Title: Calefaction
Summary: A lazy Sunday afternoon.
"Hey, let's play tennis," is Ryoma's suggestion, slurring heavily with sleep it's almost incomprehensible.
Tezuka, head currently buried in his pillow, makes a muffled sound in his throat. It doesn't sound like a complaint, nor does it sound like a dismissal. Ryoma lifts his head up for an inch, copies the noise, before dropping back down.
Tezuka grunts with the impact of skull against skull. It doesn't hurt, but it still feels uncomfortably like something cracking as the knock resounds in his ears.
"Teniiis," Ryoma half-whines half-yawns. He buries a hand in Tezuka's hair and messes it up in a burst of hyperactive energy.
"Nnnngh," is the reply, imitating the tone of Ryoma's voice. It quickly fades into a moan when the hands press onto his head gently and combs through his hair.
Ryoma is lying on Tezuka, back to back, while Tezuka is lying on his stomach. Ryoma feels like dead weight, but he's heavy and warm and comfortable. He has grown since junior high, but he's still small enough that his body fits Tezuka's in a way that's not perfect, but perfect enough for Tezuka. He fits, pure and simple.
Tezuka is too sleepy to deal with Ryoma. It's only late afternoon, but he was up late the previous night; working on an essay, attempting to ignore his boyfriend, reading a book for said essay, being distracted by said boyfriend. He rolls over, forcing Ryoma to slide off and consequently freeing his hands from his hair. Now they're both resting on their sides, still back to back. Ryoma exhales loudly and presses against him. Tezuka pushes back in retaliation, but only once. He has no energy to keep up with the battle, sleep weighing heavily on his mind, and falls limp straight after. Ryoma moves him backwards a few inches.
Taking advantage of the momentum, Tezuka slides forward to cuddle against the blissfully cool wall. He sighs with relief. He doesn't usually mind Ryoma's body heat, but coupled with the warmth of the sun leaking through his window and the natural ventilation of his room in the summer, the temperature can rise to uncomfortable levels. Tezuka can never sleep when it gets too hot.
He feels his mattress shifting, dipping, sinking as Ryoma changes his position. He rolls over so he's facing Tezuka's back, scoots forward and spoons him, wrapping an arm around his torso as he snuggles against his back.
"Fine, go to sleep," he breathes sullenly against his shirt, just below his nape. Tezuka feels the warmth soaking in and trailing pleasantly cool shivers down his spine. He leans back, just a fraction.
"If you insist," Tezuka says compliantly, a trace of amusement coloring his voice.
Tezuka feels more than hears as Ryoma scoffs. He knows Ryoma would prefer to run around in the blistering heat chasing balls, or doing other things that involves blisteringly hot heat and balls, but right now Tezuka only wants to sleep, long and deep and undisturbed.
He yelps when a hand pinches his nipple.
Tezuka entertains, for a moment, rolling onto his back to squash the younger boy, but dismisses it as quickly as the shroud of sleep that darkens his vision. It'll take too much effort, Ryoma would retaliate, and sleeping sounds like a much better option.
He feels when Ryoma mouths three words into his shirt, and feels a warmth not attributed to the sun but completely to Ryoma spreading through his body, not unpleasant but completely soothing.
He smiles when he falls asleep.
The three words: "Mada mada dane."