Title: Better Than Tennis
Characters: Sanada, Yukimura
Summary: Yukimura is territorial, but he doesn't like to admit it.
Notes: Takes place somewhere between the end of the first manga series and the second. For user name=branchandroot's prompt, "Yukimura/Sanada, stop paying attention to Tezuka, he's had his turn." R for smut; 1273 words.

Better Than Tennis

"Enough," Seiichi said, when the conversation that was supposed to have been about the U-17 training camp and what it would mean for their own tennis had somehow veered around to Tezuka Kunimitsu yet again. When Genichirou looked at him, confusion apparent in the lifting of his eyebrows, Seiichi added, "I've half a mind to drag you onto the court and remind you that Tezuka isn't the only tennis player left in Japan."

Genichirou's mouth quirked. "No one ever said he was."

"And yet we couldn't prove that by listening to you," Seiichi replied. "Honestly, you're starting to be nearly as bad as Akaya is when he talks about us."

"Surely not." Genichirou had the good sense to look appalled at the thought. "I have time for a match, if that's what you're after."

It wasn't, precisely, but Seiichi wasn't inclined to resist the lure of a good game. "Mm," he said, and reached for his tennis bag.

This late in the day, Rikkai's campus was nearly deserted and they had the tennis courts entirely to themselves. It was, even now, still joy and peace to give himself over to the game, to throw himself into the demands of Genichirou's tennis and feel his returns heavy against the racquet, to call on his body to respond to that demand and exceed it while their shadows went streaming out across the courts, tall in the glow of the evening sunlight. All other considerations fell away before a moment like this, and by the time he called the final score, laughing and triumphant, Seiichi had all but forgotten his earlier moment of impatience.

Genichirou hadn't. "If I didn't know better," he said, when they'd gotten their breath back, "I'd say you were jealous of Tezuka."

That non sequitur took a moment to parse. "Jealous?" Seiichi tilted his head back for a long drink from his water bottle. "Don't be absurd."

"I don't believe I am." Genichirou's eyes were steady on him. "Are you?"

"Of course not. I do wish you'd keep him out of discussions regarding Rikkai's business," he added, in deference to honesty.

"Mm. That's not unreasonable. I'll try to restrain myself."

"I'd appreciate it. He may be your destined rival, but we're your team." Seiichi stood and dusted himself off. "Come on. It'll be time to go home, soon."

Genichirou helped him take the net down again and to round up the last stray tennis balls, all without comment, but his silence had a thinking weight to it. "Do you have a bit longer?" he asked, when they'd stowed the last crate of balls in the equipment shed.

Seiichi checked his watch. "A bit."

"Good." Genichirou crossed the two steps that separated them, hands coming up to cup themselves around Seiichi's face, and kissed him.

The switch from one register--club matters--to another--this new thing of theirs that, with one thing and another, they'd barely had the time to explore--was disorienting at first. Seiichi brought his hands up, bracing them on the solid muscles of Genichirou's forearms. That grounding made it easier to kiss back and to trace his tongue over the full, sensual curve of Genichirou's mouth, even as part of him applauded Genichirou's ingenuity: here there were no younger sisters or obnoxious older brothers to interrupt them, much less inquiring mothers. It was just them and rather a lot of tennis equipment.

Seiichi pressed himself against Genichirou, crowding him back against the shelf of balls and nets and kissing him again, properly. Excitement edged through him as he stroked his hands up over Genichirou's solid arms and broad shoulders, drinking in the strength of him. Genichirou made an approving sound into his mouth, pulling him closer, and suddenly it didn't matter at all that it was musty and hot in the equipment shed, or that his mother was probably wondering what on earth was keeping him so late: he had Genichirou here, could feel Genichirou hard against his hip, just as hard as he was, just as willing as he was. "Genichirou," he breathed, and kissed him again as he slid a hand down Genichirou's chest, feeling him through the soft cotton of his t-shirt, and then lower, moving down Genichirou's stomach and resting at the waistband of his shorts.

The sound Genichirou made was almost a whine, and he pressed against Seiichi's hand. "Yes," he said, hoarse. "Seiichi, yes."

Seiichi swallowed and hooked his fingers in the elastic, sliding Genichirou's shorts and underwear down his hips, and closed his fingers around Genichirou's cock. Genichirou made another of those needy, wanting sounds, and something hot and satisfied curled through Seiichi at the look on Genichirou's face. He tightened his fingers around Genichirou, stroking him slow and firm. Genichirou's hips rocked into his hand, and his hands were tight on Seiichi's shoulders as he gasped for breath, face gleaming in the dimness of the shed. Seiichi watched him, fascinated by the expressions that shifted across Genichirou's face as his fingers played over Genichirou's cock, until Genichirou cried out, low and hoarse, hips jerking against Seiichi's fist as he came, and his expression went open and stunned.

Genichirou sagged afterwards, entire body going lax, demeanor satisfied and strangely familiar--Seiichi laughed when he placed it.

Genichirou stirred. "What's so funny?"

The huskiness of his voice made something go tight in Seiichi's stomach. "Your face," he said, lower than he'd meant to. "You look like you've just played a really good match."

Genichirou absorbed that, and then his mouth kicked up at the corners. "This might be better than a good match," he murmured.

"Yeah?" Seiichi said, raising his eyebrows. "Are you sure about that?"

Genichirou's smile turned a notch wider. "Why don't I show you?"

That made the heat in Seiichi's stomach ratchet even tighter, even as the note of challenge in Genichirou's voice made him laugh. "Mm, why don't you?" He arched as Genichirou's hands slid down his hips, pushing cloth ahead of them, and leaned into him when Genichirou's hands stroked back up his thighs, calluses rough on suddenly sensitive skin. "Genichirou..."

He couldn't help the moan when Genichirou's hand finally wrapped around him, like-but-not-like his own hand, and pleasure crackled up his spine. Genichirou's other arm slid around him, holding him. Seiichi let Genichirou support him, moaning as strong fingers caressed him and heat unspooled itself through him, bright and fierce. Genichirou's mouth slid down the side of his throat, lips moving against his skin, forming words there, barely vocalized: yes and Seiichi and yours--

Seiichi cried out, pleasure crashing down on him all at once, shaking him with the force of it. Genichirou held him, taking his weight as Seiichi slumped against him, feeling as though his bones had all turned to water, pleasure still reverberating through him. "I think I see what you mean," he said, when he felt as though he could be coherent again.

Genichirou's shoulder shook under his chin as he chuckled. "I thought you might."

"Mm." The equipment shed was hot, and between the tennis and this, part of him was thinking of the showers in the locker room with longing. Seiichi ignored that part of himself and continued to lean against Genichirou, luxuriating in the pleasant lassitude stealing over him, and the very sure knowledge that this wasn't something Tezuka Kunimitsu was ever likely to share. "Mine," he said, deeply satisfied, and pressed himself closer. And even if Genichirou guessed what he was thinking, he didn't say a word--just tightened his arms around Seiichi, assenting silently.

Seiichi smiled, contentedly, and they stood together like that for a long time.

- end -

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