Title: Discussions of a Hirsute Nature

By: ExquisitelyInked

Summary: Short. Ryoma loses his cap, and Keigo takes advantage of the situation. Or tries to. And maybe succeeds. They talk about hair.

Rated: T

Disclaimer: I don't own Prince of Tennis.

A/N: To get over the pain of writing "Without". Hope you like this.

"Buy me a new cap, Monkey King." Ryoma extends a lazy arm for the magazine Atobe's reading, but gives up, because he can't be bothered to get up from where he's lying on Atobe's bed.

"No." A hand inches toward Ryoma's head. It gets slapped away rather forcefully.

"What's so special about my hair that you can't help but keep touching it?"

"If my hand bruises, I'll break up with you," Keigo says, frowning slightly and shifting his place on the edge of the bed.

Ryoma shoots Atobe a scathing look, daring him to. Keigo grimaces, nursing his damaged hand and ego, and says, "I do love your hair, though."

"Well, it's certainly better compared to the wig you're wearing, but - "

Atobe returns an equally murderous look to Ryoma, who smirks. "It's not really been that long since the quarterfinals match, ne?" he muses. "I wonder how your hair grew back so fast."

"I have well toned my body," Atobe begins, only to be interrupted with a dirtily smug look of agreement from his boyfriend.

Keigo colours slightly, but smirks back. Clears his throat and continues.

"It's only natural that the growth rate of my hair be of a superior level than yours, or anybody else's." The undamaged hand crawls towards Ryoma's head. Ryoma, busy flipping through the magazine he succeeded in stealing, doesn't notice until Keigo's fingers start playing with the strands.

"Monkey King, stop it."

Atobe doesn't.

Ryoma swats Atobe's inquisitive fingers away using the magazine. Atobe takes it from him. Ryoma mumbles, "Mada mada dane."

"I see no chance of you evolving into a superior being like myself."

"If you'd stop saying such fancy words I might even ask you to touch my hair."

Atobe throws Ryoma a disparaging glance. Ryoma is called out on his bluff.

"Buy me a new cap."

"No."

"You have enough money to buy the damn company, buy me a new cap."

"I like seeing you without it."

"I can always get the money from my old man."

"I doubt he'd give it to you if he knew you were calling him 'old'."

"He doesn't care what I call him."

Atobe spares Ryoma another disparaging glance, then goes back to observing Ryoma's hair, hands itching to touch it.

"Then get it from him, because I'm not gifting you a new cap. I might as well be cloaking you in white darkness, and I like seeing you and not just the lower half of your face. Not to mention you're a lot cockier with the cap."

"I thought you were the jealous type, the kind of guy who'd shield me from other lecherous eyes," Ryoma hums, reaching for Atobe's hand and burying it in his head, sufficiently appeased by Atobe's masked compliments.

"And 'lecherous' isn't a fancy enough word for you," Atobe laughs, pushing Ryoma further into the middle of the bed and getting in beside him. "You actually talk more intelligently without the fucking cap."

"Don't you fucking swear."

They kiss. Atobe's hands reach for Ryoma's hair, and Ryoma lets him.