think it’s over now, though. Mostly.” Feeling a little nervous at the number of qualifiers his unspoken pact of honesty with Ann forced him to add, he joined her in peering through the racks.

“Ooo, that was a good one,” Ann said, admiringly, of Aniki’s finishing move. Yuuta grinned down at her.

“You can be really vicious, you know that?”

“Good thing, too, otherwise how would I ever deal with you?”

They both sighed, and stepped back, as Mizuki let the challenge go.

“He was actually kind of restrained, today,” Ann noted, thoughtfully. “I don’t suppose he’s been ill?”

“Like I said, things are better. Mostly.” Yuuta shrugged, concealing his own surprise and relief. Ann looked over as Mizuki rounded the corner to their aisle.

“Ann-chan, how pleasant to see you here,” Mizuki greeted her. Not in a terribly good mood, but not fuming either, Yuuta gauged, and relaxed a little more. Ann gave Mizuki a long look before turning to Yuuta.

“He’s still a snake,” she said, firmly. “But I suppose, sometimes, he’s not completely horrible.” And, with that, she took herself off toward the Rock section.

“Charming girl,” Mizuki murmured. “Did you find everything you wanted?” Yuuta couldn’t help smiling at that question, even though it made his boyfriend quirk a brow at him.

“Yes.”

“Good,” Mizuki said, softly, reaching for Yuuta’s hand. Yuuta’s breath caught as he raised it and placed a kiss in the palm, just the tip of his tongue flicking against Yuuta’s skin.

“Mizuki!” Yuuta gasped, biting his lip and glancing quickly around to make sure no one was near. Mizuki gave him a dark look, from under his lashes, his promise to find out, later, exactly what Yuuta had been smiling over.

“Shall we go, then?”

Shishido

“So, who is this guy you’re so excited to find?” Ryou asked, following in his partner’s wake as Choutarou paced down the aisle, casting his eye over the racks.

“Chris Norman. He’s a classical flautist, primarily, but he does a lot of other really neat ethnic music, and he favors a wooden flute. It has a much softer tone than metal. I’ve never found a store that carries any of his albums, before. The first time I heard him was actually in concert.” Choutarou glanced back at him, with a small, bright smile in his eyes. “You’d like him.”

Ryou was wondering just how to take that, when Choutarou stopped short. Only Ryou’s quick reflexes kept him from barrelling into his partner.

“Atobe-buchou,” Choutarou said, voice startled. Ryou stepped around him to see.

And then he almost stepped back behind Choutarou, because it wasn’t just Atobe. It was also Tezuka, and Tachibana, and Fuji. The captain’s club, plus head case. Every club seemed to have one of the latter, and he supposed Fuji was better than Ibu, but Ryou would have preferred Jirou. At least he was reasonably harmless.

“Ohtori. Shishido,” Atobe replied. Ryou swore his eyes gleamed with amusement at Ryou’s discomfort, for an instant, but you could never pin Atobe down about stuff like that. A moment later he was turning back to Choutarou. “Are you here for anything in particular today?” he asked. Choutarou smiled his faint, public smile.

“The store called just this morning to say that they had Chris Norman’s first album in.”

“Chris Norman.” Atobe’s eyes went distant for a moment. “He played with the Baltimore Consort, yes?”

The conversation that followed had very little meaning to Ryou; he liked listening to music, but the details never really stuck with him. So he split his attention between pride in his partner and irritation with Atobe. Both pleasant constants in his life. He could always be proud of Choutarou, of the poise that let him keep his countenance in just about any situation, including chatting with his captain under Tezuka’s gimlet eye and Fuji’s alarming smile, and of a determination to match Ryou’s own, even when it was his own partner he was arguing with. Ryou still didn’t think fraternization between teams could possibly be healthy, but Choutarou had gotten him to admit that it didn’t seem to have affected Atobe and Tezuka’s games. Just personally, Ryou thought that was the weirdest thing of all.

He hauled back his wandering thoughts as Atobe… dismissed Choutarou with a gracious nod. There were really times when Ryou wished they were still eight years old and he could get away with punching the smug bastard. Still, in his own annoying way he seemed fond of Choutarou, and that got him a lot of latitude in Ryou’s book. He sauntered after his partner, exchanging companionable sneers with Atobe on the way past.

“Such a unique leadership style you have,” he heard Fuji remark, genially, behind him. “Do you tell your team members to imagine your face on the tennis ball, or do you trust that it will happen naturally?”

Ryou barely managed not to choke, because he had gotten through more than one practice with exactly that tactic. He’d been right all along. Fuji Shuusuke was creepy.

“Whatever works,” Atobe returned in a careless tone. Ryou could hear the smirk in it, and shot a glare over his shoulder.

“Remind me again why I’m friends with a jerk like you,” he growled, running an impatient hand through his hair.

“Because I’m the only one who would put up with your dramatics,” Atobe answered, promptly and loftily.

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Ryou gave him a look rich with disbelief. “Nice talking to you, Mr. Pot, I’ll just be getting back to my teacups, why don’t I.” He didn’t bother waiting for an answer before turning his back and stalking off after Choutarou. Maybe he’d send Tezuka a sympathy card when Valentine’s rolled around. When he caught up to his partner, Choutarou offered him one of the sample-this-disc headphone sets.

“This is it.”

Ryou had to admit, it was pretty music. It almost sounded like a traditional flute, but not quite; and a lot bouncier.

“Now,” Choutarou added, “imagine the man playing that, standing in front of a formal orchestra, wearing jeans and a bright red knit shirt and suspenders.”

Ryou burst out laughing. “You’re kidding!” When Choutarou shook his head, smile flashing, Ryou had to agree, “All right, yeah, I probably would like him.”

Choutarou’s pleased look nearly made him glow; it was one of the expressions Ryou was especially fond of. He was just considering whether it would injure his partner’s reserve if Ryou ran his fingers through the unruly drift of silver hair, when familiar voices interrupted.

“I mean, really, you need a life, Ryouma.”

“I have a life.”

“Besides tennis. Come on, forget the old man and act like a normal person for just one afternoon!”

“And another after that,” Echizen pointed out, inexorably, “and another after that, and…”

“Now you’re getting the idea.”

Momoshiro, Ryou identified the other speaker. No one else had quite the same congenially full-of-himself tone.

“Momoshiro, Echizen-kun,” Choutarou greeted them, turning.

“Hey,” Ryou seconded.

“Ohtori, Shishido-san, how’s it going?” Momoshiro hailed them, easily. Ryou considered him one of the easier players to get along with off the court. The same couldn’t be said for his companion, who just nodded—unusually cordial for Echizen. “Guess this place is attracting tennis players today, hm?” Momoshiro added, grinning.

“You have no idea,” Ryou muttered.

“It’s Tezuka-buchou and the Monkey King,” Echizen observed, peering further down the aisle. “And Tachibana and Fuji-senpai, too.”

Momoshiro winced a little. Ryou sympathized completely. Neither team had been prepared for finding out that their captains had hooked up. Even though Choutarou had said they should probably have expected it. Echizen’s expression sharpened into an evil, little smile.

“We should say hello.”

“Hey, Ryouma, hang on, we… you shouldn’t… Ryouma!” Momoshiro’s snatch at Echizen’s collar missed, as the younger player made a bee-line for the greatest source of trouble available.

Typical.

“It can be troublesome to have a partner who’s so impulsive, can’t it?” Choutarou asked.

“You can say that again,” Momoshiro muttered as he made after Echizen.

It took another minute to catch up with Ryou.

“Choutarou…” he said, drawing it out. His partner made wide eyes at him.

“Yes, Shishido-san?”

Ok, now he was sure, because Choutarou never called him that, anymore, unless he was teasing. He stepped into his partner, backing him against the rack.

“If we weren’t in public,” he said, softly, watching Choutarou’s eyes darken.

“Then, what?” Choutarou murmured. Ryou laughed.

“Grab your stuff, and let’s get out of here. And I’ll show you.”

If the cashier thought it was odd that the customers were grinning silently at each other, he didn’t mention it.

Momoshiro

Momo was an easygoing sort of guy. Which was a good thing, considering. It really wasn’t often, anymore, that he had the urge to whap Ryouma over the head with a racquet. It was much more effective to tickle him until he couldn’t breathe; Ryouma was far too aware of his dignity for his own good.

But whenever Ryouma saw an opportunity to mouth off to their captain he took it, and then it was time for caring friends to restrain him. Possibly with a straitjacket, because he really had to be crazy to tease Tezuka-san like that. The fact that Momo had never once, in three and a half years, succeeded was beside the point. So was the incomprehensible fact that their captain generally let Ryouma get away with it, sort of. If there was any topic that would finally drive Tezuka-san over the edge, it had to be his… relationship with Atobe.

Momo caught up just as Ryouma offered their captain his best insolent smirk.

“Buchou. Out on a date?”

Tezuka-san looked down his nose at his youngest team member with no expression Momo could detect, but Ryouma’s eyes gleamed like he’d gotten a rise out of him. Atobe, after one look, leaned against the racks, silently declaring that it was not his team and not his problem. Momo didn’t know exactly how he managed to get that across just by leaning back and crossing his arms. That talent was one of the more irritating things about Atobe.

Maybe Ryouma thought so, too, because he turned to Atobe next. “Guess there’s no hope for a game today, then. Too bad. Beating you would have been a good way to wrap up the weekend.”

“I’m told it’s good for people to have dreams,” Atobe returned, condescending as ever. “Nice to see you have one that will last you so very long, Echizen.”

Momo’s cautious look at Tezuka-san showed that he didn’t seem upset that Ryouma was ragging on his boyfriend. That was a relief. A sudden thought came to Momo, that Ryouma was challenging Atobe in front of their captain by way of asking permission. Ryouma never directly disobeyed the captain, but he was a master of avoiding being given orders that he didn’t want to follow. Giving the captain a chance to object was as good as asking if it was all right.

Which meant, Momo realized, that Ryouma would take Tezuka-san’s silence for assent, and keep needling Atobe until he got what he wanted. Ryouma was opening his mouth for the next shot when bright laughter cut across him.

“Ryouma-kun, you’re almost as good at ticking people off as you are at playing tennis. And that’s saying something.”

Tachibana Ann appeared from around the corner, grinning when Ryouma raised a brow at her.

“Ann-chan,” Momo exclaimed, relieved. “Are you here with your brother?” She grinned wider.

“Yes, but I thought he’d probably appreciate it if I got lost for a while.” She flicked her eyes at her brother and Fuji-senpai, standing together. “I’ve been exploring on my own; this place has a ton of great stuff!” She waved a handful of plastic cases, and Momo leaned over her shoulder to see.

“Oh, hey, I didn’t know Do As Infinity had another one out, what’s on it?”

“Momo-senpai.” Ryouma’s voice was low, but it got Momo’s attention. Ryouma didn’t sound that sharp very often. When he turned, though, Ryouma just looked at him, sidelong. He seemed irritated. It took Momo a couple beats to figure out why, but when he did he smiled. Ryouma looked away again, not meeting anyone’s eyes, now.

Momo came away from Ann, to stand behind Ryouma and lay a casual hand on his shoulder. “Ready to go bargain hunting?” he asked.

“Sure,” Ryouma muttered, still not looking back at him.

Ann-chan had a knowing smile on as she turned to her brother. “Did you guys find everything you wanted, Onii-chan?”

Occupied with her questions, the other players returned Momo’s goodbyes distractedly.

It wasn’t, Momo thought, as they moved on, that Ryouma was possessive, exactly. And he wasn’t anyone’s definition of clingy. There were just people he didn’t like Momo to pay too much attention to, and Tachibana Ann was one of them. The word boyfriend hadn’t even been breathed between them, yet, except jokingly, but they didn’t often need things spoken out loud.

Momo ruffled Ryouma’s hair, and Ryouma swatted at his hand.

“Cut it out,” he said, sounding sulky. But he turned his head enough to glance at Momo over his shoulder, eyes momentarily softer and mouth curving up at one corner. Momo smiled back, and let his hand rest, briefly, at the back of Ryouma’s neck before falling.

There were easier things than words.

Tezuka

Kunimitsu slung his bag of CDs into a corner, in a rare moment of messiness, and almost collapsed back on his bed. He pressed a hand over his eyes, pushing his glasses up, hoping to alleviate the threatening headache. He’d really never thought a simple trip to the music store would be so harrowing. If he had, he’d have risked whatever musical white elephants Keigo might have chosen for him.

The bed dipped, and he felt a hand pluck his glasses off entirely. “Oh, come along, Kunimitsu, admit it. It was funny,” Keigo chuckled.

Kunimitsu lifted his hand, the better to glare at his lover. Though he couldn’t quite maintain it when Keigo’s cool fingertips pressed across his forehead, driving the tense almost-pain away.

“You’re worried about Fuji,” Keigo observed. Kunimitsu didn’t bother denying it.

“I never expected Mizuki, of all people, to…” he trailed off.

“Lock his interest?” Keigo suggested. “It could be worse.”

Kunimitsu made an inquiring noise, closing his eyes as Keigo’s thumbs stroked the arch of his brow bone.

“Mizuki himself doesn’t seem completely unbalanced about the whole thing,” Keigo told him, thoughtfully. “And I imagine Tachibana will keep Fuji from going too far.”

Kunimitsu was worn out enough to accept Keigo’s judgment over his own fears, though he made a mental note to see if he could get the whole story out of Fuji later. On the other hand, he revised his thought as Keigo’s lips brushed across his, perhaps he wasn’t as worn out as all that. And he really felt he deserved some consolation after a day like this.

He reached up to pull Keigo down against him.

End

Branch: *looks around, slightly hunted* Ok, so, we’ll flip a coin to see which couple gets their smut first, right?

All Muses: *ignore her*

Momo: It’ll be us, first, we’re cuter.

Shishido: You wish! You give her way too much trouble, with all that non-verbal crap. It’ll be us.

Atobe: Speaking of trouble, you have far too much back-story requirement, Shishido. Besides, she loves me best. *preens*

Ryouma: Exactly. You two old guys need a chance to get your breath back.

Branch: *sidles behind Fuji* I’m just glad you don’t like me writing smut for you and Tachibana.

Fuji: *slow smile* Actually, I’ve been considering that.

Branch: *pales, backs away as all muses turn to look at her* Help! Muse Police! I’m being mugged!

Innocence and Experience

Immediately follows “Confluence”. What would happen if they weren’t in public… Porn Without Plot, I-4

Character(s): Ohtori Choutarou, Shishido Ryou

Pairing(s): Shishido/Ohtori

Ryou was aware that he and Choutarou were both still grinning when they got back from the music store and closed the door of his room. It was probably just as well that his parents had taken the day to go shopping as well. Who knew what his mother would make of their expressions. Just to be on the safe side, he locked the door anyway.

“So,” Choutarou spoke from the window near the bed, without turning, “we aren’t in public now.” Ryou’s grin quirked, remembering what he had said to Choutarou’s teasing in the store. If we weren’t in public…

“No, we’re not,” he agreed, eyeing his partner.

Choutarou pulled his shirt over his head in a long stretch, and let it fall from his arms. Ryou caught sight of a tiny smile on his partner’s lips as Choutarou turned his head, not quite far enough to look at Ryou over his shoulder. So, Choutarou wanted to tease him a little more. No one else would ever believe it of his reserved and proper partner, he reflected. Ryou crossed the room to stand behind Choutarou and laid his hands flat on his partner’s stomach, sweeping them up to his chest, feeling Choutarou’s sigh through his palms. Ryou bent his head just slightly to press his lips to the sleek curve of Choutarou’s neck and shoulder.

“Ryou,” Choutarou murmured. His name, in that tone, was an invitation, and Ryou let his hands drift back down to finger the waist of Choutarou’s jeans, unzip them, slip inside to brush against the heat of his partner’s skin.

Choutarou laid his own hands flat against the wall in front of him, leaning forward. The line of his body, his hips rocking back against Ryou’s made Ryou stop and swallow a little hard.

“Choutarou,” he said, softly, leaning against his partner’s back. Did Choutarou mean what Ryou thought he did?

“Not slowly, Ryou,” Choutarou whispered. “Not today.”

Apparently he did. Choutarou’s straightforward sensuality could still surprise him, sometimes. Well, all right, then. Ryou stood back a little and brushed his fingers down Choutarou’s spine to hook jeans and underwear together, and pull them down. Choutarou arched into the touch, sucking in an audible breath, tossing his head back.

Ryou thought he probably set a new speed record stripping off his own clothes, and his hands were shaking just a bit as he fished out the bottle that usually lived in an empty tennis ball can, where his mother would hopefully not find it. He pressed Choutarou closer to the wall.

Choutarou spread his legs further apart and rested his head against his forearms, crossed on the wall in front of him. They were both breathing faster, now. Ryou dropped a light kiss on the nape of Choutarou’s neck, where the silver hair curled under. He ran a slick hand up the inside of Choutarou’s thigh, between his cheeks, and rubbed softly. Choutarou tensed slightly, pressed back into Ryou’s touch. Ryou bit his lip at his partner’s low moan, leaned against the line of Choutarou’s body, enjoying the velvet warmth of their skin brushing together down chest and leg. Remembering that Choutarou didn’t want to wait, he pressed his fingers deep into his partner’s body. Deep, but still slow. Slow enough not to hurt, he hoped. Choutarou’s moan was no longer low, and it distracted Ryou as much as the burning heat of Choutarou’s body.

“Ryou, now,” Choutarou said, soft and husky. A hoarse sound slipped past Ryou’s lips; Choutarou asking for his touch still turned him inside out.

Ryou took a deep breath and drove into his partner, biting his lip harder to keep from forcing himself past the resistance of Choutarou’s body too fast. Sparks ran over him, through him as Choutarou relaxed and opened under him, and finally he felt the sweat-damp softness of Choutarou’s skin all against his own. He wound an arm around his lover, other hand reaching between Choutarou’s legs again, and felt his partner shaking.

Choutarou’s light voice whispered pleas and encouragement as Ryou rocked out and back in, fondling Choutarou, licking the salt from the back of his neck. The taste and sound drew Ryou on, and he was sliding, deep, fast, driving Choutarou against the wall, into Ryou’s hand. Heat gripped him, not letting go, hard, and Ryou was pulling in breaths through the filter of Choutarou’s hair. Faster, and Choutarou cried out. The sound, and the feather of Choutarou’s hair brushing Ryou’s temple as his partner threw his head back completed some circuit in Ryou, driving, reaching, touching lightning that struck down through him. It left him shaking, nerves singed by it.

They collapsed, slowly, to the floor, and Ryou leaned his head on Choutarou’s shoulder, panting. Choutarou’s soft laugh caught his wandering, and slightly dazed, attention.

“What?” he asked, voice a bit rough still. Choutarou turned his head to look at him, brown eyes light and soft with pleasure and amusement.

“I should tease you more often,” he told Ryou.

Ryou buried his head against his partner’s neck again, laughing.

End

Branch: *casts eye back over ShishiTori branch* You made me do all that just to get a PWP?

Ohtori: *apologetic* Do you mind terribly, Madam? We do appreciate it so much.

Branch: *opens mouth, closes it again* … *looks at Shishido*

Shishido: *leans chair back on two legs, smirking*

Branch: *sighs* No, Choutarou, I don’t mind as much as all that.

Shishido: *grins* They fall for it every time. It’s the eyes.

Branch: *glares* You just watch it, boyo, or I really will write that “affair at a summer seminar”. *yells into next room* And Roy! Quit teaching Choutarou your vocabulary! He’s too young.

Roy: *lounging in doorway* Nonsense, Madam. He’s a natural.

Shishido: *narrow look* Oi.

Ink Burns

Fanfiction by Branch

Songs for Singing: All In One

In the Forest of the Night

Fearful Symmetry

Ohtori

Shishido

Ohtori

Shishido

Ohtori

Shishido

Burning

Tyger

Confluence

Tezuka

Atobe

Yuuta

Shishido

Momoshiro

Tezuka

Innocence and Experience