Catching Up, a prince of tennis fanfic

Hi! Another AU fic, unrelated to Gentleman and Trickster, but for the same livejournal community (10au). Fantasy this time, inspired by some D1 fanart called '28 warriors'. And a whole bunch of other things, really, including Exalted: The Sidereals, and probably a bit of Bleach or Yami no Matsuei in terms of general themes, though I wouldn't actually call it a crossover.

It's not mine, but I have fun with it anyway.

The other reason this got written was that Niou wanted smut. He sort of got it, but it's all implied. Have fun.

Both of them were young and both of them were old. That was just the way things were. Their bodies were sixteen, as in part were their minds, but there was another level there, for both of them; a voice which remembered the first war and every one which followed, a voice which remembered cities now lost and lands that might as well never have been at all, all woven through with images which were bright and dark and distant and other.

Their older voices had not always been with them, although they had been strange children anyway, in their own corners of the world, far from one another and unaware of what was to come.

Masaharu always said that the voice, with its memories, had arrived with the power, though Hiroshi had experienced the flood of power first, unaware of what it meant; understanding had come later, after a great deal of pain. He almost envied Masaharu, but sometimes Masaharu almost envied Hiroshi, too, for those days of power he had experienced without knowledge of the responsibilities they had.

They had met in the gardens of the heavenly bureaucracy, two new arrivals away from the world below for the first time, introduced by one of the guardians of that place as two who would work together. Their eyes had met with a kind of shock which had nothing to do with love at first sight, everything to do with connections forgotten, suddenly remembered.

Yagyuu Hiroshi, brown-haired and unassuming, had spoken polite words; Niou Masaharu had spoken as little as he could get away with as his mind reeled, trying to find an angle to attack from. They had parted ways quickly, each trying to make sense of a connection with a person they had never seen before, while in their heads the images began to unfold. Both had been haunted by ghosts of a past which was both theirs and not theirs for the rest of the day. Duality, Niou had decided when a tutor tried to explain to him that their power carried its own personality which was now a part of his as he was becoming a part of its, was just more trouble than it was worth.

Time had passed, drawing them into their new world, bringing them greater understanding of what they were, what they must and must not do, and how to use their power. Their contact with one another was reluctant, tentative, even after the first year; Yagyuu would have considered requesting a change so that, when they took up active duty, they would not work together; but that would have been like admitting defeat. Niou, similarly, was not going to back down.

Yagyuu Hiroshi, when not training in the peculiar and artistic combat styles all of their kind were required to be competent in, could often be found in the library. It was a peaceful sort of place, seeming to occupy a greater space than it should, full of the smell of old paper and the kind of quiet which feels almost sacred. Yagyuu would be searching through ageing books, looking for one more piece of information, one more word of power, one more clue to crack whatever mystery he was researching on any given day.

Usually, it would take Niou Masaharu plunging headlong into the quiet, private space of the library to shake Yagyuu out of his academic trance. He would be grabbed roughly, dragged away from the text his attention was fixed on, and led forcefully out into the sun, where he would blink for a while as Niou explained his latest scheme, and gradually come to the realisation that he should have eaten hours ago.

It was a strange interaction, but it was almost an afternoon ritual now, two years after their first meeting.

That day, Masaharu had appeared in the library as usual, strolling easily through, irritating the keepers of that place effortlessly simply by being. Yagyuu had heard familiar footsteps and looked up from an extremely interesting text discussing the finer points of banishment to see a figure with carefully messy silver-white hair and a calculated smile leaning against the nearest shelf, watching him. Masaharu was beautiful but composed almost entirely of hard edges, like diamond; and he reflected everything until it was almost impossible to see the true shape of his mind. (And did that thought come from him, or from someone he used to be? It got harder to tell all the time.)

"Come and play with me," Masaharu demanded. His smile held no warmth, and his eyes were ice, but that was just his way. Yagyuu accepted it.

"Alright."

They fought on the training-grounds, a confusion of blows, metal against metal, the soft thud of feet, their breath coming in pants. The advantage shifted constantly, never resting firmly with one or the other, though Niou began to feel the way it would eventually tilt. Hiroshi was just too damned perfect, and feints and deception would get him only so far against that near-flawless grace.

Hiroshi's blades flashed as he shifted his footing slightly, readying himself -- he was going to sit back for a while, and let Niou wear himself out against a near-perfect defence. The trickster smirked, and allowed his form to blur until it seemed almost insubstantial, flitting in a series of leaps and dives across the dappled shadows of the grounds, looking for a blind spot, any kind of opening that would be worth exploiting. If he could win, he would. If he had to lose, he was going to put up a good fight.

A quick lunge in towards Hiroshi's back was avoided with unnatural speed, a faint trace of a glow around the knife which deflected it betraying the use of magic in the counter more than the reaction time alone. A knife which flew from Hiroshi's hand so that its passage through the air could barely be seen was only just avoided by Niou; a few strands of his hair floated down, severed as the blade passed. Both fell back, breathing hard.

How many people meeting them in the mortal world would have thought that reserved Yagyuu Hiroshi, the gentleman academic, could be so driven and so powerful on a battlefield? It'd surprised Niou the first time, despite the knowledge of what Hiroshi was. It had probably surprised most of the others, too. Hiroshi was... odd.

But that was alright. Niou was odd too.

In the end, Niou won, but barely. It felt more like luck than anything. Of course, as they had learnt, luck was not to be underestimated; but it was pure luck, not luck which Niou had made for himself. It was strangely unsatisfying.

"We're soulmates, aren't we?" Masaharu asked, later, as they walked through the garden to their mentor's home. It might have seemed like a weird question, or perhaps it was, but Yagyuu understood.

"Yes," he said, "and no."

The first part was undeniable. The second, he wasn't so sure about. He wasn't even sure if the distinction they were making was a valid one.

Masaharu was still looking perhaps a little more thoughtful than usual when Yukimura greeted them at his door.

"It has been suggested," Yukimura said lightly, "That it may be time for you to begin active duty." He paused. "Do you believe you are ready to return to the world?"

Hiroshi, already stood very upright, visibly stiffened. Yukimura raised one delicate eyebrow, but said nothing; Niou barely restrained a rather atypical urge to move closer to Hiroshi in a supportive gesture. It wasn't as if he even knew what Hiroshi was worried about, really. They had spoken of the past only in very general terms. Yukimura's eyebrow raised a little further as he caught that suppressed movement, but thankfully their mentor chose to remain silent on the matter once more.

"I will file a report stating that I believe you both to be more than capable," he announced smoothly after a moment studying both their faces, "but with a note of reservation. If you wish to be placed on duties within this realm, it is possible, although..." his eyes seemed to sharpen a little, focusing in on Hiroshi, "I do believe it would be a waste."

Hiroshi wasn't in the library. Niou tried his best to look as though he'd meant to be there anyway, and made a hasty exit, although he did leave a small trail of chaos in his wake. Using his powers to create small misfortunes for those who got in his way was rather petty, but it was also rather enjoyable, and good for relieving stress when he felt annoyed.

Outside, away from the librarians (who probably wouldn't let him inside again without a letter of authorisation), he wandered aimlessly, and tried to remember where Hiroshi's lodgings were.

When he found the place, Hiroshi was packing. Niou watched him for a while, waiting to see if he'd be noticed; he'd tried to be stealthy, and going unnoticed when he wanted to was one of his strong points, but it was Hiroshi. Still, there was no sign he'd been noticed.

"You've accepted the decision?" he asked, eventually, almost reluctant to interrupt his own observation of Hiroshi's movements, the little gestures he made almost unconsciously; Hiroshi was, after all, definitely attractive -- however surreal the emotions connected with him might be.

A complete lack of surprise on the other boy's face as he turned towards Niou meant he'd either been aware of his observer, or he was even better at hiding his expressions than Niou had assumed. (The person Hiroshi had been, a part of his mind added, had been so easy to read in comparison. He kicked the thought away. He always did, when the bits of information he was supplied with were about Hiroshi's former self.)

"I have. You won't be sent out if I'm not, and you obviously wish to get away from heaven for a while."

Niou blinked at that. He hadn't thought anyone had noticed just how frustrating he found this beautiful, regulated, bureaucratic place.

"Anyway," Hiroshi continued, with something that came close to being a smile even if it held little amusement, "I'm not sure Yukimura would be... pleased if I continued to hide here. He doesn't believe in running from the past. He told me he thought I was being extremely foolish."

There was something else in those last words, Niou realised; more than one level of meaning. He wasn't ready to think about that yet, though.

"When are we due to leave?" he asked, filing the thought away for some time when he could cope with it.

"Tomorrow. I assume Yukimura was planning to let you know soon."

Niou rolled his eyes. Yukimura had probably been looking forward to leaving it until it was almost time and watching him panic as he tried to get ready -- that one was not as sweet as the world believed him to be, Niou was sure. That was what he liked about the man, really; he was a masterful manipulator, to the point where almost no-one saw through him, even here.

"I suppose I'll go sort out my belongings. It won't take me long. Meet me later, if you haven't packed your knives," he grinned, paused to jokingly blow Hiroshi a kiss, and swung himself out of the window and up onto the low roof of the building.

That day, they fought to a standstill, frozen facing one another as each felt a blade pressing into their body, not quite hard enough to do serious damage but enough to leave a hair-fine line of blood on each other's skin when they both drew back, admitting mutual defeat. Masaharu wiped the sweat away from his face, gave Yagyuu a look which seemed appraising, calculating.

"You're catching up," he declared finally, the closest he'd come to complimenting Yagyuu in a long time. Yagyuu adjusted his glasses, then wished he hadn't; it was an automatic gesture, and Masaharu had come to recognise it as a nervous reflex on the part of calm, composed Yagyuu. Sure enough, the trickster's smile widened slightly at the movement. Masaharu could look positively predatory at times.

Returning to a world where they had both been normal people was weird, Niou thought. Yukimura had given them their assignment, and they had walked out past the guardians of the inner gates and down the long pearly passage to the outer gates, high golden doors which needed no separate guards. To step out past those doors into a dank passage far below a city was jarring, a sudden transition which it took the mind a moment or two to process.

Niou inspected himself. He looked so different from when he'd arrived in heaven, a boy newly come into his power, dressed in rags. He knew he stood taller now, and his clothes were fine; a loose light blue tunic over darker leggings, his arms left bare to show the curling lines of tattoos spreading down from his shoulders -- a reminder of his past.

"No one will remember us. People who knew us, I mean," he observed, unusually quiet. "We'll have slipped from their minds like we were never there at all."

The thought made him relieved and uneasy at the same time. He'd had no close friends, but he'd had a reputation, and some people had admired him even if they'd feared him a bit as well. It was odd to think that absolutely no-one who didn't carry power in them could know who you actually were, and that even the powerful might struggle to hold on to the knowledge. On the other hand, if no-one remembered you, no-one could pursue you. A lot more people had wanted to hunt him down than had wanted to do him a favour, back then. Well, it wasn't like this was been an area he'd lived in, anyway. Hopefully there wouldn't be anyone around that he'd met before, so he could avoid the strangeness inherent in his new position.

Hiroshi, however, looked like he was coming down quite distinctly on the side of uneasy. Niou looked at him, curious, noting just how straight the line of his mouth was, and how he was standing so stiffly it looked like he was barely capable of bending.

"Hello?" he added, after a moment or two when he got no response.

"Hmm? Oh." Hiroshi seemed to snap back into reality, though his voice was a little colder than usual, "Yes, I suppose that will be true for most people."

For most people? Maybe Niou had just chanced upon the source of Hiroshi's concern. But was he concerned that people would have forgotten, or that they might have remembered?

The assignment itself was nothing; a manipulation of the fate of a woman in a village near the city they had emerged into, then dealing with a series of 'hauntings', all of which turned out to be the work of a rogue elemental spirit, and a lesser one at that. The two of them fought it perfectly, their movements clean and practised, and it was barely able to touch them. Yagyuu spent a large part of the battle admiring the way Masaharu looked when he fought. There was more time to appreciate it when that hard focus was directed at a target other than Yagyuu himself, although Masaharu seemed far less engaged in this than he ever was in their daily ritual.

It was afterwards, as they left the town to return to a safehouse in the city, that it got messy. There had always been a chance of this happening, but it had been quite a small chance in this area, and as he failed to avoid the gaze of a tall, elegantly attired woman with blue-tinted skin and features which strongly resembled his own, Yagyuu couldn't help but suspect that some other faction within the bureaucracy was conspiring to make things at best uncomfortable for him, and at worst, outright dangerous.

"Hello, cousin," he managed, meeting her shocked blue eyes defiantly with his own, half-hidden as they were behind his glasses. Masaharu, just behind him, said something which might have been a curse under his breath.

She recovered faster than he'd hoped, and her first instinct was to lunge forward, bare-handed, her nails already growing to become lethally sharp. Yagyuu leapt aside, but didn't retaliate, caught in indecision.

Niou figured it was safe to assume, from the way this woman had reacted to Hiroshi, that his earlier fear had been that someone would remember. Interesting -- he hadn't known that Hiroshi's family was one of those which carried elemental lineage, though it certainly explained why he would reasonably be uneasy about being remembered. Those gifted with power by the elementals were both more likely to remember them, and less likely to be friendly towards them. There was a lot of bad feeling there, though that second part of him was aware that it had not always been so.

He watched as the woman attacked again and again, forcing Hiroshi to evade her in a flickering series of steps, too fast to see.

"Stand still, you bastard," the woman hissed, growing more and more angry, "I'm going to give you the beating of your life and you damn well know you deserve it."

Hiroshi shook his head, looking just a little sad, and...

Niou swore silently. He had to focus to hold on to the fact that Hiroshi had been there just a moment ago, because the information was trying to write itself out of his head. He could see the woman's eyes going blank already as her mind took the path of least resistance; she might remember Hiroshi's existence, but she certainly wouldn't remember that particular encounter. To all intents and purposes it hadn't happened; Hiroshi had torn himself forcefully out of fate for a moment, and rewritten events so he'd been somewhere else all along. Niou remembered, but it was starting to make his head hurt to do so.

And how was he going to find where the bastard had gone to now? Oh. Right. That.

Sighing, he lessened his resistance, and let the reality inside his head adjust itself until it almost -- almost, because if he let his memories rearrange themselves entirely then he'd forget why he needed to go and find Hiroshi now -- matched the reality outside.

Hiroshi had felt uneasy still, after the fight with the spirit. He said he was just becoming used to the mortal world again after so much time away and wished to find a quiet space to meditate. He said he would join me in the city later.

That hurt his head even more, because now he could remember both versions of events. He'd get used to it; his brain had been dealing with fate manipulation every day for two years, now, and this was far from the largest contradiction sitting in his memory.

He turned and headed back towards the village.

Yagyuu dropped to his knees in the clearing, his mind spinning from the memory of a meeting which hadn't ever really happened. He felt terrible. If he was Masaharu, he'd probably have a whole collection of colourful language lined up for situations like this (and back on the road, Masaharu was probably using a great deal of that language right now), but he was Yagyuu, and so he knelt there, his chin dropped forwards to rest against his chest, eyes fixed on some point below the ground in front of him. His hands, clenched on his lap and tangled slightly in the fabric of his clothing, were shaking.

His family were, more or less, the last people he wanted to deal with. After the encounter-which-hadn't-happened, he realised that Yukimura could disapprove all he wanted (although his real disapproval had been directed at the other issue in Yagyuu's life) -- Yagyuu simply wasn't ready, and quite possibly never would be. The process by which he had gained power, unwanted and without asking for it, had torn him away from them. There was, he felt sure, no going back. He was unable to relinquish his power, even if he'd wanted to, and he was unable to persuade them that he was anything but demonic. They were traditionalists, and there was no room amongst them for anything so far from normality as one who read the stars and wove fate to suit his needs.

Where, exactly, would Hiroshi go? He would be somewhere quiet, and he probably wouldn't be far from the village. There was a path into the woodland there, he remembered, which was probably a good place to start looking.

It didn't take long to find him, although only sharp eyesight prevented him from looking right across Hiroshi without spotting him. He was sitting very still, and in the woodland his clothes almost blended in with his surroundings.

Perhaps it was just as well he'd had the length of time it took to walk back to the village, and then the time to find Hiroshi in the woods, before dealing with the other man. It'd let him cool off, which he'd definitely needed to do if he didn't want to do further damage. (Which, he had to admit, he really didn't -- and not just because of the memories of the person Hiroshi had been some centuries before which filled his head from time to time. Probably.)

"Hey, Yagyuu," he tried to grin, almost winced when Hiroshi looked up at him with something in his face which must be pain, even though it was Hiroshi and Hiroshi never looked anything other than composed or sometimes faintly amused, faintly upset... his face was never intensely emotional. Except right now, it was, and Niou didn't think he could really cope with that. He couldn't think of an appropriate response quickly enough, wasn't used to trying to make people feel better.

After a moment which stretched out for far too long, Niou finally managed to kick himself into action, highly aware that Hiroshi's sudden vulnerability had made his own facade crack a little, aware of what that implied, because no-one could do that to him with just a look.

"Play with me?" he half-asked, almost surprised at his own words. But maybe it was the right thing to say; there had only ever been one form of interaction between them that they were sure of, after all.

Hiroshi seemed to consider for a moment, weighing things up.

"Alright."

Niou smiled, and there was maybe just the smallest hint of warmth to it, if you cared to look hard enough.

Yagyuu wasn't sure why this should drain the worry and fear from him so thoroughly, why the familiar movements of their ritual should calm him even as they began to spark a new kind of excitement; but as he shifted his feet, adjusted his stance, he found himself feeling better and better. A quick parry as Masaharu tried to dart his fine sword in under Yagyuu's guard, a step to steady his balance, a lightning-fast lunge forward. It was a dangerous game, maybe, but it was familiar, and that familiarity made it feel safe. And, after all, he trusted Masaharu -- regardless of how awkward things could get between them.

There was a definite rush from these fights, always, no matter how often they took place. As he drew on his power for the first time since reweaving fate, he felt it beginning to take hold; a green glow curled down his arms and around his knives as he leapt forward in a whirl of motion, the first few attacks deflected by Masaharu's sword until one slipped by and Masaharu's body turned to shadowy half-substance for a moment to evade the blow.

It was a good fight, possibly the best Yagyuu could remember. When Masaharu became desperate enough at his repeated onslaughts to call out the fire-guardian from the pendant which hung around his neck, shaping it into a sword as his real blade skidded away into the undergrowth, Yagyuu allowed his lips to curve into a satisfied smile.

He was deeply aware of Masaharu's presence. The sounds his breath made, the way the fabric of his clothes shifted across his skin, the way the tattoos on his arms moved slightly as his muscles tensed. He read his movements well; not as well as Masaharu read his, but well enough to surprise the trickster a little.

It ended soon after Hiroshi forced Niou to call out the guardian, in an attack which left Niou almost breathless in its technical skill and elegance of motion. He had defended against a couple of blows using his newly shaped sword, and moved in to try and attack, when Hiroshi had sort of twisted, pivoted with unbelievable grace, and slipped one knife along the sword blade and down, flicking his attack away and pushing his arm outwards, as Hiroshi's weight carried him backwards onto the ground. He'd almost forgotten the other knife, until it was pressing against his throat. He stared up at Hiroshi in shock for an instant, before dropping his head back and closing his eyes, his grip on the sword loosening, tension draining from his entire body. The sword lost its form, and the strange mass of flames curled its way back up Niou's arm until it looked like an opal again, set into a small socket on the pendant.

He opened his eyes after a moment, drawing a deep breath, and his eyes met Hiroshi's, visible for once behind his glasses, and tension came flooding back. He was, right then, suddenly and extremely aware of all the points where their bodies met. Hiroshi's knees were resting on the ground either side of his chest, pressed against his sides; he was sitting back on Niou's stomach, and the fingers of his right hand were brushing against the base of Niou's throat where they were curled around the handle of the knife, which had been tilted away from his skin, but not withdrawn entirely. Shit. He couldn't seem to look away from Hiroshi's eyes now he had met them, and Hiroshi himself seemed entirely frozen, unmoving, like he barely even dared to breathe.

"You caught up," Niou managed finally, trying to sound amused. It came out as a whisper, full of emotions he hadn't meant to display, and he still couldn't look away, or didn't want to.

Very slowly, as though trying not to startle him, Hiroshi leant down towards Niou until their lips brushed, and Niou didn't even need to hesitate for a second before responding to that. Hiroshi made a little noise of pleasure against his lips as their kiss deepened, shifted his body against Niou's in a way which made Niou growl in response. When Hiroshi drew back, gasping for breath, something occurred to Niou in some small corner of his mind which wasn't occupied with the feel of Hiroshi pressed against him.

"Who just kissed me?" he asked, vaguely, although it wasn't the most pressing concern he'd ever had, not when the kiss had made him (all of him, not just the new part of his mind) feel like that.

Hiroshi leant in to plant a kiss against Niou's neck, finally withdrawing the knives and sheathing them.

"Does it matter?" he replied, his words slightly muffled against Niou's skin. "Is there even a difference?"

Niou thought about it for a while, as well as he could when Yagyuu was trailing kisses along his neck and across his shoulders, pushing the fabric covering them aside with one had; and when his other hand was beginning to wander, tracing the lines of Niou's body...

"No," he said eventually, though it came out closer to a gasp. There wasn't a difference any more, really, he realised belatedly. His power was inseparable from him; the memories it carried with it were in a very real way his. And if they were not who they had been once, he couldn't deny that he found Yagyuu Hiroshi attractive in his own right, would maybe have been just a little bit in love with him without some thousand-year-old voice in his head. It probably didn't matter either way. They'd spent far too long being haunted by themselves, by things which had never really been problems to begin with; what mattered was that they were here and...

And that, he figured, as he twisted under Hiroshi, manoeuvring until the other man was lying beneath him and arching up into his touch, was really about enough thinking for now. Hiroshi's body was rubbing against his, and their lips met again, Niou pushing his tongue past Hiroshi's lips to explore his mouth, and Hiroshi's hands were undoing his belt, pulling fabric aside and, no, he really couldn't have held on to a coherent train of thought any more if he'd tried.

They lay together, clothes pulled back on for warmth, gazing idly up at the stars. Both could pick out the constellations without effort, and tell you what they were meant to symbolise; but for the moment, the stars were only stars, just distant points of light, not maps of fate. Yagyuu sighed, tucking his head into the curve of Masaharu's neck, brushing an idle kiss against his lover's throat. It still felt a little strange to think of Masaharu like that, like something new and exciting, but it also felt like slipping back into an old habit, pushed aside for too long.

"Are you alright?" Masaharu asked, cautiously. Yagyuu pressed a little closer to him, touched by the other's reluctance to break the mood; he knew he was really being asked about his family, not what they'd just done. He nodded.

"I don't want to deal with them, but yes."

Masaharu laughed, sounding for a moment far younger than he ever usually did.

"Should I protect you?"

"Absolutely not."

"No? I could be your guardian angel."

Yagyuu knew without looking that Masaharu was grinning, and felt a smile of his own start at the ludicrousness of the idea.

Nothing was going to suddenly become perfect. He would still struggle with things like his family, a force too powerful to be entirely ignored; Masaharu would still struggle with the rigid nature of the life they were meant to lead.

But maybe it would all be alright, for one day at a time. Maybe, just maybe, it would be easier if they weren't alone.