This fic has adult themes, violence and unpleasant ideas, and carries a "M" rating.

This is a deathfic. Please be warned.

Trials of Trust

Part 1

We'll go to a place
Where no one will find us
Just you and I
I'm yours
I'll always be with you

Cerulean blue eyes squeeze shut. He is on his knees and elbows, his forehead pressed into the soft pillow. The man slams into him from behind, long fingers stroking his erection in time with the thrusts, which grow more urgent by the second.

He moans, begs for more, at the same time thinking he just cannot take any more. The man behind him whispers his name once, with ragged breath, and speeds up as his answer. The man never is a vocal person when it comes to sex. He isn't a vocal person in anything, even. But they both cry out when they reach their release, the body in front wrapping his arms around the pillow, his fingers tearing at the fabric, and the body behind him holds him around the waist with powerful arms.

When they can both breathe again, they rearrange themselves on the double bed.

"Tezuka." Fuji's eyes are closed, his head still swimming in the afterglow of sex. "Is everything okay?" He asks carefully, opting to phrase his question this way rather than asking "What's wrong".

Resting his chin on Fuji's head, Tezuka doesn't answer, only making a non-committal sound as his response. The man holds Fuji in a tight embrace, arms wrapping around him possessively and their legs tangled together. With a little difficulty, Fuji pulls an arm out from the hold, bringing it to Tezuka's hair to run gentle fingers through them, trying to soothe the other man.

"Mitsu...?"

Tezuka is usually gentle in bed. Tonight it felt a bit… unusual. It wasn't rough, but Fuji was caught offguard by the way Tezuka almost jumped him the moment he came home, and taking him like that, from behind. Both of them prefer facing each other during sex; even after several years, their bodies are still not designed to be used that way and they know that. They want to be able to watch out for any signs of pain, and also drink in the looks of pleasure. Tezuka once said he felt taking someone from behind is somewhat rude to the partner, as if he is merely an animal, not a man. Yet tonight Tezuka was so intense, and did something he said he didn't want to do.

Fingertips pressed lightly on his scalp, Tezuka feels the magic that Fuji always has with him. He sighs as the last bit of tension leaves his body with that simple touch. "Just stressed. Sorry." His arms tighten slightly, despite his tiredness. "Sorry." He says again, his voice barely a whisper. "Did I hurt you?"

Pressing his forehead against the broad chest, Fuji shakes his head. "It was great." He replies with a smile, "Although next time I'd prefer to see your face when you come."

Tezuka chuckles a bit, and soon drifts off to sleep.

Fuji doesn't ask about the exact source of Tezuka's stress; Tezuka doesn't like discussing problems from work. He is still the same person as he was in high school, someone who shoulders everything by himself, someone who takes on the world and rejoices in the fact that he can do it. In work now he shows the same determination as he had in tennis, the simple desire to become the best driving him on.

Tezuka could have become the best in tennis.

Fuji's hand leaves that soft brown hair, resting now on Tezuka's left shoulder.

If only...

---

Tezuka has always thought Ooishi has chosen a good profession, one that suits his personality well. Ooishi is born to help people, and has such a strong sense of justice Tezuka cannot see him work anywhere else apart from the police force.

As for Kikumaru, Tezuka has to confess he still doesn't know him well, even after all these years. Kikumaru always looks like a hyperactive boy to him, even though they are all in their mid-twenties already, so him doing a desk job is still a rather difficult concept for Tezuka to grasp.

Kikumaru is the last to arrive, as usual, but he isn't late - Tezuka, Fuji and Ooishi are usually a few minutes early to every gathering. Sitting together at lunch, they make a strange mix: Tezuka looking impeccable in shirt and tie, Fuji looking as if he just came from a jog in his sports sweats, Ooishi in his smart-casual clothing (fortunately his division doesn't require uniform), and Kikumaru in t-shirt and jeans.

Kikumaru leads the conversation as usual, his animated speech hasn't changed much since high school, perhaps only very slightly calmer than it used to be. The atmosphere warms up, and soon all of them - even Tezuka - are laughing over an incident at Kikumaru's workplace. Fuji and Tezuka exchange occasional glances and smiles, but they don't touch each other or show any sign of intimacy that would indicate they are a couple. Their friends know about their relationship, but society is unforgiving. Even though Fuji doesn't care much about how people look at him, he doesn't want to become the obstacle to Tezuka's career, which is going so well now.

The redhead is telling them about another incident, one that he says is even better than the last one because this involved him as well, when he suddenly pauses and looks up with wide eyes. "Ah! You're..."

The other three at the table follow Kikumaru's gaze to look the man standing behind Ooishi. Like Tezuka, he is wearing a business suit, and his hands are slipped into pants pockets, his posture relaxed, and at the same time screams arrogance. He has the ever present conceited smile on his lips that the four friends know well.

Fuji is the first one to say the name. "Atobe. It's been a long time." His smile has the usual degree of faked politeness.

"Oh yeah! The guy from... Hyoutei!" Kikumaru finally remembers. Ooishi gives Atobe a polite nod, as does Tezuka.

The smile on Atobe Keigo's lips widen. He scans the table, his gaze resting on Tezuka for a moment, then shifting towards Fuji. "Oh, Tezuka and I have met recently already. Didn't he tell you?"

Fuji doesn't miss a beat. He replies, still smiling, "But I haven't seen you for a long time." Tezuka hasn't told him, but Fuji isn't going to let Atobe know that. He isn't going to let the man who ruined his lover's shoulder have the upper hand on anything. And so what that the two have met recently? He doesn't think Tezuka needed to tell him.

"That is true." Extracting a hand from his pocket and tapping his lips with a finger, Atobe's smile doesn't change. "We can meet again sometime. That is..." He glances at Tezuka. "if Tezuka doesn't mind."

Tezuka merely arches an eyebrow at Atobe as his reply.

The ex-Hyoutei captain chuckles. "Well." He says, taking his leave, "Nice to meet you all. Very nice. Enjoy your lunch."

Three pairs of eyes follow Atobe, until the man seats himself at a faraway table, then Ooishi mutters under his breath, "What a strange man." to which Kikumaru immediately agrees.

Fuji looks to his lover, who continues his lunch wordlessly. Keen eyes do not miss the stiffness that has suddenly found its way to Tezuka's back.

---

Tezuka returns home from his body checkup to find an elaborate Sunday lunch waiting for him.

The body checkups are an annual thing, part of the medical insurance Tezuka has bought for himself and Fuji. But today was the second time in four weeks his doctor asked him to go back for a more in-depth examination. He doesn't know what the problem maybe, neither has he asked, because guessing can be such a damaging thing to do, and knowing an uncertain answer now helps nothing.

He hasn't mentioned it to Fuji, but Fuji knows. They are not discussing it because they are thinking the same way, not because they're avoiding the issue.

But the silence between them, as they sit together after the meal to watch television with the sound turned off, is thicker, heavier than it usually is. They sit a little apart on the sofa, no parts of their bodies touching except where Tezuka's hand rests lightly over Fuji's, his thumb moving back and forth in an absent-minded motion on the pale skin. Neither of them want to guess, but they are guessing, worrying why the doctor felt the need to do repeated sight tests and x-rays, focusing all his examinations only on Tezuka's head. Tezuka's occasional fevers and headaches - which Fuji suspects are more frequent than Tezuka lets him know - only darken their thoughts, turning worry into fear, until they both feel suffocated by the silence they usually enjoy.

When the car racing coverage ends, and the hour-long weekly news roundup begins, Fuji turns, seeing Tezuka has turned to him at the same time, and the two smile at each other.

The next moment, Fuji finds himself pressed into the sofa, Tezuka's arms to either side of him, the slight smile he loves seeing so much stealing his breath away just because it can. The man above him lowers himself slowly, their lips meeting in a soft, sweet kiss, giving them the distraction they need right now.

Tezuka breaks the kiss after a few moments, and motions for Fuji to turn over and lay on his stomach. Knowing what it is his lover wants to do, Fuji follows the request, stripping off his shirt as well. Tezuka leaves for a while and comes back with massage oil.

Fuji loves these massages. Rarely does Tezuka do this for him - the man doesn't believe in over-indulgence - which makes the massages all the more special. Fuji loves the feel of those hands running up and down his body, warming him, the gentle pressure they exert as they move feels as though Tezuka is melting into him. This is Tezuka touching every part of him, loving every side of him. This is Tezuka showing his softer side, which he shows no one else, reserving it for Fuji only.

Under Tezuka's ministrations, even the stress and tightness Fuji isn't aware of in his body fade away, replaced by an euphoric buzz in his head. Fuji allows himself to sigh softly, to let Tezuka know how much he is enjoying what is being done to him. No words are said, but Tezuka's hands respond to the sounds, pressing knuckles or heels of his palms again and again, gentle yet forceful at the same time, on where Fuji's sighs turn into sounds that border pleasured moans.

When he finishes, Tezuka gently lays himself over Fuji, covering the half naked body with his own, and rests his chin in the crook of Fuji's neck. They stay still for several minutes, just listening to the sound of their breathing, then Fuji finally murmurs, his voice drowsy, "It'll be okay."

"It will." Tezuka presses a kiss to Fuji's neck, knowing Fuji can feel his smile. "Sleep?"

Not answering, Fuji reaches for the remote control to turn off the forgotten television. His gaze falls on the flashing screen for a moment, and lips part in surprise.

The man on top of him turns his head, his movement sluggish with a hint of sleep, until his eyes register what Fuji is seeing.

Atobe's smiling face is being shown in the news roundup. Fuji squints with sleepy eyes to read what subtitles say, but without a word, Tezuka reaches for the remote and switches of the television, then puts the gadget down. He takes Fuji's hands into his own. "Cold?"

"You're covering me." Fuji replies with a hint of a smile and more than a hint of sleepiness.

"Sleep then." The man on top of him whispers, burying his face in Fuji's hair once more, the relaxed intimacy reminding them why they both love Sundays so much.

They enjoy the days when they can be alone with their silence. They enjoy each other, finding in each other what they don't have in themselves, everything they want and need: Tezuka's obsession to do his best in everything, his need for someone to reign him in, and Fuji's need of a true challenge, his hidden desire to be smacked down and be told his genius alone isn't good enough; Tezuka's need for someone to love him not only for who he is, but also for who he strives to be, and Fuji's need for someone to love him not only for his good points, but also for his many flaws; Tezuka's need to love Fuji simply because he does, and...

"Mitsu." Fuji whispers the pet name, squeezing their fingers, and feels Tezuka clutching back.

They enjoy the silence, because actions convey so much more than words.

---

"30-40!"

Fuji plays tennis now because he loves. Because of the sound of ball connecting taut strings; because of the rush of adrenaline he gets when he meets another good player; because of the cheering crowds; because of Tezuka.

They had tried everything to save Tezuka's shoulder. There is a scar now from the surgery where they tried to repair the torn rotator cuff. Tezuka even agreed to have a small part of his acromion removed, but the damage sustained from that long-drawn match with Atobe could not be totally undone. Tezuka still played tennis through the rest of high school, but he knew his limits and didn't go professional. He said Fuji had already surpassed him during junior high, and between them there was a distance that he could not close using his right arm. There was no point in going professional.

Tezuka isn't bitter; he never regretted that match. Fuji still doesn't know why the man had to play that way. There is no shame in forfeiting due to injury, and they were both sure Echizen would win when he came on next. Tezuka had sacrificed his shoulder, his future, to lead Fuji out of his self-imposed cage. Was it that important? Was there no other way? Fuji doesn't understand, but he accepts this now as part of what makes Tezuka the man he is.

Tezuka is happy to let tennis drift out of his life. He is satisfied that he has led Fuji to find who he is, and play to his best ability. And so Fuji plays for him, strives to become the best for him. His name is still little known in the professional circuit, but Fuji, as well as Tezuka, know he will become the best.

"Set won by Fuji, 6-4!"

Today Tezuka hasn't come to watch the match. A cold feeling gnaws at Fuji's stomach as he sits down, catching his breath for the next set, thinking about where his lover is right now. He has suggested for Tezuka to move his medical appointment to another date so that they can go together, but the man was determined to find out what is wrong with him as soon as possible, and so has chosen to go alone today.

In a sense, Fuji thinks Tezuka has an idea of what the problem may be, and doesn't want him to be there when it's finally confirmed. That would explain the stress, the almost-rough sex, the delicate yet possessive, almost desperate handling afterwards...

The coldness spreads in him as he tries to imagine playing tennis, or simply, living without the man. Suddenly the crowds are too loud, the rush in his veins no longer giving him that natural high, and he wants to just get away from this place. But he grips his racket harder and stands, ready for the next set. There are desires and there are obligations, and there are ways to show his love for Tezuka. Tennis is one of them.

-to chapter 2-