Title: Diplomatic Maneuvers
Pairing: Tezuka/Yukimura
Summary: They all know what a good game of tennis does to Yukimura's libido. So does Yukimura, for that matter. And none of them are above taking advantage of it.
Notes: Adult for smut; set in the Buchous Amok universe, which presumes that a.) several of the top players from the junior high circuit eventually go pro and b.) that they're all sleeping together. Which, hey. Why not? 2222 words.
Diplomatic Maneuvers
There were things that they had all silently and mutually agreed never, ever to mention to the contingent of reporters who tended to hound their collective steps, breathlessly chronicling the fortunes of what had earned the rather regrettable nickname of "Japan's Golden Generation." They'd had to close ranks in self-defense, for the sake of privacy and sanity, just to preserve a little space in which to breathe. Perhaps they were small, ridiculous secrets; perhaps it wouldn't have mattered if some of them had slipped out and people learned about the little quirks and foibles each of them had, from which grip tape they used on their racquets to the little rituals that went into preparing for a match—but it felt like a victory to keep those things private. At least, that was how it felt to Kunimitsu; he assumed the others felt similarly, though they'd never discussed it openly. But it felt good to hold some things back; he'd seen some of the things Keigo had found doing vanity searches and had been disquieted by them.
Better, Kunimitsu thought, to keep some things private and safe.
For instance, this: it was their commonly-held secret that Seiichi generally got inappropriately turned-on by a good match. They all knew it and generally found ways and excuses to get clear of the locker room after a match to leave him some privacy—him and Genichirou, or him and Akaya, or (on at least a few occasions that Kunimitsu was aware of) him and Genichirou and Akaya. Not that Seiichi was particularly inclined to exclusivity, even when he was partial to those who'd been his own teammates once upon a time. They'd all slept with him after matches at one point or another, even Kuranosuke, who was otherwise as straight as an arrow and had caused Seiichi to spend the next several months grinding him into every tennis court on which they met by having remarked that he'd made an exception because Seiichi was as pretty as a woman. (The rest of them had privately agreed that Kuranosuke had brought that upon himself, and that he was lucky that Seiichi had left his vengeance to the courts in lieu of more direct methods of getting even.) Seiichi had a way about him, a certain unthinking arrogance combined with the force of his personality, that was difficult to withstand in the best of circumstances. In the locker room after a fierce match, when adrenaline was still coursing through one's veins after a victory (or a defeat)—Kunimitsu supposed that a person might choose to say no when Seiichi cast an inviting glance at him, but didn't see much point to it.
Not when the alternative was this.
Yukimura was fresh from the shower and his hair was raked back from his face, which lent him a whole different aspect. It suited him; he looked fiercer without the waves of his hair to soften the lines and angles of his face—as fierce as his game, as fierce as his temper when he'd been roused. But then, Kunimitsu supposed that Seiichi knew that perfectly well, and elected to wear his hair long and loose because it camouflaged those things. He was a strategist in that sense, more than many people gave him credit for being, but Kunimitsu knew better.
Strategy was why Seiichi was walking around with his towel slung low on his hips, loosely tucked and in imminent danger of sliding free. He set a hand on it to hold it in place while he stooped over his bag, picking through its contents as the muscles on his back moved with the curve and flex of his spine.
"Here it is," he announced as he straightened up. When he turned, he stopped and then smiled. "You're staring, you know."
Kunimitsu didn't suppose it was worth denying that he was, and shrugged. Seiichi's smile turned wider as he padded across the tiles to where Kunimitsu sat watching him. His eyes were bright as he came to stand over Kunimitsu. "You're still staring," he added, clearly delighted by it.
Kunimitsu leaned back on his hands, looking up at Seiichi and the pleased curve of his mouth. "You're good to look at."
Seiichi's eyes softened. "And they say you're nothing but business," he murmured, cupping his hand around Kunimitsu's cheek.
"They can say whatever they like." The people who mattered knew better.
Some of Seiichi's smile slipped away. Kunimitsu forestalled whatever it was that he was about to say by turning his face to kiss Seiichi's palm as he set a hand on Seiichi's hip and ran his thumb along the arch of it, following it down to where it disappeared under the edge of his towel. The towel slipped loose as Seiichi shifted under his hand. He was already hard and murmured something distracted and pleased when Kunimitsu smoothed his thumb along the line of his cock and stroked it over the head. Seiichi murmured his name, voice low and hungry, and stepped closer, edging his way between Kunimitsu's knees as he slid his fingers into Kunimitsu's hair.
Kunimitsu never minded obliging Seiichi in this, since Seiichi earned the right to be demanding by being generous in return. The sounds he made when Kunimitsu leaned forward to stroke his mouth over his cock were satisfying. He pushed forward and sighed as his cock slid over Kunimitsu's tongue, warm and sleek, and settled a hand in Kunimitsu's hair, stroking it. His hips rocked back and forth in Kunimitsu's hands, the beat of them languid despite the energy Kunimitsu could feel humming through Seiichi's body. But then, Seiichi was full of contrasts like that, willing to savor the process as much as he did reaching his pleasure.
Not that Kunimitsu could blame him when the process was so enjoyable: Seiichi's hips flexing under his hands and the weight of his cock sliding between Kunimitsu's lips, heavy on his tongue. Seiichi murmured and sighed over him, eyes gone half-lidded and dark, and ran his fingers through Kunimitsu's hair. It was the same sort of look he wore after a hard match, the one that Keigo called an incitement to riot, with good reason. He was a pleasure to watch, especially as the color climbed his throat and spread across his cheeks, and Kunimitsu hummed his approval when Seiichi finally shuddered, finding the edge and letting himself be swept over it, eyes closing and head falling back as he cried out.
Kunimitsu released his hips and leaned back to watch him. Seiichi laughed softly when he opened his eyes again. "Don't you look satisfied," he said, breathless, as he reached out a hand and ran it down Kunimitsu's chest.
"Don't I have reason to be?" Kunimitsu inquired, enjoying the way the aftermath of pleasure turned Seiichi's movements loose and easy.
Seiichi's eyes sparked just a bit, despite his languor. "I'll win next time, you know." He planted his hand against Kunimitsu's solar plexus and pushed.
Kunimitsu considered resisting but let himself go over, more curious to see what Seiichi had in mind than inclined to remind him that he couldn't always have his own way. The bench was smooth and warm under his back; he settled himself against it and said, "Perhaps."
Seiichi pursed his lips. "Would you care to make a bet on that?" he inquired as he slid a knee onto the bench and settled himself over Kunimitsu's thighs.
"Not particularly." Kunimitsu let out a breath as Seiichi ran a palm over his stomach. "They never seem to go any way but yours." There was a reason that Ryouma tended to complain that Seiichi had the devil's own luck.
Seiichi's smile was complacent. "They do, don't they?" He slid his palm lower, settling it over Kunimitsu's cock and palming it through his towel. "Are you sure you don't want to bet on Madrid?"
Keeping his voice even through the way sensation was rushing up his spine was difficult, but Kunimitsu managed it, even though he couldn't quite help the way his hips lifted, straining against Seiichi's weight and trying to press into his palm. "Quite sure, thank you. Madrid will take care of itself."
"I suppose it will." Seiichi's smile held the faintest glint of humor and respect; he ground his palm down slowly. "Has Ryouma said whether he'll be along for that one?"
"I think he's planning on it," Kunimitsu managed around the way his breath caught in his throat.
"Oh, good. It's going to be an exciting tournament, then." It was impossible to say which pleased Seiichi more, the prospect of an eventful set of matches, or the way Kunimitsu was rocking against his hand. Then he lifted his hand away.
Kunimitsu hissed between his teeth. "I'm sure it will be," he said as Seiichi smoothed a hand back up his chest. "Seiichi."
Seiichi's eyes were dancing. "Yes?"
"Stop. Teasing."
Seiichi laughed openly and rocked onto his knees. "Was that so difficult?" he inquired, before bending down to kiss Kunimitsu.
"Someone in this room is being difficult, yes," Kunimitsu said, when Seiichi let him have the chance.
Seiichi just laughed again as he traced his mouth along Kunimitsu's jaw. "Be nice." His voice was pitched low, intimate against Kunimitsu's ear.
"Or what?" Kunimitsu asked, running his hands down the line of Seiichi's back.
"Or I'll find someone else to fuck me."
"Hm." Kunimitsu closed his hands on Seiichi's ass, solid under his palms, and squeezed it. "But I'm right here." And, more to the point, everyone else was currently scattered to the four winds.
"A compelling argument." Seiichi's voice dropped lower as Kunimitsu slid his fingers down, stroking over his entrance and fondling it. "Ah..." He reached for the tube he'd fetched from his bag and dropped it on Kunimitsu's chest. "Consider me convinced."
"With pleasure." He slicked his fingers and pressed them into Seiichi, working them into him slowly and letting the way Seiichi sighed and moved over him tell him when to stroke them deeper and when to twist them, until Seiichi made a soft, breathless sound and sat up over him. He twitched the towel off Kunimitsu's hips as he did before slicking his own fingers. His smile as he ran them over Kunimitsu's cock, deliberately slow, was wicked, and only crept wider as Kunimitsu groaned with the way heat twisted low in his belly. "Seiichi..." He ran his hands up Seiichi's thighs, coaxing. "Don't you think you've played enough?"
Seiichi pretended to consider it, and then laughed as he tightened his fingers around Kunimitsu's cock. "Mm, yes," he said, over the sound of Kunimitsu's moan, and shifted again, sliding himself up the bench and settling over Kunimitsu. They both groaned as he sank down and his weight pressed him open around Kunimitsu's cock.
It wasn't difficult to see why people sometimes accused Yukimura Seiichi of being something of a control freak, Kunimitsu thought, light-headed with the grip of Seiichi's body around his cock and the way Seiichi moaned from between parted lips as he ground himself down. Then he didn't have room to think anymore. Seiichi began to move, balancing himself with a hand splayed against Kunimitsu's chest as he rocked up and down, fucking himself and making open, breathless sounds with each roll of his hips. His thighs were sleek under Kunimitsu's palms, the muscles in them flexing with the slow up-and-down movement of his hips. The sight of him alone would have been enough to make the heat pulse through Kunimitsu, even without the way pleasure wound through him with each leisurely stroke. He said something, the heavens only knew what, and caught the gleam of Seiichi's smile as he reached for Seiichi to drop a hand between his thighs and stroke his cock. As Seiichi groaned and drove his hips down harder, Kunimitsu bucked to meet him. The way Seiichi's body wrung down on his as he came again was all it took to send heat rushing through Kunimitsu as well, the wave of it breaking over him until all he knew was the brightness of it as it swept him down.
"Mm," Seiichi said, once they had begun to compose themselves again. He stretched, luxurious and shameless as a cat and every bit as pleased, and kissed Kunimitsu. "We should do that more often."
Kunimitsu snorted. "I'll speak to my agent, I suppose." It had been a lonely six weeks, however lucrative the series of exhibition games had been.
Seiichi was polite enough not to let himself appear nakedly triumphant, though he did look satisfied, however briefly. "I'm sure you'll have to do what's best for your career, of course."
Kunimitsu snorted again. "That sounds like something he would say." He sat up as Seiichi slid away from him, stretching again as he stood. "I think I'll do what's best for my tennis."
"That's only as it should be," Seiichi proclaimed, smiling, but since he was right, Kunimitsu let it pass.
Besides, he'd made up his mind to speak to Miller-san before it had ever occurred to Seiichi to seduce him into doing it. He could afford to be generous. And when Seiichi narrowed his eyes and asked him why he was smiling like that, Kunimitsu simply shrugged at him and drew him in for another kiss instead of answering.
end
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