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Fic Dumping Ground: 2016
This post is a storage spot for all of the fic/ficlets that I want to be able to link to but don't want to post to AO3 for whatever reason. Fandom/pairings/rating/warnings will be marked in the subject of the individual comments.
Prince of Tennis, Inui/Kaidou, T
"Inui, dinner," he says gruffly.
"Hmm?" Inui asks absently, fingers flying over his tablet to send new data up to the wall screens. "Not now; maybe later."
"You need a break. You've been working for almost seventy-two hours straight."
"I'm fine," Inui says without looking up. "I've almost got it. Just a little longer and I'm sure I'll crack it."
"You're running yourself into the ground again, Inui. It'll still be there later, or do you need me to shove a jammer into your ports again?"
Inui freezes. "What!?" he sputters. "Absolutely n--" His protest is cut short when his knees threaten to buckle under him and he has to lean against his worktable, as if the momentary pause was enough to his body's needs to finally catch up to him.
"Actually," he says slowly, "that might not be such a bad idea."
Kaidou has the jammer out of his pocket and in his hand almost before Inui finished speaking, but Inui catches his hand. "Eight hours," he says as he locks his screens. "No more."
Kaidou takes a breath to argue, but Inui's glasses flash, and the words die on his lips.
"Eight hours," he agrees.
"Keep me company?"
It's framed as a question, but the command under it is clear. The silence stretches on just a moment too long before Kaidou nods.
Inui releases Kaidou's wrist and bows his head, exposing the data ports on the back of his neck. He stiffens as the jammer slides into its port, then falls limp into Kaidou's arms
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Later, once Inui is laid out on the couch, Kaidou begins hooking himself into a VR rig, moving with the hesitancy of one who is deeply familiar with the technology, but wary of it nonetheless. He freezes when the suit begins unrolling on its own, holding his breath until it finally settles into place.
He cradles Inui's head in his lap and braces for the electric jolt that always comes with direct linking as he plugs the connectors of his suit directly into the matching ports on Inui's neck.
Inui's mindscape is usually full of sharp angles, rushing data, and little else. With the jammer in place, everything has slowed to a crawl, and the data wavers as if hidden behind a curtain of water.
The space in front of him ripples as a roughly human shape takes form.
"You came," Inui says slowly, his voice slurred by the effects of the jammer.
Yowamushi Pedal, Kinjou/Makishima, T, permanent injury
"You're awake," Kinjou's voice says from somewhere nearby. His voice is oddly muffled, but even so, it's easy to hear the relief in his tone.
Makishima turns his head; it's more difficult than it should be, like something's not quite linked up properly. Kinjou is sitting in a chair next to the bed. One leg is stretched out in front of him, and even fuzzy as it is, it's clear he has a temporary prosthetic in place of his normal leg.
"EMP?" Makishima asks, going back to staring at the ceiling. He already knows the answer, but he needs to hear it anyway.
"Yeah," Kinjou says. "Hit us from behind on our way out."
"How bad?"
"Fried my leg completely. Inui's going to modify a new one, and..."
"It hit my ports, didn't it?"
Makishima doesn't have to look over to imagine Kinjou scrubbing a hand over his face.
"Yeah."
"How bad?" Makishima asks again, trying to hide the tremor in his voice.
"We're not sure yet, but bad enough."
Makishima risks looking down at his own body for the first time, sees the angry burns branching out along his arms, fanning out into branched tendrils that follow the path of his nerves.
"It looks like a lightning strike," he says.
"It was, in a way."
"Funny; I would've thought it would hurt more."
"Ah--" Kinjou's hesitation is enough to put Makishima on edge "Inui was in here earlier. Most of your ports are damaged beyond repair, but he was able to salvage one. He, ah….he modified a jammer for it."
Kinjou must have noticed the way he tensed at that, because he's quick to add, "it's blocking nociceptor input only, nothing else."
"I hate jammers," Makishima mutters.
"I know. I almost didn't agree when Dad suggested it, but….Did you know Inui's been hit by an EMP before? I didn't, until just now. Apparently it was just the edge of the blast, nothing so strong as this one, but he says it was the worst pain he's ever experienced. Says it completely paralyzed him, he wouldn't have made it out if Kaidou hadn't gone back for him. I didn't want that to be what you woke up to. I'll take it out if you want."
"Leave it," Makishima says. He'll have to deal with it at some point, but it doesn't have to be now.
"I'm just glad you woke up," Kinjou's whispers, his voice cracking. "We weren't sure you would. Inui said he could see damage to the interface between your port and the nerves, but he couldn't tell how far it extended. You're awake now though, and you're talking to me. Maybe you got off lightly--" he's almost laughing with relief now. "Maybe there are just the burns. Maybe it's just getting a new port and letting those heal. I mean, I know a new port system isn't trivial, but compared to what it could have been…"
Suddenly Makishima's blurred vision and the stiffness in his motions take on another, more sinister meaning. "There's other damage," he says bluntly. He hates to burst Kinjou's bubble, but it needs to be said.
"What?"
"There's nerve damage." Maybe he's looking at the ceiling because it's too much effort to move. Maybe it's because he doesn't want to be looking at Kinjou right now.
He's not sure it helps, not when even his dulled hearing can pick up on the strain in Kinjou's voice as he asks "sensory or motor?"
"Both."
"Subsets?"
"Multiple."
He feels more than hears the thud as Kinjou's fist slams into the wall, and he has to agree with the sentiment. Different types of neurons interface at different frequencies. Most EMPs target one. Some target a range to take out related types. The worst, the ones designed to be spider killers, are multi-frequency, a set of tuned blasts designed to destroy all of the neural interfaces at once. If that is in fact what hit him, and his gut says it is, then he's lucky to be alive at all. He probably has Inui's latest update to the shielding codes to thank for that.
Yowamushi Pedal, Aoyagi & Kinjou & Makishima, T, ableism
Said classmate had also decided they should join the cycling club together, which is how he finds himself being hurried out to the club room as soon as their last class ends.
He decides it's not going to be his thing the minute he walks in, and self-introductions don't improve his first impression. He hopes that if he stays quiet enough and doesn't draw attention to himself, they'll skip over him, but luck isn't in his favor. He quickly writes "Aoyagi Hajime. First year. I like drawing," in his notebook and holds it up, looking down so that he doesn't have to see their reaction.
It doesn't matter. The third-years don't even try to hide their disdain. "What, cat got your tongue?" the captain asks, and when Aoyagi shakes his head, he swears he hears someone behind him whisper "seriously, another one?"
He's just trying to decide if it would better or worse to walk out then and there when his classmate, Teshima Junta he reminds himself, stands and begins his own introduction before he's asked.
He finally risks looking up again when Teshima is in the middle of giving his entire cycling history. Most of the club looks bored, but there's one student who catches his eye. It's hard to see his eyes behind his sunglasses, but Aoyagi's taught himself how to read expressions, and he's certain that senpai is angry. And the green-haired senpai next to him looks…he's not entirely sure. Disappointed? Resigned? Both?
He files that away for later and goes back to sketching while the rest of the first years introduce themselves and the captain goes over the organization of the club and the structure of practices. He looks up again as the captain rattles off the names of the senpai and points to each one in turn.
He's just standing up to get his bike for practice when a familiar flash of movement catches his eye. He has no reason to expect to see it here, but he's certain he just saw someone signing.
He looks up in surprise and accidentally meets Makishima's eyes. He immediately regrets it. He knows the look Makishima makes next—it's the look that says "I know you're going to anyway, but please don't say anything." After all, it's a look he uses a lot himself.
He tries to ignore the whispered comments that follow him out the door. He wonders briefly if they realize he can hear them, then decides that they just don't care. It's almost a relief when he's finally on his bike, and the noise of the road and the wind in his ears drowns out any of their chatter.
He's helping clean up after practice when Kinjou comes up beside him. "You're a solid rider," he says. "Are you going to join the team?"
Aoyagi shrugs. He does enjoy riding, but he's not sure he really wants to be on the team, not if the past few hours is any indication of the third years' usual behavior. And that's assuming they'll even accept him onto the team, which again, seems far from certain.
"Well, think about it. You don't need to make a decision for another couple of weeks yet," Kinjou says, but at the same time, his fingers spell out, Ignore them. They're assholes.
Aoyagi's eyes widen in surprise. You sign?
"Well, I'm not as good at it as Makishima is," Kinjou says casually as if he were talking about cycling and not something else entirely. "You should ask him sometime. In any case, we'd love to have you on the team if you want to join."
I'll think about it, Aoyagi signs before he goes back to putting away equipment.
He doesn't really intend to talk to Makishima that day, or possibly ever, but that doesn't take into account the other cyclist waiting for him outside of the building.
Kinjou said you sign, Makishima says, his hands moving even faster than Aoyagi's.
Doesn't do much good if no one else does though, he replies.
Well, I do, and Kinjou's learning, and your friend seems like he'd be interested if you ever asked.
Aoyagi looks down, unsure of how to respond. People usually just ignore him when he doesn't speak to them; he's not used to people trying to have a conversation with him.
Kinjou was serious when he said we'd welcome you on the team. Our senpai may be obnoxious, insensitive assholes, but ever since they tried to keep me off the team last year, they've been wary of Kinjou. They won't try that again.
I'll definitely consider it, thank you, Aoyagi replies, but when Teshima asks "so, will you try joining the club with me?" later, he nods. Maybe high school won't be quite so bad after all.
Yowamushi Pedal, Prince of Tennis, Inui & Kaidou & Kinjou, G
On his way out the door, Kaidou had pulled Kinjou aside and said, "Remember, what's the most important rule for tonight?"
"Don't let Dad touch anything."
"Right. I'm counting on you," Kaidou had said as he clapped Kinjou on the back.
Kinjou always took his responsibilities seriously, and he was even more determined than usual this time. He didn't understand why, but despite being an incredible scientist, Inui was a complete disaster in the kitchen. To be fair, he had never actually seen Inui cook. He was supposed to have been asleep the last time that had occurred, but the explosion had woken him up, and the acrid smoke that filled his room had made going back to sleep difficult.
He may have never seen Inui cook, but he knew how to draw conclusions from the given data, and the data were pretty clear as to what he needed to do if he didn't want to be the kid whose parent blew up the cooking lab. So he climbed up onto the step stool, took out the scale and the measuring spoons, and started listing off ingredients for Inui to bring him (still safely sealed in their original containers).
And if he happened to be wearing one of the shirts Kaidou had given him for his birthday, the ones that were designed to be resistant to chemicals, fire, shrapnel, and electricity, well, a little extra insurance never hurt anyone.
Kuroko no Basuke, Akashi & Kiyoshi, M, BDSM
Kiyoshi opened the door to find Akashi standing outside. He looked as calm and unshaken as ever, but Kiyoshi knew that was a front. Akashi wouldn't be there otherwise.
"Come in, Akashi," Kiyoshi said. When Akashi glanced nervously past him and down the hall, Kiyoshi answered the unspoken question. "Riko and Hyuuga are out for the night. I told them you were coming - nothing specific," he reassured quickly, "just that you would be here. They decided to go into the city proper to see the new Sengoku-period musical that Hyuuga's been talking about for weeks. It's a bit of a trek back here afterward, so they'll stay with Kagetora tonight. It's just the two of us here."
Akashi relaxed imperceptibly. "I apologize for the intrusion," he said as he stepped inside. He sat on the step of the genkan to untie his shoes, then left his coat and scarf neatly by the door and followed Kiyoshi into the living room.
"I'm making coffee, do you want anything?" Kiyoshi asked.
"Only if it's decaffeinated," Akashi replied. "I'd rather avoid caffeine at the moment."
"I think Riko keeps some of decaf buried back here somewhere for Hyuuga when he gets on one of his research marathons and she starts worrying about his caffeine consumption," Kiyoshi said, rummaging around the cabinets in the kitchen. "Ah, here it is."
Several minutes later, Kiyoshi returned to the living room with two mugs of coffee and a bowl, which he set in front of Akashi. "I brought you some soup as well. My cooking, not Riko's, don't worry. Given when you texted, I'm assuming you haven't eaten yet."
Akashi nodded his thanks.
Once Akashi had largely finished eating, Kiyoshi looked up from his coffee. "What brought you out here tonight?" he asked.
"I did it," Akashi replied, meeting Kiyoshi's eyes squarely.
"Did what?"
"I resigned. Or, more accurately, I announced my intention to resign. I didn't expect Father to back down easily, and he didn't. I've been ordered to reflect deeply on what I'm about to do and give him my final answer in two weeks; he won't accept a word of it before then."
"But you've made your decision."
Akashi nodded. "Nothing he can do in the next two weeks, or even four weeks, since it will probably be another two weeks before my resignation is effective, can be worse than the things he's already done. After twenty-seven years with him, I can survive another four weeks. I'm not worried about that."
"But you're worried?"
"Yes. My father is a strong believer in strict hierarchies. He expects them to be followed exactly, but he also follows them himself. So long as I'm here, he may try to make my life hell, but my direct hires are untouchable. Once I'm gone though...then there's no one between him and them. He's not afraid to use that as a bargaining chip."
"Meaning what, exactly?" Kiyoshi asked. Part of him knew what Akashi was implying, but the larger part of him wanted to believe that no one would actually be so cruel.
"It's exactly as you suspect, Kiyoshi. Father has already made it clear that if I leave, not only will he disown me as his son, he also will do everything in his power to make sure no other company in Japan will hire me. I'm looking to change fields anyway, but even if I weren't, I have enough weight of my own that I could probably work around it. But while someone may be willing to risk my father's wrath for someone who was at the top of his class at Tokyo Daigaku and currently manages international relations for one of the largest companies in Japan, no one will do that for a secretary, no matter how highly recommended they may be."
"Does your staff know yet?" Kiyoshi asked, fighting to keep the anger out of his voice.
"Not yet. I couldn't risk Father hearing about my plans from anyone other than me. Not that I don't trust my staff, but you know how office gossip can travel. I'm going to be speaking to them first thing Monday morning."
"So what are you going to do?"
"Most of the staff of my department should be safe. Father can't fire the entire department without it reflecting badly on him, nor would he want to; it might hurt the Corporation's bottom line. It's only my immediate staff I hired directly that I need to worry about. I've already started feeling out options, and once I speak to my staff next week, I'll start pursuing them more actively. The time between now and when I officially submit my resignation is effectively free. Since nothing's official yet, Father can't do anything without it reflecting poorly on him, and possibly on the company as well. I'm hoping to have all of my staff at least unofficially placed elsewhere in the next two weeks, with everything made official by the time I leave. If everyone has transferred before then, they should be safe. My father may be ruthless, but he isn't stupid; he can't do anything against them after I've officially left without it making him look petty and immature."
"Can you do that in the time you have?" Kiyoshi asked, then had to fight not to flinch under Akashi's sudden heterochromatic stare boring into him.
"They're mine, Teppei," Akashi said firmly. "If I have two weeks to make sure they don't end up as collateral damage, then I'll do it in two weeks. No one threatens my team without repercussions, not even my father."
"What do you need from me, Akashi?"
"Just someone to listen to me vent who isn't involved in this mess themselves," Akashi said nonchalantly. "I've always managed before, and I'll manage again this time."
Kiyoshi frowned. "You don't come all the way to Tokyo from Kyoto "just to vent." I'm going to ask again, what do you need from me, Seijuurou?"
The change in Kiyoshi's tone was subtle, but the effect it had on Akashi was instantaneous. He took a deep breath before looking back up at Kiyoshi. "Two weeks ago, a man killed several people in a building I was in," he began. "He technically was one of my employees, and I failed to see the warning signs in time to prevent it.
"Now, I have two weeks in which to prevent eight people's lives from being irreparably damaged. Eight people who have done nothing other than have the bad luck to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. I'm finally breaking free from my father to live my own life, but if I mess up here, then I'll have to live with knowing that I sacrificed someone else's livelihood for this.
"Just for one night, for a few hours, I need to not be the one responsible for everything."
Kiyoshi nodded. "You'll stay here tonight?" he asked.
Akashi hesitated, but one look from Kiyoshi had him agreeing. "Yes," he said quietly.
"Good. Before we go any farther, I want to check in. Is there anything I should know that's changed since last time?"
Akashi shook his head. "Nothing."
"Are your safe words still the same?"
"Yes."
"And they are?"
"Teiko to slow down or pause. Masaomi for a hard stop."
Kiyoshi nodded. "Mine are the same as well. Yellow to slow, white to stop." He usually kept things simple and used yellow and red, but it was far too easy to mistake Akashi's name for the color, especially in the heat of things, and it had become clear rather quickly that he needed to modify his pattern for this particular case.
"And Riko and Hyuuga are still aware of this?"
"Yes, and I have their blessing. Are your limits the same?"
Akashi nodded again; then, he looked up from his nearly-empty coffee mug. "Push me, Kiyoshi," he ordered. "Take everything from me tonight."
"I'll do my best. I don't suppose you brought anything else to wear?" he said, pointing at Akashi's formal suit.
Akashi shook his head. "I came here directly from work; I didn't have time to change."
"In that case, I'll give you a pair of Hyuuga's old pajama pants to borrow. Go change, then come back here; leave your shirt off."
While Akashi was changing, Kiyoshi turned up the thermostat a few degrees and rearranged some of the furniture in the living room. He finished just as Akashi walked back out of the bathroom. Kiyoshi pointed to the rug on the middle of the floor. "Kneel," he ordered.
Akashi knelt, and Kiyoshi moved to stand in front of him. "Hands behind your back," he ordered.
Akashi complied immediately, and Kiyoshi took a length of cord and bound his wrists securely to his forearms. "Release your hands," he ordered, checking to make sure the bonds were secure but not too tight.
"You see too much with these eyes, Seijūrō," Kiyoshi said, running his thumb along Akashi's eyebrows. "Too much that needs to be done, and too much you can't fix. I want to blindfold you tonight."
Akashi stiffened and shook his head violently.
Kiyoshi dropped the blindfold out of sight. "Is there something I should know, Seijūrō?" he asked quickly; he was unused to such a strong reflexive reaction from Akashi.
"Long story, but stress and not being able to see do not have good associations for me."
"Is that a hard limit?" Kiyoshi asked, but Akashi shook his head.
"Do it," he said. "Take it from me. But not yet."
"Later then," Kiyoshi said as he picked up another long length of cord and knelt in front of Akashi. Then he winced and shifted his position, rubbing his knee. It had healed well after the surgery at the end of high school, but it had never returned to where it had been before, and it still ached sometimes if he put weight on it the wrong way.
"Sorry," he apologized as he pressed his fingers along the scar until the ache passed. Then, he turned his attention back to Akashi.
Akashi swallowed sharply as the first loop of cord settled around his neck. It was an untraditional start, but then again, Kiyoshi's entire technique was somewhat unorthodox. Almost everything he knew, he had learned from a hojoujutsu dojo not far from his apartment, and even that had been a lucky accident more than anything he had sought out.
During Hyuuga's third year of graduate school, he had been writing a paper on the sociopolitical factors influencing the development of restraining techniques in the Sengoku and early Tokugawa periods. Hyūga had stumbled across the dojo while looking for somewhere to gain firsthand exposure to the topic, and Kiyoshi had been dragged along as a practice partner. In the end, Hyūga had finished his paper and moved on, but Kiyoshi had fallen in love with it, and when he had adapted it into the bindings he used in other settings as well.
Kiyoshi's background in bindings may have been purely academic, but that didn't lessen the impact they had. Akashi froze as Kiyoshi looped the first cord around his neck, passing it through itself before wrapping the doubled length around one of his biceps, then running it across his back to the other, effectively pinning his arms to his sides. Then the cord passed back through the first loop around his neck before running straight down his back and attaching securely to the bindings on his forearms.
It was a simple binding, but effective. So long as Akashi didn't try to move, the binding was relatively unobtrusive. If he tried to lower his arms though, then it pulled on the cord around his neck. It was safer than it seemed though. The cord would loosen as soon as he returned his arms to their natural resting place behind him, and even if there were ever a problem, Kiyoshi had a pair of scissors waiting within easy reach, and cutting the one cord would loosen the entire binding.
Kiyoshi took a minute to study him. "Not a bad start, but I want you more secure than this," he said, picking up another length of cord. "Come up on your knees for me."
Akashi did as instructed, leaning against Kiyoshi's shoulder for balance as Kiyoshi quickly bound his thighs together, then continued the pattern down his legs until they were secured from thigh to ankle.
"Sit back," Kiyoshi ordered. When Akashi obeyed, he took the last length of cord and secured the bindings around Akashi's ankles to the bindings on his forearms. Then, he stepped back to admire his handiwork. From the front, most of the ropes were hidden, only the thin cord around Akashi's neck and the bands around his biceps and the tops of his thighs visible, but Akashi could barely move. It was the mark of a good hojoujutsu binding, secure, but unobtrusive.
"I'll be right back," Kiyoshi said. "I'm just need to grab something from the kitchen. Okay?"
"Yes," Akashi said, and Kiyoshi stepped out, returning less than a minute later with a plate of sushi and a pair of chopsticks.
"I know you didn't eat before you came over here, so I want you to eat now," he said. "I made this while I waited for you to get here. You don't eat enough at the best of times, and you're even worse when you're stressed."
"Thank you, Kiyoshi," Akashi said, and he did mean it. He knew he regularly ended up with meetings scheduled on top of meals, and that even when he did technically have time for a break, he often felt too guilty to take a break if he had work waiting for him, and there was always something needing his attention. Kiyoshi was one of the few people who would call him out on the matter though, the only other being Midorima, and Midorima's admonitions were usually securely tucked behind enough layers of medical jargon that they could both pretend that Midorima's comments were professional opinions and not personal concerns.
Re: Kuroko no Basuke, Akashi & Kiyoshi, M, BDSM
But accepting Kiyoshi's concern didn't make it any easier when Kiyoshi picked up the first piece of sushi and offered it to him. There was nothing sexual, or even romantic in the way Kiyoshi was offering him food, but he was unused to having people attend to him in that way, and it made him feel uncomfortably vulnerable to be accepting food from someone he used to think was below him. He swallowed his pride as he took the food Kiyoshi offered, but he had to look away as he ate, his eyes burning with shame. He knew it shouldn't have mattered, but at the same time, it went counter to everything he had ever known.
"Akashi," Kiyoshi said quietly, "can you look at me?"
Akashi shook his head. He knew he was supposed to obey, but he felt too vulnerable. And he couldn't ignore his father's voice at the back of his head reminding him that an Akashi knelt for no one. That the whole situation was shameful and wrong, but at the same time, he couldn't ignore the feeling that this was what he needed.
"Talk to me, Akashi," Kiyoshi commanded.
"I want it...I want this," Akashi said slowly. "But I can't stop thinking about what my father would say, and I'm ashamed at my reaction."
"There's nothing wrong with wanting to be cared for, Akashi," Kiyoshi replied. "Or with any of this for that matter."
"I know, but..."
"I know. It's hard to fight so many years of habit, especially habit so reinforced as yours is."
"I'm sorry."
"There's no need to be sorry. This is why you're here."
Kiyoshi offered another piece of sushi, but Akashi couldn't make himself take it. "I can't," he choked as he turned his head away.
"Are you safewording?"
"No...I want it. I need it. But I can't do it. What would everyone say if they saw the head of international relations for the Akashi Corporation like this? It's pathetic."
"Akashi...Sei," Kiyoshi said slowly, "I know it's hard for you, but I think the blindfold might help here. If watching it is too much."
Akashi thought carefully about Kiyoshi's proposal before he replied. On the one hand, watching Kiyoshi being so gentle and caring with him made his stomach turn in uncomfortable ways, but on the other hand, having his eyesight taken from him reminded him too much of the dark time at the end of college when his father nearly had succeeded in breaking him.
But the deciding factor was one that Kiyoshi hadn't mentioned. Being blindfolded blocked him from seeing the world, but it also made a barrier between him and the rest of the world, something he could use to hide his shameful reactions.
"Yes," Akashi said eventually. "Blindfold me. But Kiyoshi, don't go."
"I won't Akashi," Kiyoshi said as he traded chopsticks for the length of cloth. "You know that. Even if I need to step away for a minute, I'll always be close enough I can hear you."
Even though he had asked for it, and even though he knew it was coming, Akashi struggled to hold back the reflexive panic he felt when Kiyoshi wrapped the cloth around his head and suddenly he couldn't see anything at all. He couldn't even tell if his eyes were open or closed, and even though he knew it was only the blindfold, it still brought him back to the awful day when it hadn't been.
He tried to bring his hands up to his face, but Kiyoshi's bonds kept them secure behind his back. Any rational thoughts he may have had were lost behind the blind panic that rose behind his eyes. His breath caught in his throat, and his heart started to pound its way out of his chest.
"Akashi, breathe." Kiyoshi's voice cut through the haze of panic in his mind, and Kiyoshi's arms wrapped around him, grounding him. He tried to match his breathing to the sound of Kiyoshi's breath by his ear, letting the even rhythm steady him until the worst of the panic abated.
"Do we need to rethink this?" Kiyoshi asked once he was no longer shaking so badly.
"No," Akashi replied slowly. "I'm okay now. I think it will help; I just needed to get used to it."
"Will you be okay if I let go now?"
"I think so."
"Then here, you still haven't eaten," Kiyoshi said, and Akashi heard the quiet click as he picked up the chopsticks again.
Akashi was glad for the blindfold as he accepted the food Kiyoshi offered. It let him ignore how he looked, being fed like a helpless baby bird. He didn't have to see Kiyoshi looking at him with something akin to pity in his eyes, as if he needed caring for. No one had looked at him like that, had treated him like that, in years. He could only remember one other time when someone had cared for him like that. He had been four years old at the time, and he had caught a bad cold. His father was away on a business trip, and his mother had let him skip his lessons that day and stay tucked up in bed. Even though there were servants everywhere, she had made soup for him herself, and she had brought it up to his room and fed it to him. He had protested weakly at first, but in truth, he had felt too weak and shaky to want to try to wrestle with the spoon himself, and he had put up only a token protest before giving in.
The next day, his father had returned, and he scolded his mother for babying him before scolding him for being soft. It was that day that his father taught him that an Akashi didn't get sick, and if he did, then he certainly didn't let anyone else know that or otherwise allow it to interfere with his duties. That had been the first and last time Akashi had taken a sick day, but despite his father's scolding, he had never forgotten the warm feeling that had filled him when his mother had gone out of her way to care for him. He would never say it loud, but sometimes late at night, he would admit to himself that he missed having someone who would care for him in that way.
But even if he knew it was true, it ran counter to everything he had ever been taught, and on some days, perhaps even most days, he couldn't fathom why anyone would want to do that for him. He was an Akashi after all, and to be an Akashi was to be absolute. To be as flawless as a diamond, but also as cold and unbreakable. To be an Akashi meant being perfect and being feared. And above all, to be an Akashi was to be alone. There was no space for anyone else at the top, no one else who was as talented or as capable, at least according to his father. It was the worldview he had been raised on, and it was one he still struggled to break out of even now.
Kiyoshi had never bought into that idea though, and he had never been one to put Akashi on a pedestal, even during Akashi's first year at Rakuzan when even his own teammates had done so.
"I played with the Uncrowned Kings," Kiyoshi had explained when Akashi had asked one day a few years earlier. "I didn't agree with some of them a lot of the time, but I knew what they were capable of. Maybe we weren't as good as you in the Generation of Miracles, but being part of a team like that made me realize that everyone, even those set up as prodigies, are still human in the end. Our first year of middle school, everyone was talking about us; by the end, we were the Uncrowned Kings lost in the shadow of the Generation of Miracles. There was no reason not to expect the same thing to happen with you. Coming at it from that perspective, there was no reason to treat any of you as anything other than rivals; I may have had the advantage having missed seeing you the first part of the season, but my point still stands."
Several years later, Akashi still had the same reaction to Kiyoshi's words as he had had when he first heard them: he wondered if Kiyoshi realized just how unusual he was to have been able to look past the rumors and the myths to see the child side of Akashi and his teammates. Akashi knew it was an unusual skill; his own teammates, including three of the other Uncrowned Kings, had felt that way initially, but what they saw on the court soon overrode anything they may have known rationally before. Out of everyone he had played against, Kiyoshi was the only one to never have seen Akashi as a miracle, and though it perhaps would seem counterintuitive to some, Akashi was glad for it. He couldn't have done what he was doing now with anyone who did or had seen him as something more than human.
"Here's some more, Sei," Kiyoshi said, his voice cutting through Akashi's memories and bringing him back to the present. He offered food slowly, giving Akashi plenty of time to chew before offering more, but he was persistent, continuing until Akashi had eaten everything on the plate. Akashi knew he had started crying at some point, but Kiyoshi didn't mention it, and with the blindfold hiding everything from him, he could pretend that Kiyoshi hadn't noticed. Even when a handkerchief gently wiped his nose, he could pretend that Kiyoshi hadn't noticed, that no one would notice one of the senior executives of the Akashi Corportaion bound and reduced to tears in the middle of someone else's living room.
He thought he had regained some semblance of control by the time he finished eating, but then Kiyoshi said, "Sei, I'm proud of you. I know that wasn't easy for you," and he fell to pieces again.
No one other than Kiyoshi called him "Sei." For most of his life, everyone had called him Akashi. Even at the office now, everyone referred to both him and his father as "Akashi," using "-san" to denote him and "-sama" when they meant Masaomi. Kiyoshi refused to follow that pattern though, choosing instead something that made it clear that the normal hierarchies didn't apply. "Seijūrō," he had said during one scene early in their relationship, not realizing that Akashi's father was the only one to ever have called him that consistently. Akashi had panicked at the thought of his father, and it remained one of the few times he had safeworded for a hard stop. It had taken longer than he cared to admit for him to calm down enough to explain the issue to Kiyoshi, but eventually Kiyoshi had understood. The next time Akashi had come over, Kiyoshi had called him "Sei" when they began. Even a couple of years later, hearing it still hit Akashi hard every time; it was a name that hinted at a level of familiarity that was still largely foreign to him."
His nickname alone wouldn't have had that effect on him though, but it was magnified by Kiyoshi's praise. He wasn't used to praise. In his father's worldview, anything less than perfect was unacceptable, and meeting expectations was a minimum requirement, not something worthy of praise. Growing up, he had never heard praise from Masaomi, and since his father had hired tutors for him who all shared the same mentality, he had never heard real praise from them either.
The business world was a bit different, but not by much. He heard more praise there, but it was always about business decisions and the company's bottom line; none of it ever came back to him as an individual.
When Kiyoshi praised him though, it was for something that he had done, and something that mattered to him, rather than something that mattered to the company. As with so much that Kiyoshi did, Akashi could never fully decide whether he enjoyed it or hated it. He wouldn't deny that hearing Kiyoshi say things like that always gave him a sudden warmth across his chest, but it was always quickly followed by the voice in the back of his head in his father's tone that demanded to know why he was proud of being praised for such a simple task and argued that he should be ashamed that he had struggled with it, and should be even more ashamed that he had struggled visibly enough that someone else had noticed.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. It was a phrase he seemed to utter with alarming frequency around Kiyoshi, and one that he rarely used elsewhere.
Kiyoshi rested a hand on his thigh. "There's nothing to apologize for," he said. "It's safe to let everything out here; it's what I want you to do. Let me see you as you are. Not the mask you show everyone else but the real Sei—the one who's flawed and more beautiful for it."
"I'm afraid," Akashi said quietly.
"And you have every right to be," Kiyoshi said as he tangled his fingers in Akashi's hair, "but that's not for tonight. Tonight you don't need to be responsible for anyone, not even yourself."
He frowned as he ran his hand down the back of Akashi's neck. "You're tense," he said, "and your legs have to be getting stiff from sitting in seiza for so long." As he spoke, he cut the cord connecting Akashi's ankles and wrists.
"I'm going to help you up now," he said. "Take it nice and slow, and I want to move to the other room. You need a massage."
Akashi groaned. He had in fact been planning on scheduling a massage the next time his schedule permitted it, but getting one from Kiyoshi was even better. He let Kiyoshi help him to his feet. He was used to sitting in seiza for long periods, but even so, both of his feet had fallen asleep, and he was glad Kiyoshi was supporting most of his weight.
Kiyoshi picked him up, carried him across the apartment, and set him down on the edge of what he knew was the massage table set up in the bedroom.
"I'm going to undo these bindings now," Kiyoshi said as he ran his hand along the ropes on Akashi's chest and arms, but Akashi shook his head. He liked the security of them; he didn't want that to go away just yet.
"I'll bind you to the table," Kiyoshi promised, "but I can't get at your back like this." This time, Akashi didn't resist as Kiyoshi untied the knots and methodically removed the ropes. His arms protested as Kiyoshi slowly lowered them back to his side, and he bit his lip.
"Breathe through it, Sei," Kiyoshi ordered as he rubbed the stiff muscles. Once the worst had passed, he helped Akashi lie down on the table and then bound his wrists to the underside of the frame.
"I'll leave your legs as is for now, but I'm going to undo them and cuff your ankles to the table individually when I get there, okay?" Kiyoshi asked as he tied down the cord currently holding Akashi's ankles together.
"Mmm," Akashi mumbled in confirmation, already starting to relax in anticipation of what was to come.
He didn't have to wait long before Kiyoshi turned on soft music in the background and began the first long strokes down his back. Akashi didn't even try to hold in the moan that escaped as the heel of Kiyoshi's hand pressed into an especially large knot near his spine. It was just past the edge of painful, but the sort of pain that promised that he'd feel looser and more relaxed than he'd been in months, and he lost himself in the sensation.
He floated as the smooth pressure of long strokes mixed with the bright pain of an elbow digging into a stubborn knot and washed over him. He was already half-asleep by the time Kiyoshi switched out the bindings on his legs, and he was even farther gone when Kiyoshi finished over an hour later.
He barely stirred as Kiyoshi undid the last of the bindings, removed the blindfold, and gently washed away the tears that had dried behind it. Kiyoshi managed to rouse him just enough to coax him to drink some water before he carried him to the bed and climbed in beside him. It wasn't until he woke the next morning that Akashi was finally able to say, "thank you."
Prince of Tennis/Yowamushi Pedal, Kinjou & Inui/Kaidou, T, medical procedures, recovery
"Are you sure about this?" Kaidou asked that night once Kinjou was safely tucked into bed. He ran his fingers over the thick bend of metal that encased Inui's neck as he spoke. "Upgrades are one thing, but a whole new port system? You've had this one for how long?"
"Almost ten years now," Inui replied, reaching up to cover Kaidou's hand with his own. "With the speed at which they've been making improvements to these it's probably past time for it to be replaced. The Mark II may be new, but Ishida Uryuu's one of the best port specialists out there. Not only did he design the entire system himself; he was the first adopter. He's been using himself as a test subject for the past six months to work out all of the last details. If he says it's ready for release to Mark I port users, then it's ready."
"Why now?" Kaidou asked, still clearly uncertain, but willing to defer to Inui's judgment. "You just had your current system serviced a few weeks ago, and you said everything was working fine. Why not wait six months and have it replaced when you would normally have upgrades done?"
"Shingo's four now; in six months, he'll have already turned five. So much happens in six months with him…Did you know I have thirty degrees of rotation in my neck with the Mark I? I don't even notice it anymore when I'm working on a screen, or when it's just the two of us, but Shingo likes to run just as much as you used to. I want to be able watch him when he runs by," he whispered. "I want to stop missing important moments in his life because I couldn't get my damn chair out from under the desk and turned around fast enough to see them."
"How soon can Ishida do the replacement?" Kaidou asked, his voice rough.
"Nine days from now. It's going to be a complicated procedure; he estimates it could take up to seventeen hours. Come with me to the next appointment with him, and he can explain the details."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Two days later, Kaidou followed Inui into the bowels of a lab that looked remarkably like Inui's own. His first thought upon meeting the esteemed Ishida Uryuu was that there was clearly some secret class in which all scientists were taught how to make their glasses produce meaningful glints on demand. His final thought as he left was that he hadn't understood a word of the discussion beyond Ishida's name, but if the scientist's interactions with Inui were any indication, he was about as similar to Inui as Kaidou was going to find. And since couldn't very well replace his port system on his own, that was going to have to be good enough.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A week after that, Kaidou dropped Kinjou off with his godparents early in the morning. As always, Kinjou was practically vibrating with excitement over what new tumbling tricks Uncle Eiji would teach him. And as always, Kaidou pulled Oishi aside and begged him to keep an eye on his son and remind Eiji that a) unlike some people, Shingo didn't have any modification augmenting his strength and agility, and b) Kaidou would really like for Shingo to remain that way and not lose any limbs to freak acrobatics accidents. Oishi laughed and assured him he'd keep an eye on both of them.
Placing his faith in Oishi, Kaidou went across town to Ishida's lab and was shown to the small room where Inui was waiting prior to being taken to the sterile workroom where the procedure would take place. Even though he had been warned about it, it was jarring to see Inui with his head already fixed into the external stabilizer that would keep anything from moving when the port was removed.
"Shingo can't wait to tell you everything Eiji teaches him today," Kaidou said. "The kid's fearless."
"He gets that from you," Inui said, and any further remarks he was going to make were cut short when a lab tech entered with the drugs and jammers they were using to prepare Inui for the procedure. By the time Ishida entered a few minutes later and introduced his research assistants, Inui's eyes were unfocused, and his words were slurred and disjointed.
"There's a seating area at the end of the hall where you can wait," Ishida told Kaidou as he handed him Inui's glasses for safekeeping. "We'll try to send someone to update you every few hours, and I'll give you the final update in person when we finish."
Once they had taken Inui away, Kaidou started pacing the hallway, Inui's glasses a lead weight in his pocket. It was 171 steps from one end of the hallway to the other. After the 71st loop, he stopped keeping count. He was still pacing sixteen hours and twenty-seven minutes later when Ishida finally stepped out of the double doors at the end of the hall.
"The procedure was a success," he said, sounding both exhilarated and exhausted simultaneously. "His neck muscles atrophied severely during the time he was using the Mark I, and he needs to learn a new neural interface, but if he keeps up with the rehabilitation regimen, then he should have everything at least back to his baseline within six months."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The first week after the port replacement was one of the hardest weeks of Inui's life. He spent the first forty-eight hours focusing entirely on the connection with his optic nerve, and by the end of the second day, he could see well enough.
But he couldn't do anything else. So when Kinjou tiptoed to the door in the middle of the night and looked in, all he could do was hope that their explanations of the procedure beforehand and Kaidou's explanations since had been enough. He tried to say something once, but he lacked the motor control to form the words, and the unintelligible sounds that left his mouth instead served only to frighten Kinjou further.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It would be worth it soon enough, he reminded himself a bit over a month later when Kinjou's fifth birthday rolled around and Kaidou strapped him into his motorized wheelchair so that he could join the party. It was still too early to try interfacing with any external devices through his new port, so he was stuck trying to work the manual control interface for the wheelchair. He still couldn't hold his head up for more than a minute or two at a time, much less sit up on his own, but had regained just enough control of his hand that he could steer the chair for short periods.
It was a slow process though, and he spent the entire party feeling like he was two steps behind everyone else, a feeling that wasn't helped when the head strap on the wheelchair prevented him from being able to get a good view of Kinjou sitting on the floor blowing out the candles on his cake and opening presents.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The six-month anniversary of Inui's port replacement coincided with the first nice day of spring after the last of the snow melted. He, and Kaidou, and Kinjou went on a hike that day, and Kinjou climbed every boulder in sight while Kaidou offered advice.
A hawk cried overhead, and Inui looked up. He looked back down just in time to see Kinjou reach the summit of the boulder, and he decided that, even with the months of rehab, upgrading his port to the Mark II had been one of his better decisions.
Eiji/Inui, Prince of Tennis, T
From there, it branched out with no discernible pattern. A kiss to his shoulder when they were in the shower one night, a kiss on his elbow in the kitchen a week later, his knee while they were watching TV a few days after that. It was Inui, so Eiji knew there had to be a pattern somewhere, but he couldn't find it. Other than his cheek, Inui rarely kissed the same spot twice, and so far as Eiji could tell, the location didn't seem to have any relation the day of the week, time of day, weather, or any other variable he could think of.
It wasn't until he had a losing battle with a patch of black ice that he figured it out. That night, Inui kissed his cheek like always, then the palms of his hands, which were still sore where he had scraped them on the pavement.
When Inui gently kissed his split lip, all of the pieces finally fell into place.
"Oh," he said, suddenly breathless.
"Better?" Inui asked.
"Mhmm, yeah. Maybe one more just to be safe?"
Prince of Tennis, Atobe & Tezuka & Oishi, G, injuries
Atobe notices the minute the match starts; he's not even sure Tezuka's realized it yet, but he sees the way Tezuka is protecting his left arm, just as he sees the way it's putting the strain on Tezuka's shoulder instead.
He wishes Tezuka would forfeit. Seigaku can still win if it goes to a sixth match. They both have to know it's going that way anyway; he can see how Tezuka's barely holding on. But Tezuka's stubborn, and he's determined to take the match to the very end, and with Hyoutei's advancement on the line, Atobe's not willing to give up either.
He knows Tezuka's in pain. He saw the look on Tezuka's face on that serve, saw the way he crumpled around his shoulder. The match should have ended there, but Tezuka had refused. Tezuka's still playing somehow, but he shouldn't be. Atobe can barely stand to watch.
Every time he serves, he hopes that will be the time Tezuka misses. Every time he send the ball across the net, he hopes Tezuka will fail to return it. But Tezuka keeps fighting and fighting even though Atobe can see the pain that flashes across his face on every shot. He's not trying to hide it from Atobe as much as he's trying to hide it from his teammates, after all, Atobe knows; there's nothing to hide from him.
As the tiebreak stretches on longer and longer, Atobe's own shoulder begins to ache in sympathy. When Tezuka finally falters and the ball hits the net and fells, Atobe feels like his heart stops for a second too. Around him, everyone erupts into cheers, but it's a hollow victory to him.
If had been truly strong, the match would never have dragged on for so long. If he were truly strong, he would have been able to defeat Tezuka even before the tiebreak began.
When they shake hands after the match, he sees the way Tezuka's holding his left arm stiffly at his side, the way he's clenching his jaw like even the smallest movement of his shoulder is almost unbearable, and any joy he had felt at the victory turns bitter in his mouth.
He'd baited Tezuka into the match, but he hadn't been able to follow through, and he knew the price would continue to haunt him.
He finds Tezuka in the locker room, struggling to button his shirt one-handed. Tezuka's not trying so hard to hide the pain now that he thinks he's alone, and it makes Oishi's heart catch in his throat to see it.
"Tezuka, let me see," he says as he sits down next to his captain. Tezuka doesn't even try to argue as Oishi slides his shirt back off, and that's as worrying as anything else.
He knows Tezuka iced his shoulder for most of the match between Ryouma and Hiyoshi, but it's still visibly swollen, and the muscles around it are so tense he can see them pulling Tezuka's shoulder even farther out of alignment.
He opens the tube of muscle cream he always keeps with him and squeezes some out onto his fingers.
"Bear with me, Tezuka," he says as he digs his thumbs into the worst of the knots. Tezuka barely responds, but he knows it has to be agony, and he has to remind himself that this is compassion right now, that Tezuka will feel better when his shoulder is no longer locked up in spasms.
He wishes it hadn't come to this. He wishes he had noticed sooner; he should never have been caught off guard. He wishes he had said something sooner, wishes he could have stopped Tezuka sooner. He wishes Tezuka hadn't sacrificed everything on a match that ultimately hadn't even mattered for the rankings.
Prince of Tennis, Inui, G
Scope: per the advice of Mizuki, will be introducing tennis balls as massage tools today. Observations on individual team members to follow.
Kaidou:
Given Kaidou's usual training routine and intensity, predicted him to take this in stride. He made it through the series; however, it clearly caused him significant discomfort. Consider adding more stretching to his training schedule.
Kikumaru:
Either used no pressure or squirmed/wiggled away before finishing when working alone. Tolerated more when Oishi was the one applying the techniques. Need to investigate further and see if others have a similar effect on him.
Oishi:
Clearly understands the value of the exercise and is willing to adopt it. Seems to push himself harder when Eiji is present. Consider introducing him to more advanced techniques in the near future.
Takahashi:
Without racket: unable to tolerate at all.
With racket: appears to be fired up at the idea, but difficult to chase him down for long enough to test. Must try to find middle ground.
Momoshiro:
Laughed at the concept and refused to participate. Need to try again later.
UPDATE: just observed Momo rolling shoulders on tennis ball in the locker room. Continue observing and reevaluate action plan next week.
Tezuka:
Presumably experienced discomfort, but hid it well. Did not suggest use of tennis balls on his elbow or shoulder during the first experiment, but would be good avenue for future research.
Fuji:
Still not convinced he's human. Appeared to purr at one point (the sound was largely drowned out by Kaidou grunting, so cannot confirm this definitively at this point. NEEDS FURTHER RESEARCH).
Prince of Tennis, Inui/Kaidou, G
Makishima stiffened under him. "What are--"
"You're family," Kaidou said as he tried to pull Makishima closer. "Family hugs."
"I haven't done anything to deserve it though," Makishima mumbled as he turned away.
Kaidou let him go, but suddenly it wasn't Makishima pulling out of his arms anymore; it was a young man, unsteady on a new prosthetic leg, turning away out of a misplaced sense of guilt.
The boy pulled away, and his father let him go.
Makishima stepped back, but Kaidou caught his hand in his own. "We're really glad you finally came over. You have to come back soon," he said.
"Yeah, thanks," Makishima mumbled before Kinjou hissed, "Daaad," and pulled Makishima out the door.
As soon as Kinjou and Makishima were out of sight, Kaidou went to the gym and started the most difficult training session Inui had programmed for him. Three hours later, he was lying breathless and exhausted on the mats when Inui walked in.
"He's ours now," Kaidou said without looking up.
"I know," Inui said as he offered Kaidou a hand.
Prince of Tennis, Eiji/Oishi, G
When winter comes, Oishi notices when Eiji comes to practice with hands that are red and chapped from the cold. He offers Eiji lotion for his bag and reminds him to wear his gloves, but it doesn't help; Eiji always forgets them as he bounces from one place to another.
Oishi's finally had enough when he sees Eiji wipe a hand across his forehead and then wince when the salt stings his cracked skin. After practice, he pulls Eiji aside and works lotion into his hands himself, feeling every dry spot and callus and memorizing them as if they were his own. He pretends not to notice the way Eiji's hands are sweating under his.
By New Year's, he's started keeping a spare pair of mittens in his bag as well.
Come spring, it's Eiji who comes to him after a game when his hands are cramped and stiff from returning drive after drive. He doesn't even say anything, just sits down next to Oishi in the locker room and holds out his hands for inspection, his fingers seized up around the handle of an imaginary racket. Oishi takes them gently and methodically works his way along every muscle and tendon until they relax and Eiji can move them again. He lingers perhaps a little too long when he finishes, but Eiji's not pulling away. Maybe it's just wishful thinking, but it almost feels like Eiji's squeezing his hand too.
It's not until late summer that Oishi's finally able to do what he's wanted to do for almost a year. Eiji's been practicing his acrobatics again, and after practice, Oishi presses his lips to every scratch and bruise on Eiji's hands. And then, because he can, he leaves one last kiss on Eiji's fingertips. Eiji smiles at him, then curls his hand into a fist and presses it close to his own heart.
No matter the season or the weather, Oishi's hands are always warm—warm as they close over his hands on a tennis racket before the game, warm as they touch his shoulder in support when misses a return, warm when they grab his in celebration after they win.
Oishi's hands are strong too. He hadn't noticed it at first when Oishi had limited himself to a few brief touches here and there, but now that it's Oishi's fingers digging under his shoulderblade to get at the muscle he strained in their last game, he wonders if Oishi has the strongest hands of anyone on their team. It hurts when Oishi's thumb presses into a sore spot, but it's alternating with gentle fingers running through his hair and down the back of his neck, and that makes it okay.
Oishi's hand are warm, and they're strong, but the one thing Eiji notices most about them is how steady they are. It doesn't matter whether it's before an important match or after a practice where they've been pushed harder than they thought possible, Oishi's hands never shake with nerves or exhaustion the way his own do.
Eiji knows he'll never forget the moment when that changes. He kisses Oishi for the first time, and when he pulls away, it's Oishi who's speechless, and Oishi who reaches up with trembling hands to pull him in again. And Oishi who stays there afterward as if he's afraid it won't last if he lets go.
For once, it's Eiji who has the steadier hands, though not by much, and it's Eiji who rubs Oishi's back and whispers "I love you," until Oishi is finally ready to let go.
Prince of Tennis, Sanada & Tezuka, G
Oishi notices too. He knows it's an unspoken part of the reason Tezuka plays singles whenever he can. He notices, and he wants to say something, but he can't. He hopes Tezuka will bring it up someday, even as he knows Tezuka won't. Tezuka is Seigaku's pillar, there's only so much he can do from his spot at its base.
Kaidou notices as well. He's used to people being intimidated by him, but he wouldn't have expected it from Tezuka. It goes against everything else he thinks he knows about his captain. He wants to bring it up to Inui, but Inui doesn't seem to have noticed, or at least he hasn't made any notes about it yet, and Kaidou's gut tells him this is the sort of thing best kept quiet. So he bites his tongue, pays more attention to where he's practicing, and waits for someone else to mention it first.
Momo doesn't notice, at least not initially. It's not until he starts watching his teammate's techniques and trying to deconstruct them for himself that he notices the anomalies in Tezuka's actions. He's still too new at this to trust his judgment though, so he does the only thing he can: he focuses on helping Ryoma and works hard himself, and he hopes that gives his senpai enough space that they can focus on the problem their captain may or may not be having.
Seigaku notices, but it's not Seigaku that finally steps in. That task falls to Sanada the day he and Tezuka cross paths at the practice courts. He notices the way Tezuka flinches, and he puts the pieces together immediately. He doesn't have to say anything; one look is all it takes to let Tezuka know that he's noticed, and that he's not going to let the issue drop.
The next time he serves, he picks a spot on the opposite corner of the court, just far enough away that Tezuka can't reach it, but close enough that he could have if he hadn't flinched. He sees the anger that flashes across Tezuka's face for a split-second as he realizes what Sanada has done.
"Again," Sanada says. "Again" is the only warning he gives before he sends another ball over the net. A different spot this time, but the same distance--the exact distance Tezuka could reach if only he could move a split second sooner.
Again and again he sends balls across the court, watching for the brief moment when Tezuka's emotions betray themselves before they're locked away again. First comes the anger towards him, obvious, and entirely expected. When that starts to give way to frustration, the wind across the court picks up, and he sees the beginnings of the Tezuka Phantom taking shape.
He stops. Waits.
The anger comes back as Tezuka lets the Tezuka Zone fade and takes up his stance once more. It doesn't last long before it's replaced by frustration again, and as Sanada continues sending serve after serve to the same spots, even that starts to fade and be replaced by helplessness, and hopelessness.
It's not long until Tezuka stumbles scrambling for the ball, falls to his knees, and doesn't rise.
"Stand," Sanada orders. "Fight."
For a second, he sees the anger break through the despair again. It fades quickly, but it's soon replaced by another, one that's turned inward as all of Tezuka's anger at his own weaknesses and fears comes to the surface.
It's what Sanada's been waiting for, carefully placing countless shots until the whole range of Tezuka's emotions have been brought out and laid bare before them on the court. He picks up the intensity now, hitting harder and faster as he drills into the weakness Tezuka has tried so hard to hide. He doesn't stop until Tezuka suddenly turns his back, his shoulders nearly shaking with exhaustion and rage.
"One more ball," he says as he turns around as well. His voice is as flat and emotionless as his face. It's an act, but one he maintains carefully lest he muddy the emotions already in play.
He occupies himself with handling drills while he waits, keeping an eye out for anyone approaching the court so that he can send them away before they get too close. He loses track of how long he waits before he hears his name called behind him.
"Come," Tezuka orders as they face to each other once more. Tezuka's eyes are red, but the fight is back in them.
Sanada serves, driving the ball across the net as hard as he can. This time, there's no hesitation; the ball come back too quickly for him to react. He looks up as he feels it fly past his cheek. Tezuka meets his gaze, his eyes flashing defiantly.
Sanada nods in approval. Then he turns and leaves without another word. The next time he sees Tezuka will be across the net at Nationals.
Prince of Tennis, Eiji/Oishi, T
He shivered and reached into his pockets for his gloves, but his hands found nothing other than a few old scraps of paper and some spare change. Frowning, he tried again, then rummaged through his tennis bag, his school bag, even his pants pockets. It wasn't until he was trying to reach his shirt pocket under his jacket that he remembered he had taken his gloves out the day before when he put his jacket in the wash, and he had apparently forgotten to put them back.
He briefly considered going back home for them, but he was already running late, and he absolutely didn't want to be late to morning practice—he still hadn't blocked out the taste of Inui Juice from the last time. So he shoved his hands under his arms and hurried to school as fast as he could. He had to spring the last half kilometer, and his fingers were stiff with cold by the time he arrived, but he made it just before the alarm buzzed and declared the morning a relative success.
He was fumbling with the zipper on his bag when someone came to stand behind him. "Morning, Oishi," he said without even bothering to look over his shoulder.
"Good morning, Eiji. Do you need a hand with that?"
"It's stuck," Eiji complained as he handed over his bag.
Oishi's hands brushed against his, and Oishi frowned. "More importantly, your hands are freezing!" he said. "What happened to your gloves?"
"I forgot them," Eiji replied, hoping he didn't sound as flustered as he felt. Oishi had taken his hands and was rapidly rubbing them in his own, and Eiji was certain he was going to turn as red as his fingers if it kept up much longer.
"You can't practice like this," Oishi said. "You'll drop your racket." Then, he lifted Eiji's fingers to his mouth and started breathing on them to warm them up faster, and Eiji knew it was too late; he had turned the color of his fingers.
"That tickles," he giggled.
"Hmmm, then what about this?" Oishi asked before kissing his fingertips. He squirmed and laughed as Oishi teased him with hot breath and the gentle press of lips against his hands.
They both froze when someone coughed in the doorway.
"Tezuka…Buchou…" Oishi stuttered, rapidly turning nearly as red as Eiji.
"We're about to start," Tezuka said stiffly.
"Ah, yes, we're ready," Oishi said, yanking open Eiji's bag and handing him his racket before rushing out the door after their captain.
Yowamushi Pedal, Manami/Toudou, E, NSFW, BDSM
"Go ahead and touch it if you want," Toudou ordered, and Manami reached out with a trembling hand to pick up the ropes, thick silk dyed a deep blue that matched his hair. A quiet moan escaped from his lips as he ran his hands along the smooth cords.
"So? What do you think?" Toudou asked.
"Yes, Toudou-san," Manami said breathlessly, continuing to play with the ropes, letting them slide off of one another and coil by his knees.
"Whenever you're ready, Manami," Toudou prompted.
Manami picked up a length of cord, shifting until he had one leg bent in mid-air, his foot not far from his face. He tied the end of the cord around his ankle, then slowly extended his leg as he knotted the cord back and forth all the way up to his knee. When he finished, he pointed his foot in Toudou's direction, his calf muscle bulging through an open space in the bonds.
"Manami, your legs are fucking gorgeous," Toudou said, stroking himself slowly as Manami smiled at him and moved his leg this way and that to give him a better view.
Without putting his leg down, Manami picked up a second length of cord and repeated the same pattern on his other leg, finishing by spreading his legs in the air and looking at Toudou between them.
"Beautiful," Toudou declared, "but you still do have quite a bit of rope left."
"I know, Toudou-san," Manami said, tucking his legs in close to him and tying his ankles together with the long ends he had left on each cord. Then, he extended both legs in front of him, leaning back until his body made a perfect V. He picked up another length of cord and made a show of tying his thighs together with another series of intricate knots, stretching the cord out to its full length and displaying it every time he passed it between his hands.
"Stay," Toudou ordered when Manami finished and started to lower himself back to the bed. Manami whimpered, but held his position.
"You're so good, putting yourself on display for me like this, but do you know what would make it even better? If you took those last two cords and gave yourself a set of wings. Do you think you can do that for me, my beautiful, beautiful Manami?"
"Yes, Toudou-san!" Manami said, fumbling the cords in his haste to pick them up. He looped the ends of the cords around his wrists, then crunched even higher to tie the other ends to his ankles. When he finished, the cords stretched from his wrists to his ankles like a bat's wings.
"Toudou-san, please!" Manami cried as he slowly extended his arms, his stomach muscles quivering with the effort. "I can't hold it any longer!"
"Thirty more seconds, Manami. I'll even count. Fly for me."
Toudou fingered himself as he counted, drinking in every inch of Manami's pale skin and how it peeked out from under the ropes. He slowed his count out the end just to savor the sight of Manami panting and crying out, every muscle in his body shaking as he fought to hold his position.
As soon as Toudou hit zero, Manami collapsed onto the mattress, and Toudou was at his side in an instant, yanking him into a kiss.
"You're such a good boy, Manami," Toudou whispered as he started untying Manami's bonds. "You make me so proud. Would you like your reward? You've earned it."
"Please, Toudou-san," Manami begged, and Toudou quietly fished an ice cube out of the container he had kept hidden behind a pillow. Without warning, he pressed it to the back of Manami's neck, barely keeping in a moan of his own at the way Manami yelped and tried to squirm away.
He moved with Manami, tracing cold lines along his spine until he broke off to follow a rib around to Manami's chest, pinning him to the bed with one hand while he teased at his nipples with what was left of the ice.
"You like that, don't you?" he asked as Manami writhed under him.
"Yes! More please, Toudou-san!"
"Well, if you insist," Toudou said slowly. Then he reached up to the head of the bed for the nipple clamps he had left in the ice water. "Hold still," he ordered. "You start squirming, I stop, and you don't get a second chance."
Manami threw his head back and thrust his hips in the air as the first piece of cold metal pinched his nipples, but he didn't move under Toudou's hands. He held still for the second one as well, but as soon as it was in place, he shoved Toudou back onto the mattress.
"Please let me fuck you, Toudou-san," he pleaded. "Please. Please. Please. Please. Please."
"Since you want it so badly," Toudou laughed, tossing Manami a condom and lube.
Manami gave him no warning before thrusting inside, and he cried out at the sudden stretch.
Manami froze. "I'm sorry, Toudou-san! I'm supposed to go slowly there, aren't I?"
"It's fine," Toudou hissed as his body adjusted to the sudden intrusion, and when Manami started moving, the way he called out his name on every thrust sent a matching jolt through his groin.
He didn't think either of them would last long, but that was okay; it wasn't the point of the exercise. He reached up and tugged the chain between Manami's nipples, and that was all it took to send Manami over the edge. A few hard strokes to his own cock and he was coming too, stars exploding in his vision from the force of his orgasm.
By the time his vision cleared, Manami had already pulled out and was sprawled on the bed next to him. "You're too good to me, Manami," he whispered as he removed the nipple clamps, kissing Manami through the worst of the pain of the return of sensation. "Have I mentioned recently how much I love you?"
"I love you too, Toudou-san," Manami mumbled, still lost in his post-sex high.
Yowamushi Pedal, Tadokoro/Toudou, E
A well-lubed finger teased at his hole, and he tried to push back against it, only to be stopped by the hand pinning him to the bed.
"Please, Tado-chan," he begged and was rewarded by the finger pushing inside him. He gasped at the stretch, his legs kicking helplessly from somewhere over Tadokoro's shoulders. It was never lost on him just how easy it was for Tadokoro to hold him down and tease him, and how his squirming did nothing at all except amuse Tadokoro, but somehow that helplessness just added to the thrill.
Any further attempt at rational thought was lost as Tadokoro began moving his finger inside him, and he was helpless to do anything other than react. The sheer size of Tadokoro's fingers never ceased to amaze him. He'd had Manami's fingers inside him before, and his own, but Tadokoro's were easily twice as large as either of theirs. A second finger joining the first pulled an incoherent yell out of him, and he fisted his hands in Tadokoro's hair and pulled him closer.
"Suck me, Tado-chan," he ordered.
"Bossy one, aren't you, Jinpachi?" Tadokoro laughed, but that didn't stop him from doing as instructed, and Toudou lost himself in the twin pleasures of Tadokoro's fingers inside him and Tadokoro's mouth wet and hot against his cock.
Haikyuu!!, Ennoshita/Kuroo/Sugawara, T, mild NSFW
He was still going through the list when Ennoshita and Kuroo climbed into bed beside him. Kuroo's hand came to rest on his thigh, sending a pleasant jolt up his spine. "Rectus femoris," his brain supplied. Then, "sartorius," as Kuroo's fingers dragged down his leg toward the inside of his knee leaving a tingling trail in their wake.
Maybe he had accidentally said the muscles out loud too, because Ennoshita pressed a couple of fingers to his lips and murmured, "not now, Koushi." It wouldn't have made much of a difference though, not when Kuroo's hands teasing the tops of his legs were rapidly stealing away all of his higher faculties.
The first hot brush of Kuroo's tongue across his thigh had him arching back against the sheets and reaching for Kuroo's hair, but Ennoshita caught his hands and gently folded them back against his chest. "Not tonight," Ennoshita said. "Tonight, we're taking care of you."
Ennoshita kept his wrists held securely in one hand, but freed his other to play with his hair, tugging on errant cowlicks and pressing into the pressure points all over his scalp. Between the fingers in his hair and the lips on his thigh, the gentleness was overwhelming, and to his embarrassment, he felt himself beginning to tear up. He closed his eyes and tried to turn away, but Ennoshita caught him, gently drawing him back. "Let it all go, Koushi," he urged. "You're safe here. We've got you."
Ennoshita's arms holding him were solid, grounding. He let them anchor him even as Kuroo overwhelmed him with sensation and drove out everything else. He wasn't even sure what he was crying over anymore—stress definitely, but also happiness, misplaced guilt, fatigue, gratitude, other emotions too numerous and fleeting to name.
He wasn't sure when he drifted off to sleep amidst the tears and gentle touches, but the next thing he knew, he was waking up to the sun rising, the smell of Kuroo cooking breakfast, and the realization that he had slept through the night the day before a practicum for the first time since he started med school.
Haikyuu!!, Oikawa/Yamaguchi, T, tattoos
Then the patron took off his sunglasses and started unwinding his scarf, and Yamaguchi did a double-take. "Oikawa Tooru?" he asked, his heart suddenly fluttering up somewhere around his throat.
"Ssshhhhh!" Oikawa hissed, glancing over his shoulder. "Do you know how hard it was to ditch my fan club? Don't just announce I'm here!"
"So, uhh, what can I do for you today, Oikawa-san?" Yamaguchi asked, trying to ignore the fact that he was suddenly standing mere meters away from one of the top volleyball players in Japan. Or, more technically, one of the former top players; Oikawa had announced his retirement after Japan's gold medal at the last Olympics. His last exhibition match with the team had been a couple of weeks ago.
"I want a tattoo," Oikawa said. Then his eyes caught on Yamaguchi's hands, visible now that he was standing, and Yamaguchi braced himself for the inevitable questions. "Didn't that hurt?" was by far the most common, though "Why'd you pick something so ugly?" was a close second.
Oikawa surprised him. "You did that one yourself, didn't you?" he said, pointing at the bones that covered the back of Yamaguchi's left hand and disappeared into his sleeve.
Yamaguchi nodded.
"But not that one," Oikawa continued, pointing at the flowering vines that twined around the back of his right hand.
"You have a good eye," Yamaguchi admitted, trying not the let that add too much weight to the already alarmingly long list of reasons he had a massive crush on one Oikawa Tooru. "The flowers were my design, but I had a friend ink them for me."
Without warning, Oikawa picked up his hand, and a surprised squeak escaped before he could stop himself.
Oikawa dropped his hand like a hot coal. "I'm sorry," he stammered. "That was too forward of me. It's just...I've been a huge fan of your work for years, and it looks even better in person."
"No, it's fine. Go ahead," Yamaguchi said, offering his hand and hoping he was coming across at least slightly more collected than he felt. He could only hope Oikawa was too intent on tracing the lines on his hand to notice the way his face was burning.
"Oh wow, you even have the scar over the bone here to match where you broke your hand a couple of years ago. I was so worried when you posted about that on your blog you know."
"So, ah, what sort of tattoo were you thinking about?" Yamaguchi asked, trying to steer the conversation back to less dangerous topics.
"Jupiter and her moons," Oikawa said. "Well, not all of them, just the Galilean moons. I studied astronomy in university you know; I'm starting the graduate program at Tokyo University next year. I've wanted this tattoo for years. I promised it to myself as a retirement present."
"Why don't we sit down and talk a bit more about what you want and what I can do then?" Yamaguchi suggested. "And if it seems like something you want, I should be able to have some designs for you to look at in a few days."
~~~~~
"Why're you so nervous, boss?" Kiyoko asked three days later. "Is the guy coming back to look at designs that cute? You don't normally get this flustered."
"Mmm, yeah," Yamaguchi said noncommittally. Kiyoko would find out soon enough who his mystery client was, but he saw no reason to ruin the surprise.
Just then, the door opened, and Oikawa walked in, bundled up against the unseasonably cold weather.
"Oikawa-san, you're right on time," Yamaguchi said, and Kiyoko snapped to attention next to him. He knew he'd pay for it later, but the look on Kiyoko's face as she put the pieces together was worth it.
"You can leave your coat out here, and I have some designs for you to look at in the back."
He had barely set out his sketches when Oikawa pointed to one in the corner. "That one," he said.
"Are you sure? You can take a few minutes to look at them."
"I'm sure. It's perfect." Jupiter's characteristic rings stretched across the background, the edges of the planet somewhere beyond the edge of the frame. In the foreground were the four Galilean moons, each immediately recognizable—the active volcanoes of Io, the smooth surface of Europa, the sharp contrasts of Ganymede, and the dense craters of Callisto.
"When can you start?" Oikawa asked.
"Well, if you're sure you're happy with it, I set aside some time now you could take."
Oikawa's face lit up. "Really!?"
"It wouldn't be finished today, but I could probably get all of the outlining done. I need to make a stencil of this, but while I do that, you can fill out these forms," Yamaguchi said, sliding several sheets of paper in Oikawa's direction, "and take off a few of those sweaters. I can't tattoo your arm if I can't even see it."
Yamaguchi left Oikawa to his own devices for a few minutes, which in retrospect, was perhaps not the best idea, he thought as he walked in on a shirtless Oikawa smiling at him.
"Sorry, Yama-chan," he said, "my shirtsleeves were too tight; I couldn't push them up enough."
Yamaguchi tried not to stare too openly as he waited for his brain to kick back into gear. He couldn't tell if Oikawa was actually that earnest, or if it was feigned innocence, but whatever it was, it was severely distracting. He was grateful for the muscle memory that carried him through transferring the stencil to Oikawa's skin and getting himself set up.
But the first buzz of the tattoo gun had Oikawa pulling away from him. "Yama-chan, I'm nervous," Oikawa whined. "Do you have any more soothing music?"
Yamaguchi raised an eyebrow at what he was fairly certain was an act. "Like what?" he asked.
"I dunno. What else do you have?"
"This is about it. I just put my music on shuffle."
"In that case, why don't you just use my music instead?" Oikawa asked, offering his phone.
Yamaguchi hesitated, but then gave in and took it. After all, how bad could it really be? He plugged Oikawa's phone into his speakers…and was greeted with one of the most cutesy pop songs he had ever heard. The sort of tooth-rottingly saccharine drivel that he would never in a million years admit to enjoying. Behind him, Oikawa started humming along.
"Thank you, Yama-chan," Oikawa sang.
"I have to ask, why 'Yama-chan'?"
"Yamaguchi-san is too long. Plus, you've seen me shirtless now."
Yamaguchi had never been so glad to lose himself in the familiar sounds and rhythms of his work, letting the lines in front of him drown out thoughts of the person who was on the other side of the arm that sometimes twitched under his fingers.
Far too soon and yet not soon enough he finished, and he covered his work, went over aftercare instructions, and showed Oikawa to the front desk to make an appointment for another session. "My number's on the card," he said as Oikawa left. "You can call anytime. Otherwise, I'll see you next week."
"You are in so much trouble boss," Kiyoko said as the door jingled shut. "'You can call anytime?' Really?"
Prince of Tennis, Sanada/Yukimura, G
(Anonymous) 2016-11-23 01:58 am (UTC)(link)But if he was meticulous, Yukimura could be even more so, and before Nationals, they were both even more meticulous than usual. It was well past dark by the time they were finally satisfied, and by then, they were alone in the club space. It was only then that he began the final piece of their preparations.
As always, Yukimura sat on the bench in front of the lockers as Sanada knelt by his side. As always, Yukimura claimed that it wasn't necessary, but Sanada believed in trusting as little as possible to luck. He wouldn't risk his captain's technique being thrown off by a chipped nail. He took Yukimura's hands in his own and inspected them. They weren't chapped, hadn't been since he had gifted Yukimura a bottle of finely scented lotion several months earlier, but as always, Yukimura's nails were ragged, bitten down during late nights studying and battling the demons he never let others see.
"Yukimura," Sanada began as he took an emery board and started to smooth out the worst of the damage, but whatever he had been about to say trailed off. He couldn't scold his captain for the lengths to which he pushed himself; it was Yukimura's expectations that had made Rikkai great. It wasn't the expectations that he wanted to speak to though, it was the other cause of Yukimura's sleepless nights, the demons that Yukimura never spoke of.
He wouldn't have had a name for them if it hadn't been for the most recent training camp when Yukimura had cried out in his sleep, fighting against memories that slipped out into the strange reality of dreams. He had spent that night deep in meditation by Yukimura's side, just as he had during the many long nights Yukimura had spent in the hospital.
Yukimura never spoke of his nightmares though, just as Sanada never spoke of the nights he had spent sitting vigil, but they both knew, just as Sanada knew the nightmares weren't limited to the few nights of the training camp.
It pained him that he couldn't do anything for Yukimura those nights. That he couldn't hold the nightmares at bay until they recognized Yukimura's strength and left him alone. It pained him that Yukimura still had so much fear and uncertainty locked up inside him that the nightmares could continue to feed on it. That he couldn't show Yukimura how unfounded those fears were.
It pained him, but there was nothing he could do. He was a simple vice-captain, and he worked under straightforward rules.
But, he thought as he shaped each of Yukimura's nails back into its perfect curve, even if he couldn't fight Yukimura's demons, then at least he could smooth out the worst of the rough edges they left behind. By the time he finished, his captain's hands would be flawless, as was befitting for a soon-to-be three-time national champion. And when he finished, he would wait for Yukimura's subtle wave of permission before he bowed his head and raised Yukimura's hand to his lips.
And when Yukimura rose and rested a hand on his head before leaving, he'd know that his love for his captain was returned just as strongly.
Re: Prince of Tennis, Sanada/Yukimura, G
Prince of Tennis, Inui/Kaidou, G
"Inui-senpai?" Kaidou asked.
"Not now, Kaidou," he replied, trying to decide if there was in fact a 33 on the page, or if he was seeing double again. He rubbed his eyes and heard the sudden clatter of a chair being dragged closer.
"Studying too much, senpai," Kaidou said as he dug a thumb into the back of Inui's neck. The pressure sent a jolt right down to the ends of his fingertips, and okay, maybe he was a little more tense than he cared to let on.
15 percent, his brain supplied as Kaidou's fingers worked their way across the base of his skull. Kaidou's finger strength had increased 15% compared to when he had first introduced the new training regimen some three months earlier. More than he had expected, and results he was happy with.
He winced when Kaidou pressed into his temples and noted that 15% was perhaps a bit too much of increase for the sensitive pressure points there.
"Sorry," Kaidou muttered, easing back a bit--11% to be precise.
He closed his eyes out of reflex when Kaidou removed his glasses and set them aside. Without them, there was nothing to distract him from how close Kaidou's hands were to him as he worked his way over to the pressure points on the bridge of his nose. They smelled warm, he thought, if warm was a smell. They were warm--2.5°C warmer than normal. He filed that piece of information away to consider later.
By the time Kaidou finally moved his hands away and asked, "Better, senpai?" he could no longer feel his heartbeat behind his eyes, and when he put on his glasses and risked looking down at his notes again, the numbers stayed firmly in their places.
"Much. Thank you, Kaidou," he said.
"Don't mind," Kaidou mumbled. Time to look away, 0.36 seconds faster than expected. Speech 22% faster than usual his brain supplied, and he filed that away for further analysis as well.
Re: Prince of Tennis, Inui/Kaidou, G
Haikyuu!!, Iwaizumi & Oikawa, T
"Thank you," Iwaizumi said as he showed the man out the door. He wasn't overly excited by the features of the his new fridge; he never would have purchased it under normal circumstances, but it had been on sale, and his old fridge had died rather unceremoniously earlier that week. He was trying to save up to move to a nicer place, so he had purchased the cheapest replacement he could find; it was pure coincidence that the cheapest model also happened to be the newest and most cutting edge. It's price tag had been the result of a single day sale celebrating something related to its release—Iwaizumi hadn't cared enough to look at details beyond that.
As soon as he stepped into the kitchen, a panel on the front of the fridge lit up. "Hello~," the fridge said in an overly cheerful robotic voice. "I'm your new Rotom 111 Fridge. My names Oikawa, what's yours, new friend?"
"Iwaizumi," Iwaizumi replied, gritting his teeth at the voice that was far too cheerful even for early afternoon.
"Nice to meet you, Iwa-chan!"
"Don't call me Iwa-chan!"
"Aww, but it's a nice name, Iwa-chan."
Iwaizumi rubbed his temples. "Are my drinks cold yet, Shittykawa?" he asked.
"Nah-ah, that's rude, Iwa-chan," the fridge chirped. "I won't chill anything if you're rude."
"Look, I just want a soda," Iwaizumi groaned, already regretting his decision to pick the cheapest option without looking too closely at the fine print.
"No soda tonight, Iwa-chan. You have a game tomorrow. You can't play your best if you don't feed your body properly."
"I. Want. A. Soda," Iwaizumi said, pulling the fridge door open, but when he tried to take a bottle out of their usual spot in the door, the bars holding them in place snapped at his fingers.
"I said no soda, Iwa-chan," the fridge sang, and Iwaizumi swore it sounded smug. "Acceptable drink options you currently have stocked include water, tea, and Pocari," the fridge continued, and as it listed each option, the overhead light angled and flashed on to highlight the bottles on the shelf.
Iwaizumi sighed and tried to decide what he wanted that wouldn't risk getting his fingers bruised by an overly pushy fridge. It had been a long day, and he had been looking forward to a soda since sometime before lunch; he hadn't considered a backup plan.
"It's wasteful to leave the fridge door open for too long, Iwa-chan. You have five seconds left to make your decision before the fridge door will automatically closer."
"Give me a minute, Shittykawa," Iwaizumi snapped. "It wouldn't be taking this long if you had just let me have what I wanted in the first place."
"No can do; someone needs to make sure Iwa-chan's taking proper care of himself. You have two seconds remaining."
"I'm still thinking."
"One second!"
"Just shut up for a second and let me think!"
"Sorry, time's up. Please move aside so I can close the door."
When Iwaizumi didn't move, the door of the fridge began repeatedly bumping into his arm until he finally stepped out of the way. He wasn't going to give the fridge the satisfaction of getting the last word, so he grabbed a spare water bottle from his gym bag instead. It wasn't cold, but he'd take that over the smug smile he was sure he'd get from the fridge if he gave into its advice (he wasn't sure exactly how a fridge could look smug, but he was sure his new model would if given half a chance).
"Goodnight, Iwa-chan," the fridge called when he turned out the light on his way out of the kitchen. "You need to leave for your game by 10 am tomorrow. Would you like a reminder?"
"I'm all set," Iwaizumi said, suppressing a shudder. He didn't want to think about what obnoxiously cheerful method the fridge would come up with to wake him up in the morning.
Prince of Tennis, Inui/Kaidou, G
Unlike usual, Inui drew no conclusions from the data that flowed around him. His mind, like the rest of him, was tired—the bone-weary exhaustion that came from too many days of pushing himself too hard.
An even, steady sound grew off to his side, until he could feel it vibrating through the soles of his shoes. He scuffed the ground with his foot, and the sound stopped, being replaced by a rustle of cloth. A point of warmth spread across his back as he stared absently at the furrow his shoe had left.
He frowned. Even as fatigued as he was, he knew that was out of place.
He looked over. Kaidou sat next to, a hand on his back. He knew Kaidou's training regimen; Kaidou had to be at least as exhausted as he was, and yet he was still so warm. Inui pressed back into the welcome heat, and Kaidou shifted until his entire arm wrapped around Inui's shoulders.
There was probably data there, some conclusion he could be drawing, but it wasn't an urgent sort of data, not something that clamored for his attention. He set it aside for later as he leaned into Kaidou, letting the heat melt away the worst of the cold damp and buffer him from the lethargic streams of data that swirled slowly around him and sapped his strength.
"Everyone's left, Senpai," Kaidou said. "You should go home too."
Re: Prince of Tennis, Inui/Kaidou, G