Kamio Akira was a man of simple pleasures. He enjoyed music, he enjoyed tennis, he enjoyed cycling, he enjoyed food. As he grew older, he found that he enjoyed literature, parties, and making out with his boyfriend whenever possible as well. But he wasn't stupid enough to ravish Shinji on a street corner, just as he wasn't stupid enough to tell his friends that he enjoyed reading Freud and Nietzsche in his spare time – he'd just be asking for a beating. So, much to Shinji's dismay, he preferred keeping their public displays of affection to almost nothing. It was for both their safeties, he rationalized – not because he was terribly shy and self-conscious or anything.

He and Shinji led a moderately normal life, or as normal a life as two gay, quirky, teenage tennis regulars could lead. Well, Kamio tried to live with some semblance of normalcy, at least. He found that with a boyfriend who mumbled his stream of consciousness aloud (and with a libido intensely disproportionate to his calm, aloof exterior), living a normal life was rather difficult. But live it he did, and he wouldn't trade his simple existence with Shinji for anything else in the world.

He supposed life had been easier since they had come out to the rest of the tennis team, and thereby, the rest of the school - well, since he had been outed. Shinji just wasn't the sort of person to hold back, especially when he didn't see a need to.

It had been back during one of their summer practices, which were much longer but much less intense than their usual ones. They had been practicing hard since around 9 o'clock, and only just been given leave to eat lunch. When Kamio lifted his head out of the fountain, dripping with sweat and water, he was caught full force by a Shinji-stare that was a little too intense for comfort. His lips were set in a firm line, his eyes imperceptibly narrowed, his hair falling long about his slightly tilted face. Kamio blanched a little before his face turned even redder than it already was due to the blinding summer heat – he knew all too well what that particular stare meant. In the face of that gaze, he all but scurried to the locker room to grab his lunch.

The end of the lunch break found a somewhat more composed Kamio perched in a tree with a copy of Tao Te Ching in his hand. He was sorely tempted get comfortable and take a nap in the shade of the tree's canopy, but Tachibana blew the whistle signaling the recommencement or practice before he could. He closed his book and packed away his bento, popping a leftover chunk of honeydew into his mouth before hopping down out of the tree. He was calmly walking back to the courts, tennis racket in hand and honeydew still sticking out of his mouth, when he was intercepted by a very focused Shinji.

Kamio almost panicked – almost – but the Tao Te Ching was tranquil to the point of trance-inducing, and he had always enjoyed that book very much. He ignored his initial instinct of terror in favor of offering his so far well-behaved boyfriend a genial smile, or rather, as much of a smile as he could offer around the cool fruit still being savored between his teeth. Shinji blinked at him oddly, but Kamio kept suckling on the piece of honeydew. He was a man of simple pleasures, after all, and honeydew was one of them.

A bit of juice began to trail down his cheek, and he plucked the piece of fruit from his mouth momentarily to lick the sticky sweetness away. Shinji glared at him for this, wondering aloud why his boyfriend was so goddamn cute and sexy at the same time, and then leaned in close. Kamio's eyes widened as the purple-haired boy grabbed the piece of melon with his teeth, promptly spit it out, and proceeded to pull Kamio into a bruising, honeydew-flavored kiss.

The redhead would have started panicking had Shinji not descended upon him with such single-minded lust, arousing every fiber of his being. He would have started yelling had Shinji not kissed him breathless, senseless, and protest-less. He would have started running had Shinji not pushed him up against the wall of the clubhouse, holding him there with delicious twitching movements of his hips.

When Shinji finally pulled away, panting slightly and with a becoming flush radiating over his pale skin, Kamio could barely see straight, let alone stand without aid of the wall. He favored Kamio with the look of a vindicated man as he regained his breath, and then said, very matter-of-factly, "you can't walk around with something like that hanging out of your mouth and expect me not to do something," before walking coolly onto the court.

Kamio felt a bevy of stares he hadn't noticed before turn to him, onlookers standing slack-jawed at the sight the tennis tensai and the rhythm boy had just presented. As red as his hair and with chest still heaving, Kamio sunk to the ground and buried his face in his knees. One of these days, he thought, Shinji was going to be the end of him.