Sanada is expecting Hiroto to be angry. He's expecting a punch at least, or maybe the quiet anger their father used to show, whenever he was so upset he couldn't find the voice to shout.

He's not expecting to be thrown out.

He's honestly a little baffled to find himself outside, on his brother's doorstep with his schoolbag thrown after him. Hiroto locks the door, and Sanada stands confused and a little shocked outside, starting to sweat already in the humidity.

He pulls out his phone, but it beeps rudely at him and shuts off—no more minutes. He looks in his pocket, and finds 23 yen—not enough for a train. Not even enough to park somewhere.

Carefully, he pockets the coins, and gets onto his bicycle. It's past closing time, which in this small town is 5pm. It stays light until past eight, but Sanada isn't riding too fast. He doesn't bother swinging by Mr. Saito's fields. He'd already dug up all his money, in its little plastic bag, to afford the train to the drawing for Kantou. It'll take a couple weeks more to save up enough to get back to Tokyo, and Yukimura.

The tennis shed isn't locked at night. Sanada squashes down the guilt he feels at scaling the fence around his school, reasoning with himself that he's not stealing anything, there's no reason to feel bad. The shed is considerably cleaner than it had been months ago, and he's never needed much in the way of comfort.

He uses one of the stick brooms to sweep out a space on the floor, and settles down. He's had worse sleeps, all things considered.

He wakes with the rooster's crow from the school chicken coop in the morning, around his usual time of 4am. An hour's meditation, and he's lucky enough to find an unlocked door to the gymnasium, a perfect place to shower and wring his clothing as dry as possible after washing it in the shower. He drinks his fill from the water fountain, trying to make his growling stomach shut up.

Fortunately, the boys on his tennis team think it's funny when he takes away their bread at lunch, informing them that fat tennis players don't jump as high. He makes a show of eating half of it at lunch, eyes narrowed at all of them. The other half, he saves for later, when they've all gone home, and he settles down in the tennis shack again.

Four days later, with nearly 600 yen saved up (not even a quarter of what he'll need to go to Tokyo, but Mr. Saito's hurt his back recently, and can't cash his checks yet), he goes back home. Hiroto tells him to fuck off.

Wait for me, Seiichi.

Yukimura expects for Sanada to take a day or two to get back to him.

He doesn't expect for it to drag on quite this long.

A call to Sanada's phone yields nothing, and Yukimura fumes, angry at himself for not snatching the thing away from Sanada while he was here and buying up enough minutes for even a month's worth of long conversations. It makes him nervous to not be able to get in contact with Sanada. Even if Sanada can take care of himself, it's his own brother that he has to deal with this time, and maybe he's being paranoid, but it's hard to expect anything good out of someone that beats up a lawyer and steals their own flesh and blood's money.

There are a dozen warring factions in Yukimura's head. If he sneaks off on a train-or…helicopter-to Ibaraki again, his parents will never let him out of their sight, and the thought of them following through and making him quit the tennis club, or not being able to live in the dorms like he'd promised Sanada makes a pit in his stomach twist and churn. If he can't be with Sanada later, then what's the point? But if something happens to Sanada now, then there won't be a later-

It's nearly midnight, and sleep is for those less occupied by their thoughts. Yukimura offers a silent apology to Sanada as he sends Atobe a single text: I have Sanada's signature.

Atobe never really considers nighttime to necessarily be sleep time. He texts back immediately. Fax or bring them to me, and consider it done.

Who the hell faxes anything anymore? Europeans, Yukimura irritably thinks, and wonders how weird his parents would think he is for sneaking into his father's office at this hour. Oh well. He rolls out of bed to do just that. How done? Like, immediately bringing him home done? I haven't heard from him all week.

Have to wait until the courts open, Atobe texts, flopping back onto his bed. An order of protection should go into effect today. His phone alerts him to the absence of characters available, and he switches to SMail with a scowl. They'll bring his brother into custody whenever the local court opens. Sanada will go to a court-appointed home, but I have a plan.

"Nii-chan? It's late, why are you up?"

"I could say the same to you-go to bed, Kaede," Yukimura hisses, shutting the office door in his little sister's pouting face once he tiptoes in. What kind of plan? I promised him that he'd be able to come to Azobu, sooner rather than later.

Now, now. Don't try to rush perfection. Also, if you have prior knowledge, you could become liable.

Atobe sends his text, then thinks for a moment, brow furrowing. I'll at least get him moved to a home in Tokyo in the interim. My lawyers can manage that much, at least.

s is the firm text Yukimura sends in response, and he dials down the volume on the fax machine. Tokyo is only a start. He had a full scholarship to Azobu before all of this happened, it shouldn't be that hard to arrange his enrollment again, right? Not that he knows anything about that sort of thing, but it's Atobe, and Atobe does seem to be capable of accomplishing some pretty bizarre stuff.

Atobe worries at his bottom lip, thinking. Then-yes, of course.

You owe me one for this. Prepare to be awed.

I will literally do anything. Yukimura hopes Atobe realizes how few times he has said that in his life. Mostly, it's been to doctors, and he doesn't like remembering that at all. The paper slowly feeds through after he dials, and Yukimura flops back into his father's desk chair with a sigh. Thank you.

Must go, calling in favors. Chin up, you'll have him soon.

Atobe picks up a different phone, and calls an old family friend, reflecting that for once, Father might take enough notice of this to be frustrated-but probably not, which is for the best.

At first sight of the men in suits, Sanada is sure he's about to be arrested for living on school property for ten days. He soon discovers this isn't the case, rising from a floor-height bow and being escorted into a very fancy-looking Western-style car. There's another occupant inside, a man of about fifty years, that Sanada has never seen before. The man smiles, lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes. "Beloved nephew. I've missed you so."

"My apologies," Sanada says quietly, in utter confusion and realizing just how rumpled he must look next to this pressed and cleaned gentleman. "I don't think I know you."

"We have met," the man assures him, and offers a handshake, Western-style to go with the car and clothing. "I was on your acceptance panel for Azobu. We only saw each other briefly."

Sanada blinks, and remembers. He bows deeply, apologizing on instinct. "Kouchou-sensei, please forgive my rudeness, I never intended to forget your honored face."

"That's unnecessary, though appreciated. Really, is that how you treat family?"

Sanada blinks. "I don't understand. Forgive me."

The man-Sanada thinks his name is Owada-pulls out a folded paper from the inside of his jacket. "Legal proof that you are my grand-nephew. It was certainly a surprise to me when I found out. Good timing, that this connection was discovered right when your brother was apprehended for embezzlement, misappropriation of funds intended for a minor, neglect, sexual harassment, and theft, don't you think?"

That paper.

Sanada should have known Yukimura would do something like this when he wasn't in contact for a few days...and right now, he can't complain too much. "Sexual harassment?"

"A girl at the local-ah, Snack Bar, I believe it's called? Complained, and the complaint was buried. We un-buried it. Now, moving forward, I'm afraid I have no home that is suitable for my grand-nephew—"

"How exactly are we related, Sensei?"

"Never mind that. It's all perfectly legal." The man smiles. "Fortunately, one of my dear judge friends has approved the dormitories at Azobu as a place of residence for you during the school year."

Sanada isn't really sure what's going on, but this all has the stink of Atobe all over it. Just now, in an air-conditioned space for the first time in weeks and on his way back home, he couldn't care less. "Yes, Sensei."

Yukimura could kiss Atobe. Except he won't. Neither of them want that at all (he hopes-Atobe can be weird).

Atobe sends him some sort of vague text earlier that day about everything being done and done, and Yukimura is left anxiously tapping his foot throughout most of the day, constantly craning his neck to get a glimpse out of the classroom windows in hopes of seeing a car pull up to the nearby dormitories with Sanada's silhouette emerging from it. Even tennis practice feels like it's dragging, and Yukimura takes out his nervous energy by running every assigned lap himself, too, at a pace about five seconds ahead of everyone else.

He's still not really that tired afterwards, not with the prospect of Sanada, Sanada, Sanada.

"I did finally hear that there's supposed to be a transfer student coming in," one of the upperclassmen allows, and that's all Yukimura needs to know because he's gone, good-bye, glued to the steps of the dorms permanently until Sanada arrives, no matter how he's positively vibrating.

When Atobe says he's going to work fast, he really does work fast. He hasn't even had time to convince his parents that his own moving out is a great idea. If Sanada is there, though, it should be fine.

The closer Sanada gets to Tokyo, the less he thinks about his brother.

This is by no means any solution he would have chosen, but if he's being perfectly honest, it's probably the best he could have envisioned, after the tragedy. He would rather, a hundred times rather, be his own guardian, responsible for his own fate by the sweat on his own brow. He doesn't care about the money, especially not when they pull up to Azobu and his new apparent guardian ushers him out of the car.

He makes his way to the dorms, remembering too well where he'd visited them with his parents and Yukimura's family, deciding that this was definitely the school where they'll plan to make a home.

Now, it's not quite the same-but it's still the place he's dreamed of, on the rare occasions he's allowed himself to think positively.

There's a bent shadow on the stairs of the dorm, and Sanada's breath stops. He knows that shadow, would know it anywhere in any position, and he almost drops his schoolbag as he throws propriety to the wind, hitting a dead run to the front door.

Yukimura has exactly ten seconds to scramble up and onto his feet before the force of being in Sanada's arms steals the breath entirely from him.

He thinks that probably, he should apologize-for a dozen things, like taking so long or acting when he said he wouldn't or… a lot of things he can't remember, more than likely. Yukimura finds that he really doesn't care to when he can shove his face into Sanada's neck and breathe him in as he tries not to entirely climb him like a tree just to be closer still.

Sanada is pretty sure that were he in his right mind, he'd be a lot more careful with Yukimura than this.

As it is, he can't come close to caring.

His grip is like steel, and he lifts Yukimura without entirely meaning to, somehow more shaken by the last two weeks of absence from him than by the months beforehand. At least in those, he'd had hope.

Now, he has… "Seiichi," he whispers, eyes closed as he hangs on for dear life.

The way Sanada says his name makes Yukimura shiver down to his bones, and he clings to Sanada's back, entirely unfazed by no longer having his feet on the ground. It's better that way. "Genichirou," he exhales, fisting his hands tighter into the material of his shirt. "I told you I'd bring you home."

Sanada almost protests that this isn't home, not really, but there's no point-and besides, the dorms are just as much home as Ibaraki ever was, anyway. "Thank you," he says instead, and it costs him something.

"Don't. I'm sorry." Yukimura flops his weight against him, dangling in Sanada's hold. "Because this is temporary-until we have our mountain, at any rate."

Sanada's arms tighten with Yukimura's surrender, and his own. For the first time in months, he can see a future ahead that doesn't fill him with nothing but cold. "This is enough of a mountain for me."

Yukimura thinks he rumbles at that. He rather feels like one of the rumbling, purring stray cats at shrines, all floppy and content once they find a warm resting place in someone's lap or in the sun. "I still want to move in with you here. Remind my parents that you're a good boy and very responsible, won't you?"

"I'd never let anything happen to you. They should know that already." Really, everyone should know that already. "But you were with me when you collapsed, so I can see how they might not trust me."

Yukimura snakes a hand down his back, and gives Sanada's rear a solid pinch. "It isn't that. They're just weird about me not being in their sight all the time now. Let me down, I'm sweaty and tired of dangling."

Sanada lets out a little "Hrrrrk!" sound at the pinch, letting Yukimura stand on his own. "Right," he says, cheeks pink. "Ah, Kouchou-sensei-I suppose I should say uncle-told me you could show me to my room? 229?"

"So that's how Atobe arranged it," Yukimura muses, rocking on his heels briefly once he's set back onto his feet. "No complaints here, I suppose. Oh, god, and we don't have to just talk by phone anymore-do you have any idea how nervous I was when I couldn't get in touch with you?" he immediately begins as he starts up the stairs, taking them two at a time. "Never again."

"I have some idea," Sanada says under his breath. He follows after Yukimura-not a bad view, all things considered— and takes the stairs easily two at a time. If he weren't following, he'd probably have run. If nothing else, life in Ibaraki has been good for his leg strength. He watches the door numbers pass by, and suddenly catches a whiff of Yukimura's scent, walking behind him-sunshine, earth, sweat, herbs, and it's all Sanada can do not to throw him against a wall right then and there.

"Here we are!" For being such an old school, at least Azobu is kept up by stringent maintenance. That's obvious in how surprisingly bright and clean the room is, no matter how small, and Yukimura throws himself headlong onto one of the beds, rolling to the side a little once he hits the mattress with it squeaking underneath him. "It'll do! Hey, no more disciplinary committee things in high school, I know you'll be getting on my case enough without that to spur you on."

The schoolbag falls from Sanada's hand as his eyes lock on to Yukimura, rolling around on what from now on is his bed. He nods, slowly advancing on the bed. "Don't worry about that. You'll be plenty busy. I'll make sure of it."

"If you're going to start something, at least lock the door."

Yukimura rolls onto his back, a smile curving his lips as he props himself up onto his elbows. "The walls aren't too thin, thankfully, or so Niou has told me."

"Good." Sanada locks the door, thrilling at the fact that he has a door to lock again, and slowly peels off his rumpled clothing. He can't take his eyes off of Yukimura, the way he moves, the way he just lays there looking like a ridiculously erotic old painting.

At least he knows he's clean, after his obsessive showers every day. It doesn't have the soothing feeling of a real bath, but he hasn't been able to take one of those for months now. At least he's scrubbed, and won't feel as if he's dirtying Yukimura with his presence.

He stands beside the bed, kneeling onto it and starting to unbutton Yukimura's casually untucked shirt. "Let me undress you," he murmurs, eyes alight with desire.

"Please," is the immediate, breathy exhale, Yukimura's eyes locked on the way Sanada moves, the long, lean sinew cording his limbs (maybe too-lean, that's a new one, but fixed easily enough) and nothing else matters in an instant. Nothing but having Sanada's hands on him matters- Sanada's hands on him somewhere safe and permanent and not going to be taken away from them so very easily. The relief is a little too raw, and Yukimura doesn't quite want to believe it. "Maybe things will finally be normal again," he murmurs, breath hitching as he twists and lurches up to bury his face into the side of Sanada's neck.

Sanada lays two fingers over his lips, sternly shushing him. "Tempting fate isn't becoming," he says in a low, warning tone. "Just give thanks that we're here, now."

He presses kisses, a hundred feather-light kisses, when his fingers part the fabric. He bares Yukimura's chest and stomach, following the opening V of his shirt, until he finishes his work, sliding it off one pale shoulder at a time. "I do."

Yukimura groans as he flops back, wriggling his fingers out of a sleeve and letting his head hit the pillow with a satisfying thump. "Sorry," he murmurs, squirming a little at the touch of Sanada's lips to his flesh, and curling his toes into the bedsheets, "you're right. I just missed you so much. Nothing feels right without you, Genichirou."

Sanada wants to say that without Yukimura it's been misery-and it has, but he doesn't care right now. Instead, he folds Yukimura's shirt, then sets it on the floor, getting to work on his pants. His hands don't tremble, but that takes a long of concentration and willpower. He lowers his mouth, pressing a long, slow kiss to the front of each hip bone, then tugging off slacks and underwear together. "God. You're perfect."

"Wrong, that's you," Yukimura rumbles, sliding a hand down and through Sanada's hair, slowly stroking a thumb along his scalp and down the back of his neck. His nerves sort of hum when he's around Sanada, and it's a feeling that he can't even compare to anything else, not even the rush of adrenaline in a match. Now, when he doesn't have to think or worry about anything else, it's even more at the forefront of his mind, making him shiver and twitch.

Sanada barely has the concentration to fold Yukimura's slacks before he slides down, skin against skin as he covers Yukimura's body with his own. Gently, reverently, he cups Yukimura's face in large hands, bringing him close for a long, slow kiss. This is everything that's kept him going for the last several days, after his life had collapsed. The promise that one day soon, they'd be laying side by side, entwined, had been worth all of his work. "Let me have you."

A nod is a lot easier to manage than anything else right then, especially when Sanada slides against him warm and solid and strong. Yukimura lurches up, his own kisses needy, his fingers curling into Sanada's back as he wriggles beneath him, splaying his legs with a sigh to better cradle Sanada's hips between them. "All yours," he murmurs, gently biting at Sanada's lower lip. "I'm in your care, Genichirou."

Sanada nods slowly-he's accepting the trust Yukimura is giving him, more than anything, and wants Yukimura to know.

"Give me everything I need," he breathes, bending to brush his lips across the hollow in Yukimura's throat, liking the way that makes him arch, liking the way that pale skin looks when his teeth rasp over it, leaving trails of soft pink behind. "You have it, don't you?"

"Mmhm, in my bag, inside pocket," Yukimura agrees with a little laugh, not at all sorry for being prepared for this. He paws a hand up through Sanada's hair again, pulling his mouth back to the arch of his neck, his breath a hissing, hitching sigh. That feels nice. It feels even better when it isn't rushed or hurried at all, and he has the chance to just wriggle and rub up against Sanada. "In a minute, though. That requires moving, and you feel really good like this."

Sanada stretches out, sliding the length of his entire body against Yukimura's. "I," he says quietly, between slow, hot kisses against Yukimura's neck, his shoulder, his chest, "would map every part of you." With my mouth, with my hands, with my eyes and my heart.

He trails large hands down Yukimura's chest, down to his hips, and up his sides. "I want to know your sensitive places," he murmurs, more confident with every good noise he hears, glad now that he'd checked out the small book of erotic poetry from the library. He doesn't feel like an awkward child now, not like the first time. Now he feels like a man, caring for his lover.

Yukimura wonders if he makes Sanada feel like this-rather like jelly, shaky and a little bit melty as he sinks into the bed with a breathy sigh. "Everything feels like that when you touch me," he dazedly admits, scratching his nails slowly down the bumps of Sanada's spine as he arches up into the splay of those long fingers over his ribs. "You should…ah…at some point…practice your calligraphy on me. I'll try and be still, I promise." He'll probably fail miserably. Sanada can just hold him down, that's fine.

Sanada's hands tighten, suddenly bruisingly tight on Yukimura's hips as he lets out a sound halfway between a growl and a groan. "You shouldn't do that," he breathes, teeth grazing Yukimura's chest harder this time. "You're trying to get me to give up my patience." All he can think is how Yukimura would look, covered with elegant strokes of his brush, painted, marked. He'd be even more of a work of art than he already is, and that's saying something.

Ah, god, that's nice. Yukimura shudders, flexing his nails in with a breathy, ragged groan as his hips jut up on their own accord, grinding his cock in small, eager little circles against Sanada. "I never said you had to be patient," he replies with a grin. "Just wanted to enjoy you a bit longer. You can do whatever you want with me."

"I will," Sanada says, more a promise than anything. He lets his hand move down, then up one long, lean thigh, closing his hand around Yukimura's cock. He had intended to be smooth about the whole thing, but the feel of it, hot and heavy and solid, steals his breath.

Then he slides down, parting those legs and looking lower, stroking his other hand over Yukimura's balls, pressing a kiss to the inside of one thigh. "You want to be my canvas?"

Yukimura doesn't whine, but damn if he doesn't come close. The sound is choked back as a raspy, throaty thing, and he flops his head back onto the pillow with a nod as his cock throbs, his fingers curling into the bedsheets. "Definitely," he breathes. "You should paint something really obscene on me."

"I don't study the obscene kanji!"

Sanada's scowl isn't very serious, and it doesn't last long. He rubs his thumb over the tip, enjoying the feel of the sticky, slippery stuff, and the way it makes Yukimura writhe when he plays with it. "Here, I'll start."

He has to keep returning to the tip of Yukimura's cock, thinking how obscene it is that he's doing this at all, much less with his fingertips on Yukimura's stomach. "Thirteen strokes. Guess."

"Hell if I know," Yukimura groans, twisting half onto his side as he writhes, the muscles in his legs and stomach tense and shivery with every stroke of Sanada's fingers. So much for holding still, but it's impossible when Sanada is touching him like that and like hell he can tell what he's writing but that's fine because every little stroke makes him twitch. "Geniiichirou, that's not fair."

"You're not paying attention. I'll do it again."

Yukimura aims a kick for Sanada's hip and misses entirely. "Write it with actual ink so I can see it, you pervert!"

"You asked for obscenity," Sanada says, somewhat strict. "Pay attention. Thirteen strokes." He traces the lines of his first "character" exactly, following the lines from memory. "It's too embarrassing to say aloud, you have to guess."

"If it's too embarrassing, why do I have to say it?" Yukimura flops back with another shiver, shutting his eyes as he focuses on actually following the elegant drag of Sanada's fingertip. Oooh. "'Love'?" he laughs, kneading his toes slowly against Sanada's thigh. "But that's not obscene, that's sweet. Or it would have been, if you had tried to deny that you're a pervert…"

"I said I don't study obscene kanji. Any kanji would be obscene like this."

Nonetheless, he trails a kiss up Yukimura's thigh, then pulls back, looking up at his eyes. "Hold still."

He grabs Yukimura's bag, pulling out the condom and small bottle, face flushing as he tips some liquid onto his fingers. He nudges Yukimura's thighs apart, remembering what Yukimura had done last time, and what he likes on himself. He slides in a finger, biting his lip at the tight heat, the sudden squeeze, nothing like doing it on himself, and sees what Yukimura had meant about needing him to relax. "Do you practice this, on yourself?"

Yukimura sags back down with a slow, ragged exhale, lidding his eyes as he tries not to squirm too much. "A little bit-mnn, definitely better when it's you," he admits. Sanada has always had nice hands, and imagining those long fingers on him, in him have easily been the source of many lost hours of sleep. Now that they're finally here, it's too tight still, but slick and hot and it's good when Sanada curls that finger a little and leaves Yukimura shivering and splaying his thighs wider. "Not gonna break, you know."

"It isn't about not breaking you." Sanada says it quietly, adding another finger and stroking slowly, curling his hand around Yukimura's cock again, pressing kisses to his chest as he stretches, lubricates. "It's about serving you as well as I am able. We finally have a bed, let me do this properly."

Yukimura's breath leaves him in a rush, biting his lip to keep back another higher, breathier sound when his hips roll up into Sanada's hand, his cock aching, dripping in Sanada's grasp as he mindlessly wriggles down. "Like it when you do things properly," he raggedly sighs out, his eyes fluttering when Sanada's fingers curl just right inside of him, stroking and rubbing where he's never been able to reach.

Sanada looks down, satisfied, and withdraws his fingers. Then, the movements sure and confident, he grabs Yukimura's hips and flips him over onto his stomach, holding him down with one large hand in the small of his back, tearing open the condom with his teeth and other hand. "Then let me do this properly. Raise up for me."

At that, Yukimura does squeak, though he's grateful most of the sound is muffled into the mattress. "I was fine on my back," he lowly growls, shooting Sanada a vaguely annoyed look over his shoulder. "Let me roll back over, it's better that way."

"No."

Sanada knows why he's protesting something so foolish, of course. Allowing Yukimura to do this on his back, both of them entwined awkwardly, limbs half-raised, looking into each other's eyes, is not what he wants from this. Strong muscles hold Yukimura down, and he drops his head, pressing a long, slow kiss that turns into a lick up the long, raised scar on Yukimura's back. "I want this."

If it were anyone else even looking at that scar, Yukimura would have probably thrown them out the window.

It should piss him off more that Sanada isn't letting him have his way, that he's doing something that should turn him off in an instant and is touching something that Yukimura hates remembering is even there at all. He swallows hard, and lets his head drop forward with a ragged huff of breath.

Instead, Sanada touching that damned scar just makes him harder.

It actually makes Yukimura dizzy from that thrumming rush of blood and the skyrocketing of his pulse, and he trembles, fisting his hands into the pillow in front of him as his face flushes hot.

"Why?"

"Because."

Sanada is a little confused that Yukimura even has to ask, when it's so obvious to him. He runs his lips, his tongue along the edges, holding Yukimura down with strong muscles, edging his legs apart to kneel between them. "It's a symbol," he says quietly. "Of how much you've overcome. Of how hard you worked to come back to us, to be your best self. I would count myself honored to have one of these."

Only Sanada would make that scar sound like such a good thing. Coming from him, Yukimura can actually even believe it. He mostly muffles his laugh into the pillow, hoping that Sanada can't tell that it's a bit wet around the edges, and he heaves himself up better onto his elbows, allowing himself to enjoy the slick, obscene drag of Sanada's tongue. "Only you could make it sound so valiant," Yukimura murmurs. "All right. If you want it, you can have it."

Sanada probably would have taken it anyway. He pays the scar tribute, with the careful, worshipful licks of a supplicant.

Then he plants a strong hand in the middle of Yukimura's back, pushing him down and yanking his hips up, back against the hard, slick length of his cock. "I want all of you," he rumbles. "Let me have it."

Somewhere along the line, Yukimura lets his mind effectively click off.

That's soothing. It's nice, just letting himself nod and breathlessly agree, wriggling back and sucking in a ragged inhale when he feels how hard Sanada is against him. It's good how easily Sanada pulls and yanks him around and really, that's always been good, ever since he could remember, Yukimura dreamily recalls. Now, it's even better. "Whatever you want," he agrees, "it's yours."

"I know."

Then Sanada pushes slowly forward, into the slick white tight heat of Yukimura's body, and nothing matters anymore.

Maybe they've always been one, linked in every part of their bodies, and the way they move on the tennis court is just an extension of that. Sanada moves, and Yukimura moves, and everything is hot, bright, all-consuming, lips against a scar and flesh against his hands. He holds Yukimura's hips up, letting himself slide in deep, watching the bow and arch of Yukimura's spine. "That's-ah-it's—"

Words, he used to know words.

It's a lot more than I bargained for.

Maybe this is nature's way of making up for dozens of terrifying moments where he couldn't feel anything. Now, it's almost too much-tense hot achy slick slippery weird reallyweird good-and Yukimura chokes, gasping for a full breath, the twinge of aching, stretching sensation sliding all the way down to his toes and leaving him spread wide and trembling around Sanada's cock. He groans as he sags forward, rubbing his face down into the pillow, his hair fanning over white cotton with the movement of lurching back as mindless encouragement. "Good," he rasps out, voice little more than a rumble low in his chest. "Really good."

If it weren't for the reassurance, Sanada would probably have stopped. Yukimura is obviously overstimulated, writhing and keening desperately, but that doesn't mean Sanada can stop. He thrusts slow and easy, holding himself inside as far as he can go for a few seconds every time, luxuriating in the tightness of it, in the feeling that he's inside Seiichi. That's a heady, startling thought, and it makes Sanada so hard he aches from it. "Bear with it," he breathes, pressing a kiss to the back of Yukimura's shoulder, turning his head for a kiss. "Just a bit longer, I need you."

"Make it last," Yukimura groans, somehow drawing on the strength to twist himself enough to grasp for Sanada's hair, pulling him in for a sloppily breathless kiss. Sanada slides in so perfectly, so thoroughly and deeply that it makes his eyes roll back, and Yukimura has to remember how to breathe when all his body wants to process is more more just like that do that again. "God…Genichirou-"

"Seiichi—"

Sanada feels like he's about to die. It's a sweet death, but not one he's actively courting, not when there's so much more of Yukimura's body still to explore. His teeth scrape against one earlobe, voice ragged as he pants the other man's name over and over, a reverent prayer, a supplication. Every stroke feels as if he's coming home all over again, the most exquisite pain rippling through from his hair to his toes. He curls an arm around Yukimura, touching his face, his chest, sliding down to palm his cock slowly with every thrust. "I want-I want…"

I want to be in your very soul.

More and more, Yukimura likes being able to just lend himself to Sanada's hand.

God, but it's good just being able to lean and shudder and squirm and bask in the pull of Sanada's hands, the way it makes him claw into the sheets when he slides in deep and wraps his arms around him and kisses him and touches him in the way that proves Sanada knows Yukimura so, so well. The sound that leaves his throat is an all-too incriminating whine when Sanada's hand drags along his cock, when he just happens to wriggle back at the same time, and there's no helping the way his mind goes fuzzy and all he can smell and think about and feel is Sanada, around him and inside him and-

Yukimura loses himself with a long shiver that rakes from his fingers to his toes, leaving him lurching and panting and so much for lasting but he just can't-couldn't, not with how he can feel everything so sharply, so acutely. "You're….ahh, god, Genichirou…" Maybe he swears a little, too, but that's muffled into the pillow when he shoves his face back down into it.

"Bear with it," Sanada grunts, not sure if he's said that already or not, unable to think when Yukimura's squeezing him like that, a slick, hot vise around his cock that leaves him no mind left for thought. More than that is the thought that Seiichi is coming in my arms, Seiichi has lost himself because of the way I touch him, and that is almost unbearable.

He hopes his thrusts aren't too ragged, too fast, too deep, but he's never done this before, and his body seems to take over. Maybe if Yukimura hates it, he'll learn a better way, but for now all he can do is shove his cock into Yukimura over and over, squeezing and stroking and kissing, breathing, "Seiichi, please," unaware what he's even asking for.

"Genichirou, j-just-" Yukimura's voice cracks a little at the edges, but that's fine, he doesn't care, not when he's already a trembling, aching mess, and he twists and squirms to stretch a hand back, his nails raking against Sanada's arm. "Whatever you want," he pants out, face half-buried into the pillow still. "Told you already, it's yours, I'm yours."

The slight edge of pain is all he needs, and Sanada lurches forward, teeth sinking into Yukimura's shoulder. He doesn't even know why, just that he needs to bite, to taste, to be a part of Yukimura and leave a mark on him. I was here. We were here. We'll always be here.

He lets out a ragged, strangled noise when he finally lets himself fall, tipping into the abyss with a last uneven thrust deep into Yukimura's body. It's too much, and he stays there, buried deep, trying to remember that he can breathe and that's fine.

He falls down to the bed, face buried in Yukimura's neck, tracing shaky kanji on his skin.

Yukimura finally, gratefully allows himself to go boneless, feeling rather like a melted puddle on the bed as he breathes heavily into the mussed sheets. "Not guessing that one," he mumbles after a moment, wiggling his toes a little to remember that basic, normal movement is a thing. Easy to forget, when everything still feels akin to a whirlwind. "Too many strokes." Or maybe it's too few, who knows.

Sanada laughs, curling around Yukimura, and it sounds even to his own ears like the most open, honest sound that's come out of him in a long time. "It was your name, idiot," he says fondly, pressing a hard, swift kiss to Yukimura's cheek.

"I'm definitely used to you writing it wrong," Yukimura immediately shoots back, burrowing back against Sanada no matter the way he aches. "Congratulations, you finally conquered 'ichi.'"

"It's a strange 'ichi,'" Sanada mutters. "Not a sensible one, like in Genichirou."

"You should write your name on me instead, then. Get out the permanent ink."

Sanada's cock twitches against Yukimura's ass. "Don't tempt me."

Yukimura turns his head to bat his eyelashes at him, oh-so-innocently. "It was a genuine offer, Genichirou. I'd offer to get a tattoo, but then how would we go to onsens together?"

"I can leave my mark on you plenty without disturbing the perfection of your body," Sanada rumbles in his ear, refusing to rise to the bait this time. Gently, he sets his teeth into the curve of Yukimura's shoulder, leaving toothmarks.

Ah. Yes, that's good. Yukimura shivers as he stretches out, flopping his head back down in very content surrender. "Permanent ink it is, then. Or chew on me however much you want, whatever comes first."

"Both," Sanada says firmly, "is a good answer." It doesn't seem real still, that he has Yukimura here, and they're allowed to stay. For that, he wraps his arms more tightly around the other man, making every second last, slowly inhaling the scent of the rest of his life by choice.