Heavily inspired by Coldplay's XY album. Just so you know, men carry both an X and a Y gene in their sexual reproductive cells, each child gaining either one or the other. Women have two X chromosomes instead.
Biology
It was not Echizen Ryoma who the one pleading into this kiss.
This what happens when he gets as tall as you is what the cynical part of your brain says.
You can feel the roughness of brick against your back, and you can feel the heavy weight of his body, all that dense muscle pushing against you. Equil and opposite.
He started this you can't help but think, a little childishly, as his lips and tounge suck at your neck. A catalyst.
He was the one who started the moving, the shaking, the slow coiling of tension. You couldn't help but remember the feeling you got in your stomach every time you watched Echizen play, because it was just as intense as what you're feeling now. A little different - the desire to meet the challenge was a cold whiplash, a blue lightning strike. This is an all-consuming wildfire, golden-warm, swirling in indelable patterns in your stomach.
Making out behind the tennis courts is not something you should be doing. But he's back now, and he had wanted to talk. You had thought that maybe you had something to say, but it got lost.
Nothing makes any sense any more.
And you can't help rocking into him, diving into the deep end. Feeling crazier than the first time you hit self-actualization on the courts. Your passion for tennis is only a mirror of this. Or maybe he is a mirror of your passion for tennis.
Finally, you squeak out his name on the waves of a gasp.
And it's as though he has only just realised what he has done to you with his eternal pushing, pulling, unwinding. Your cheeks are hot, your lips are sore, your eyes are only half open behind your skewed glasses.
And he smiles at it. A blinding smile that eats everything up, and you beg for it to take you.
You've been waiting for him to come back, although you'd never admit to it to anyone except maybe Fuji or Oishi, drunk enough to be able to deny it in the morning. Everything has slowed down with him not here to speed the process of your life, and you became addicted to his adrenaline-rushed enzymes.
He has grown, and maybe you have not, becuase now he's going at the speed of light and you need him to get you there.
You have fallen so low, and maybe this has been the growth you have made during your time apart.
It's just like the first time your hyper-aware brain tells you, excited.
Except it's not, because you're not seeing clearly when he touches you again, hands forming the perfect grip on you.
You thought he would never admit it. He has grown. He is whispering the words over and over again your ear while you're on the edge of tears.
You're breaking apart, unwravelling from both ends.
He was never going to stand and wait for you.
And so you wrap your arms around his shoulders, so much broader for the carrying of people and the weight of the world, holding tight when you finish so you don't just crumple to the ground like a rag doll. Left in the dust.
He is almost awed, and grinning with it. It is as if he has just hit a serve and you couldn't even see it. It is like the first time he saw you naked just for him - glee, and a little fear.
Even he is scared of going over the hill, even if he is the one pushing you both up it.
You pull away, ashamed at your wantonness and the weakness in your bones that make you want to crawl into him and rest there for a long, long time. Your voice is low and a little hoarse, like after walking in cold winter air, when you tell him that he shouldn't be here like this.
And he raises his eyebrows at you, and that sardonic smirk that he keeps filed away for these occasions makes you feel disgusting. He asks you what he should be doing, if not this.
You fumble for the words, but suddenly the cynical, hard part of your brain is hiding from his brilliance.
Don't leave me here, bushou.
You look at him, and he needs you to be strong. You know, and you think he knows, that he is the really strong one, but he needs you to keep the facade because he can't.
All of a sudden, a delayed reaction, the message relayed from your ears to your head cut open your heart. He needs someone to give to. He needs someone to push again, who will push back. He needs you.
With shaking hands you take your glasses off, still leaning against a hard wall, and rub your eyes with the other hand.
This refuses to be deconstructed. This doesn't want to go, but will at the slightest order from you.
You don't want to move backwards.
And he is already changing your life into something else. One amino acid at a time.
Your glasses are smudged, but you put them back on anyways.
He's handsome your brain notes, a little sheepish and a little awed.
And so you offer to walk him home. You suffer a kiss on the cheek at the doorway, with a rolling stomach.
Let me in something says. It's in your blood. You know you would never change anything about this. You don't know where you're going, but you know that you waited for him.
Waited for him to come and set you free.
You repeat his whispered words with a painful crack in your voice and pursed lips and painfully tired eyes. His back was turned when you said them, but he faces you now and smiles, eyes rich and warm.
You should come in.