--| Prologue |--

He had had this dream before.

Tezuka recognized this place, it was a vast lake in the mountains where his family liked to vacation from time to time, usually during summer break, but sometimes during other holidays too. He liked this place a lot, and on warm summer mornings he could remember liking nothing better than waking before dawn and fishing in this lake.

He figured that must be what he was doing now, even though he couldn't see a fishing pole in his hands or his tackle bag. Why else would he be standing meters from the shore with water lapping up to his waist? He didn't feel wet, he must be wearing his olive drab waders too. These thing he could assume even if the dream had forgotten to include them. They were simple, unconscious parts of the fishing experience, he hardly took note of them in reality, and they were so intimately linked to the method of the sport that he could not imagine what it would feel like without them.

It was what he could not figure that was confusing him.

For example the trees soaring above the shore line like a massive wall keeping this place away from the rest of the world were flushed with reds, oranges and golds. Only frail smudges of light dying green highlighted certain branches as early autumn sunk into every tree. But he had never been up here in this season, his family was always too busy for it. He had never seen this place in the fall, only in the fresh tender spring or the hot lazy summers.

And there were fish swimming at his feet. Tezuka had never known fish to be so friendly, especially when both they and he knew that he intended to pierce their lips with painful hooks, drag them up to the surface, gut them on their insides and make a meal out of them. He didn't imagine they were forgiving, rather they seemed drawn to swimming through his legs and around his waist as if the water around him was sweet and drugged.

He wasn't going to catch them, maybe that was why he couldn't feel the fishing pole in his hands. Maybe it wasn't there because he wasn't fishing after all, because the fish at his feet were not just fish, they were koi. As brightly colored as the trees around him, the lake was filled with koi in water that was so clean he could see right to the mossy gray rocks below.

To him this made no sense. True this was a beautiful place in reality, but the water was murky and blue-gray, not this warm clear water with just a hint of green-gray color. And certainly they're were no koi in this lake, nor would he fish here if they're were. To catch and eat a koi seemed almost barbaric ... almost uncivilized. He fished for the salmon that came here to spawn, trout and on a rare occasion he would try to catch eel here, but not koi.

The sky was a light shade of pale purple, bold rays of sunlight blazed across the sky in gold and orange before they tips of their tongues faded away to pink and periwinkle. It was dusk, not the best time to be fishing in any case.

So.... he wasn't fishing, but then what was he doing standing in the middle of a lake? Dreams didn't always have to make sense, but that never stopped Tezuka from trying to force them to be logical. If every other part of him could be logical and controlled, why couldn't his subconscious?

He turned and looked at the figure sitting on the dock. Somehow it made sense for him to be there even though he knew in reality he had never been to this place before, never sat on that dock with his pants rolled up past his knees and his bare feet playing to the crystal green water as he was doing now, never watched Tezuka standing in this lake-- fishing or not-- with that slightly cunning, excited smile of his. He had never done any of this, therefore there was no reason for him to be dreaming about it happening.

Consciously he tried to reason that figure out of his dream, but inevitably it just made him focus on everything he knew about that person ... knowledge that seemed to entice the presence to become stronger, not weaker.

He frowned, the sky behind that person was a deep amethyst color, which meant for whatever reason the sun was setting in the North today instead of the West. Since he knew, consciously, that in reality that dock faced the South but his rebellious subconscious cared little for details like that clearly.

The fireflies were working out of season, seeming to raise from the water below the dock like bubbles of sea air. The soft gold green light shimmered across the figure's face as he lifted a delicate, pale foot out of the water, bent his knee and brought it up to rest on the gray wooden dock as gracefully and provocatively as he would if he knew that Tezuka was watching the curve of that pale flesh glisten with a light coat of springwater.

Tezuka began wading towards that dock. The koi around him broke away and scattered around the massive body of water. The figure on the dock smiled, not like he usually did, but in a way that was more mischievous and reckless. He thought he knew what he was doing, but Tezuka knew if in real life he ever dared to do this he could never have the flawless perfection he had here. There was no experience for him to draw on, to reflect upon or compare in order for the smallest of his movements to produce the reaction he seemed to want without error. In real life he couldn't possibly--

Tezuka stopped, the tip of a pale white foot pressed into his chest. His eyes moved up the rest of the leg, from the strong well carved calves to the hint of a thigh just as strong but a little more pliant under the cuff of his jeans. The other foot was still on the old wooden dock, the tongues curled around the edge of the last plank like a mountain lion ready to pounce. His hands were resting flat, palms down, on the wood on either side of him, but from the angle of his thumbs he could have easily pushed off with them.

Pushed off and tackled Tezuka.

If he wanted to.

And they could fall into the crystal water below ... and who knows maybe drown together, or maybe the koi would come back the swim around them both ... soaking wet and drawn close by the fall.

If he wanted to.

But he didn't do that, because Tezuka reached up with his longer arms and touched the side of his face. His eyes flickered for a brief moment, consenting without a single word. That was the one thing about this dream that was true to life, they never seemed to speak about things like this. At was always just understood without a word.

Tezuka put his hands on the dock to steady himself and lifted his knee to give him enough leverage to push himself up with. The water was heavy as lead, but it was hardly impossible to free himself from what felt like the thousands of liquid reeds trying to snag him.

This dream didn't make any sense to him no matter how many times he has it. But in a way it was like Ryoma had come to represent all that he can't make sense of, so maybe in it's own little way this dream does fit in perfectly,

Ryoma's eyes danced with the cunning and devious light from the fireflies as he lies down on the dock.

--| Part 1 |--

They never really dated. Because they were two boys and it never occurred to them to do anything of the kind in their time together. On occasion they'd stop off to eat somewhere and Ryoma would wily remind Tezuka that it was a senpai's duty to look after a kohai ... therefore he should pay, and normally Tezuka did little but grunt in response and order his own food. One could hardly call that a date. Even on the extremely rare occasion that Tezuka did pay for Ryoma's food, they would eat mostly in silence, with what little interaction there was being far from affectionate. When they would walk home together it had more to do with Ryoma's home and the train station happening to be in the same direction from the tennis courts, and when they parted sometimes they did so without even a wave or acknowledgment that the other person had been walking along side for so long.

They did however play an extraordinary amount of tennis together, which was enough for Tezuka to justify all the rest and certainly enough for Ryoma. Tezuka didn't like talking and Ryoma didn't really like talking to Tezuka, so things were pretty content and amicable without the decadence of a formal courtship.

With winter had come the end of Seigaku tennis club's regular practices. They were now in the off season, and club duties would move into shorter meetings to organize training menus and prepare the club to handle the difficult transition when the 3rd years graduated. A new Captain and Vice-Captain would have to be selected with a near guarantee of chaos between Momo and Kaidoh as the best candidates for Captain of the 3rd years. Ryoma might at the very least be able to keep a civil war from breaking out as Vice-Captain but as a second year it would not be appropriate for him to take on the role of Captain just yet.

"Shouldn't you be studying for exams?" Ryoma said. He didn't usually talk when they were walking, not unless he had something he absolutely wanted to say. While he enjoyed his quality Tezuka time, it was true that most of the other graduating 3rd years were spending their valuable time studying for Highschool exams. Even Fuji and Inui who seemed to excel in school quite naturally were busy preparing themselves.

"No, I've already passed and been accepted to my first choice school."

"Oh," Figures

Ryoma wasn't sure how he felt about the way the last couple of months of school were progressing, or what-- all things considered-- he was supposed to feel about it. Everyday he and Tezuka would go to the indoor tennis court not far from Seigaku and play. It's somewhere he and Tezuka separately would have ended up during the off season anyway, and the ball machine stopped being a challenge after ten or twenty minutes. So in a way it was more a marriage of convenience than anything else.

Occasionally Momo-senpai would tag along, and on even rarer occasions Fuji-senpai would join them too. But mostly it was just the two of them.

He still hadn't beaten him. It was irritating, but invigorating at the same time. He could feel like he was getting closer, just a little more, a little more improvement and then he'd be on the same level as Tezuka. He was already about even with Fuji as it was; Tezuka was a difficult hurdle, but not an impossible one. Not like his father was anyway.

Often he thought about what it would be like to watch Tezuka play his father, just to see how far he could go ... just to see Nanjiroh actually serious about something for once. He didn't think Tezuka could beat Nanjiroh, but it would be interesting to judge how big the difference in skill was and to know how far he had to go before he could make that obnoxious old man cry like the big stupid bab--

Well ... that was still a ways away, first he would have to beat Tezuka.

But one day....

He was startled out of his thoughts by the droplet of water that fell sharply on his nose and rolled down his lip. The taste of fresh rain made a worried frown curl up his face. Damnit, had that stupid old man let him see the paper he might have known to bring an umbrella with him today! But nooooo Nanjiroh had to maintain his precious cover so he could peruse his dirty magazines in peace. Really, it wasn't like anyone in the room didn't know what he was doing anyway--

....well it didn't matter now.

Ryoma gave an uncharacteristic squeak as the clouds that seemed only a little gray and innocent a few moments ago opened up and drops fell with growing frequency. Faster and faster until it was pouring down, the air heavy and wet around them.

Tezuka took off his jacket-- not his Seigaku regular jersey, the cold and the off season had retired that for the time being, but a heavier olive colored coat he had been wearing for the winter. The material on the outside was durable, light, raincoat like material, the inside lined with soft wool. It came down little past his waist with deep pockets he could shove his hands into when he walked and a plain silver colored zipper. He held it over both out their heads as a makeshift umbrella.

Ryoma looked up. A normal person would have met Ryoma's slightly surprised look and smiled some explanation that wasn't really at all necessary, but Tezuka wasn't a normal person and he didn't like doing things that didn't have a specific point to them. He did little to acknowledge Ryoma aside from tilting his head a bit so that his eyes could flicker briefly in Ryoma's direction before they went back to staring straight ahead without a word.

Ryoma sighed lightly and gave into a little smile. He moved in as close as he could without tripping Tezuka and scanned the street carefully. It was a nice gesture, but they both knew the jacket made lousy protection in a rainstorm this hard.

"There," Ryoma pointed out a store front with a large green awning.

For a moment there was no point in trying to hide under the jacket while they ran to the shelter of the awning, it would just slow them down while the rain continued to soak both of them. So it was thrown unceremoniously over Tezuka's shoulder as the two of them scrabbled down the street in the pouring rain.

The store's doorway provided a suitable shelter from the downpour, and the store owners kindly ignored the two Jr. High students loitering outside. Aside from being almost soaked, they looked pretty presentable and respectable, not the types to cause problems for their customers.

"Well, well..." Ryoma hummed, staring out at the concrete as the water pounded it in rhythmic explosions of water droplets. He was pretty wet, trails of rain water were already twisting their way down strands of his hair and his skin was flushed with a glow of ice cold rain. "How annoying."

Tezuka watched a solitary droplet of water creep down Ryoma's forehead. It was small, no larger than the size of a tear, but its coldness was leaving the faintest trail of red down his pale skin. Without a second thought he wiped it away with his thumb, Ryoma's eyes flicker up curiously and then he smiled again.

Tezuka wasn't exactly the friendliest person Ryoma knew, but he had something about him ... something buried deep down inside of him past all the reserve, refinement and strength (and well just plain scariness) people associated with him that was very gentle and unreasonably shy. He really cared deeply about his teammates, about Seigaku, about everything that he felt it was his reasonability to care about. Everyone on Seigaku's tennis team knew this, but no one had the view quite like Ryoma's.

Ryoma straighten up a little when he felt Tezuka moving closer. He had a habit of slouching, and the height different between the two of them Ryoma found truly irritating in moments like this. He always felt like he had to stand on his tippie-toes and that just ruined the ... well the aesthetic of the experience for him. Fortunately, most of the time when their lips touched he found better distractions than being self-conscious about his height, like trying to figure out what Tezuka was thinking. His robotic, logical charm made it difficult to imagine him kissing anyone for any reason, even to Ryoma who already knew better.

With two people who could walk down the street together for at least 20 minutes without saying a single word to each other, one might find it hard to imagine any passion at all in their relationship at all. But to the contrary things always got seriously pretty fast when they kissed. Tezuka was not very expressive with his emotions, but he was honest about them, and Ryoma had a peculiar habit of getting very aggressive when he was excited and using his teeth when he kissed. What had started off as a sweet, simple gesture had gotten very intense under Ryoma's provocation.

He ran his fingers through Tezuka's hair, something he knew Tezuka liked even though he had never expressly said so, and pushed himself up as if trying break gravity and float onto an equal level with him. He liked the little start Tezuka gave when his sharp canine teeth just skimmed the edge of his lower lip. He liked when Tezuka's arms were holding him tightly in place, as if he might escape if given the chance. Those were good instincts, he thought, it would not be beyond Ryoma to tease or pull away of the last minute.

Ryoma allowed himself to look a little hurt when Tezuka pushed him gently but firmly away, until he followed the brief glance of the older boy's eyes and saw the perviously accommodating store owner staring.

Not frowning, or politely disapproving, not turning away in a typical Japanese 'say nothing' embarrassment, but staring out right gawking maybe.

Well what did he expect? This wasn't a goddamn shoujo manga.

Tezuka didn't like having the audience, and Ryoma ... well normally Ryoma agreed, but in this case he really found the idea of pushing things even further in front of such a shocked and aghast witness really amusing.

But he wasn't going to do that to Tezuka, it would be rude.

The rain was beginning to let up as Ryoma expected it would. Things that started up so suddenly burned themselves out just as fast.

Somehow that seemed deeply metaphoric...

"Neh ...Buchou?"

"Hm?"

"I still want to play you while you're in Highschool."

It was Ryoma's nature to be direct, but there was a certain shyness to that approach. It would have been more straight forward to simply ask if they would continue to meet for matches once Tezuka graduated, but Ryoma was not comfortable with asking permission like that. Perhaps he just wasn't good at opening himself up that way, easier to just be aloof and indifferent about everything.

Tezuka, thankfully, was exactly the same way. For all that actually talking to him made Ryoma uncomfortable, he did understand his nature better than anyone else ever had. He knew that Ryoma wanted to keep challenging him, and that he wouldn't stop until he had surpassed him. He also knew how incredibly stubborn Ryoma could be, and that he was willing to throw the rules in anyone's face for an opportunity to play a strong opponent. Why he might even go so far as disrupting Highschool club activities for it.

He had already done so at his own school and at Ginka Jr. High, Tezuka didn't imagine Highschoolers would intimidate him any.

But they both knew that the feeling was more or less mutual too. Tezuka had his own reasons for wanting to continue to play, and they were not as straight forward or simple as Ryoma's.

"Weekends, and some holidays," was Tezuka's answer in his trademark curtness. That was okay though, Ryoma didn't need it spelled out for him.

"Okay, whatever," he grinned.

*************

Fuji realized it after the last game of their match with Hyotei. When they watched Echizen Ryoma completely dominate with a speed and endurance that seemed to defy reason. Of course it hadn't taken him long to figure out how Ryoma could hold that speed, but his awe in witnessing the match hadn't stopped once he realized that. There was something about his play that just bothered Fuji.

Ryoma has always been like a cat in his tennis style. He enjoyed playing with his opponent for a little bit before he crushed them. At times he would efficiently dispose of a challenger without much ado because he lacked the time or just the desire to stretch the match out longer than necessary. But on those occasions Ryoma always acted with an aloof air to him, and it was never during a match that was of any importance.

Typically Ryoma would provoke his opponent, let them get a few points or maybe a game or two before he turned around and defeated them. That was not what happened in the Hyotei match though. The Hyotei match lacked all of Ryoma's normal playfulness to it. He was in a word: ruthless.

In fact Fuji had seen more mercy in packs of wild, rabid dogs. Ryoma hadn't just defeated Hiyoshi, he had slaughtered him, torn out his heart and held it up proud for all to see.

There was a disturbing feeling of pride in him as he defeated Hiyoshi, something that Fuji couldn't quite understand at first. It was more than frustration from being on reserve, more than just feeling accomplished at the level he had reached. Contrary to his provoking nature and habitual cockiness, Ryoma really wasn't one to show off. It was more than feeding off the energy from the substantial crowd.

He had on occasion played with such malice himself. He had enjoyed crushing opponents before, slaughtering them in the cruelest most public way possible ... like Mizuki for example. But even Fuji didn't do that just for the hell of it, the people he had played like that were all people who had hurt someone very important to him ... and in that regard his protective instincts had always gotten the better of him.

....Oh.

Fuji looked at Tezuka, sitting ever stoically on the benchcoach seat as he had for the entire match. His arms crossed, his expression stern and perfectly focused. When it became obvious that Ryoma had to play they had barely spoken more than a few words to each other, but there was something very odd about Ryoma's attitude right then as well. It were as if he was more than just inspired by Tezuka's example but had something of a personal claim in earning Tezuka's admiration.

Oh....

After that he started to pay a bit more attention to the two of them, particularly the youngest member of the team (Tezuka was never very easy to read one way or another). It was curious, well he was curious. Now that he knew he wondered how long it had been going on, how serious it was, and who else--if anyone-- had noticed it. So far it seemed like it was just him, although Fuji was fairly sure Oishi was being willfully oblivious to the entire issue and probably could have noticed if he really cared to entertain the notion. Oishi was good-natured and mannered, something like that at their age probably would have scandalized him. No doubt he was much happier pretending there was nothing to it.

It was a little difficult to believe that insightful Inui, who made it his business at calculating and predicting their personalities and subsequent behaviors, wouldn't have noticed something. Though Fuji could not detect any such awareness from Inui, who knew what telling details were scribbled down in any one of his notebooks awaiting analysis? Inui did not strike Fuji as a particularly tactful person, if he knew something he would probably have given some indication of it.

So it was just him then, and for the five months that followed his first notion of it Fuji had paid them very close attention. It was, after all, a very amusing piece of juicy gossip. Not so much because of what it was, but because who it concerned. To think that the two most antisocial people on the Tennis team had turned out to be very sociable after all.

Other than that, he was being very uncharacteristically nosy because when he thought about it for a while, Tezuka and the little 1st year prodigy together romantically .... it was just so damn cute.

**************

Ryoma hadn't lost his virginity in the storybook kind of way. For one it had been to another guy, for another it had been with his back pressed up against the wall in the changing room next to the clay courts at Haruno University, not exactly a spot frequented by amorous teenagers. These were the things that excluded the experience from the realm of bragging rights and machoism, although they really weren't what bothered Ryoma about it.

Aside from a few casual regrets, he didn't really think about it all that much.

Never before did it occur to Ryoma that a tennis match could be an aphrodisiac, but he supposed that the competitiveness, rush of self exertion and especially the excitement of both things being mutual could do that to the right people. There was something odd about the way Tezuka did things though. His movements at the time were not inherently lustful, they were just loaded with the same dramatic intensity Tezuka had in doing everything. And frustration. And desperation. But none of these things were directed specifically at him, and that was something Ryoma couldn't really figure out at first.

He provoked it. From the very beginning, from the first touch onward he provoked it. Whatever was churning inside Tezuka and had caused him to veer so far from his normal behavior, Ryoma took great care in provoking. He did this for the same reason he provoked anyone else, because he could. And because in one match Tezuka had stripped him of his well maintained continence of indifference, touched upon the person inside and challenged him to be better. It was not a challenge that Ryoma took lightly.

Although the initial kiss had been accidental on Ryoma's part. Little more than a soft sigh as Tezuka reached over for his stuff. He had no idea what possessed Tezuka to do it, but once it started Ryoma couldn't back down. He would have fought Tezuka on anything by that point; frustrated over his loss, angry at himself because he hadn't been able to figure out anything that seemed to work towards securing that trademark come back, and hurt because he felt somehow he had been defeated too easily... he would have argued anything. But Tezuka didn't want to argue, he didn't want to fight, he only wanted to kiss Ryoma once and pull away without a word.

Ryoma, when he was in a mood, could be a very irrational and contrary person. He didn't let Tezuka pull away, he provoked him further. With his lips, his teeth, with his hands and just about everything he had.

There was a moment there, where Tezuka seemed sincerely not to know what to do. A little victory that Ryoma rather selfishly and spitefully cherished before things got totally out of control.

He rather anticipated that Tezuka would back out, and rather than feeling rejected Ryoma would feel vindicated because at least in this contest he hadn't allowed himself to be dominated. He had assumed what most people who barely knew Tezuka assumed, that he was more calculating than he was emotional. So naturally, Ryoma thought, when pushed over his head he would pull back so he could maintain his controlled advantage.

Then Tezuka touched him with hands that were neither decisive nor aggressive. Modest hands, almost uncertain in their movements ... and Ryoma found he just couldn't fathom what was going on in his Captain's head. His fingers were almost shyly exploring Ryoma, finding so many sensitive parts that Ryoma hadn't imagined wanted to be touched. Anger and frustration and even his confusion were giving way to excitement and a dry overwhelming heat. He panted in Tezuka's ear and his hands gripped tightly on his shoulders. Propped up between Tezuka's body and a cold cement wall, he was only distantly aware of what a mess his own pride had gotten him into. He was wrestling with allowing things that felt so good to just keep going without a worry, and pulling back himself into a situation where he had better control.

Until it had happened of course, and by then he was too overwhelmed with excitement, confusion, pain, pleasure, regret and perhaps even a little disgust to have a reaction to it ... to tell him to stop. He literally froze up mentally, but whether that happened because of what they were doing or who was doing it he still hadn't figured out.

When he allowed himself to think about that first time, sometimes Ryoma thought that he would be spending the rest of his life making up for the childish mistakes he had made. It might have been one of those things that scarred him for life had something very peculiar not happened.

Sweaty, spent, his legs were probably cramping as well, he was clinging to Tezuka only because he didn't trust his legs not to give out once they touched the floor again. He didn't want to fall....

He was listening to the soft sounds of Tezuka trying to catch his breath, feeling almost dirty and ashamed of himself. He was too young, too unprepared for something like that... And while a billion thoughts squirmed about his head and demanded attention, Tezuka was gently lowering him to the floor. He felt his back sliding down the wall, his feet touch the ground, then he limply uncurled his arms from around Tezuka and pulled away. His emotions were in a frenzy around him, he couldn't think of a word to say, or a thought to think. Then by some chance he caught Tezuka's eye.

And three days later he thought he understood.

--| Part 2 |--

Ryoma walked into the men's locker room with the smallest most undetectable bounce in his stride. It had been a good day. His cousin had made his favorite breakfast, he hadn't been caught sleeping in English class, he'd gotten the last piece of cake for desert from the cafeteria come lunch time. Yes, it had been a good day and he liked good days. On days like this he was optimistic about his chances playing Tezuka. On days like this he would happily settle for making the third year blush if he could not have a victory in tennis.

Of course he hadn't been able to beat Tezuka yet and he also hadn't been able to get anywhere close to a blush out of him, but on good days he didn't pay any attention to past failures.

Ryoma looked around and frowning a little in disappointment, no Tezuka in sight. If he wasn't there when Ryoma got there he usually wasn't coming. Not that it mattered, it was still a good day and maybe Ryoma could work on perfecting a few new technique he was going to use on Tezuka next time, but then he would have much preferred to work on them while Tezuka was hitting (or attempting to at least) them back.

He had rather gotten accustomed to the company.

Then there was Fuji, sitting on one of the long bench, already changed into his tennis clothes, watching Ryoma almost as if he had been waiting for him. Ryoma doubted Tezuka had sent Fuji in his place: first because in all the times he had blown off a practice session before he had never done so, second because Tezuka .... well it wasn't that Tezuka didn't like Fuji, they were friends and he did trust Fuji with a lot of important flavors. But Tezuka always seemed very interested in keeping people, and especially Fuji, out of his private life. There was no reason in the world why Fuji would be waiting for Ryoma ... except if he was there on his own.

Yet how he knew Ryoma would be at this particular place was unclear. Sure on could responsibly assume that on any given day at any given time Ryoma would be practicing his tennis somewhere, yet Fuji obviously knew that today it would be here. That could only be possible if he new the regular schedule Ryoma and Tezuka had fallen into concerning matches. And yet, despite bringing Fuji along on occasion they had worked very hard to keep the frequency of their private matches unspoken.

"Fuji-senpai" Ryoma greeted.

"Echizen," the older boy nodded. "Fancy meeting you here."

Fuji had the two qualities that were necessary to Ryoma, he was good in tennis and he didn't irritate him. Beyond that, Ryoma really didn't care.

Although sometimes he really wished Fuji would check his creepiness at the door.

"Practicing?" Fuji asked curiously.

"Aa."

"Care for a match?"

Ryoma hesitated. It seemed clear to him that Fuji knew he was going to be coming here, which made him think Fuji had somehow become aware of his arrangement with Tezuka. This immediately made him uncomfortable ... if Fuji knew this much, how much else did he know? Only one thing was clear to Ryoma, the invitation had not been extended without a specific reason.

"Sure," Ryoma said, hoping even the slightest inflection in his voice had not given away his worries.

After a brief warm-up rally, the match began very much as Ryoma expected it to. Fuji was in many ways a midground between himself and Tezuka. How well he played against Fuji would give him a better idea of how he would have faired against Tezuka. In a way his senpais formed steps on which he planned to climb to that level that would allow him to crush his father. He had not been able to decide if he had surpassed Fuji or not.

Predictably Fuji waited until Ryoma had fallen into his deepest state of concentration before he spoke again. Despite his reputation for being a prodigy Fuji's real forte was not his physics defying counters but his skill at psychological attacks. Counters were just tennis moves. Complex, difficult tennis moves, but tennis moves all the same. What made them daunting to most normal players was the psychological placement of each move in Fuji's game. They seemed impossible, despite the fact that any shot that can be hit onto the court can be returned, and Fuji's opponents gave up mentally before they had a chance to realize all the little ways each move could be broken if only the timing was right.

Ryoma was not normally susceptible to psychological attacks from Fuji, but perceptive Fuji was good at striking at a weakness when one became available.

"Neh Echizen, do you play Tezuka a lot?"

His racket slipped just a little in his hand, the impact with the ball was off the sweet spot, and as a result his drop shot was falling short of what it should have been. Little things like that were all Fuji needed, and even as the ball brushed the net and dropped silently onto Fuji's side of the court Ryoma felt as if he'd given it all away.

"Aa," he said. No point in denying it now.

"You seem to spend a lot of time together," Fuji noted.

Ryoma shrugged, "not really."

"I think you look adorable together."

Ryoma said absolutely nothing. To be perfectly honest he wasn't entirely sure if Fuji was joking or not. Certainly that was only the type of thing that Fuji said to others.

"Thanks," the freshman replied ironically before moving to serve again.

The game proceeded with unusual fierceness, and most importantly silently. On some level Ryoma liked to imagine that he was keeping Fuji too busy to speak, but it would seem more likely later on that Fuji was instead just waiting for the perfect moment to unnerve Ryoma further.

Fifteen minutes into the last set, Fuji spoke again.

"Are you two really as serious as it looks?"

As it looks?

A brief flash of panic overtook Ryoma's thoughts. He missed one return, then another, then lost his serve. Raw and utter annoyance was the only thing that helped to him to finally overcome and win the 6th game.

What the hell did that mean?

He was not inclined to take Fuji's word for these things, but at the same time if something had given away their secret ... he wanted to know. If everyone at Seigaku suspected something was going on then Ryoma would much rather throw it out in the open and be done with it. He had attempted to keep his behavior subtle only because a look in Tezuka's eyes made him think the consequences of their relationship being public knowledge might be a little hard to deal with.

But if everyone knew already....

"What the hell did that mean?" Ryoma snorted.

"Did what mean?" Fuji 'Hmmm?' a look of sincere puzzlement on his face.

"That comment about Buchou and me..."

"Oh that."

Ryoma hated it when Fuji played it coy. In fact, he realized, he did not particularly like Fuji at all. It hadn't always been that way, of course ... he could remember a time not very long ago when he'd enjoyed the little spurring matches between them. Somewhere down the line Fuji had started bringing Ryoma's personal affairs into the mix, just a little hints of it in his looks and tiny references to this and that but it was enough to drive Ryoma crazy.

"Well I was curious, he seems so much more interested in you than the rest of us."

"Keep your curiosity to yourself," Ryoma growled and then slowly reminded himself that losing his temper would not help the situation any and apologized.

Fuji seemed both unhurt by the attack and unconcerned with the apology. He smiled softly, if he had ever stopped smiling in the first place, and spoke in a tone that seemed-- to Ryoma at least-- a tad more honest. "Echizen, can we be frank for a moment?"

Ryoma shrugged, "fine, whatever."

Then it came.

"Are you sleeping with Tezuka?"

In retrospect, Ryoma was a bit surprised how naturally and easily the answer came to him. How freely he admitted it and how it was only weeks later that it occurred to him that this free confession was not exactly what had kept convincing himself he wanted. Nevertheless,

"Yeah, once."

Fuji seemed .... sincerely surprised for lack of a better word. Although Ryoma couldn't determine right away whether he was surprised by Ryoma's free admittance for by the content of that admittance.

"Just once?"

The freshmen choked on his waterbottle. What the hell? What were he and Tezuka supposed to be carrying on like wild rabbits behind the club room or something?

"Yeeess," he hissed. For the time being keeping his temper in check had lost all strategic value. "What kind of question is that?"

Fuji chuckled, a most irritating sound for someone in Ryoma's position. "Well it's just ... I was under the impression that something like that happened between you two before Tezuka went away ... perhaps I was mistaken..."

"No, it did."

Ryoma doesn't get it.

".......saaaahhhh." Fuji looks somewhat amused by Ryoma irritated confusion. For a moment he seems unwilling to elaborate. "Well, forgive my intrusion, you caught me off guard. I just assumed you two would spend more private time together than that."

Ryoma blinked, confusion slowly growing but still far from overtaking his irritation. "What for?" he asked in earnest.

Ryoma really doesn't get it.

"Isn't that sort of an important thing, for two people in love?"

At this Ryoma frowns, he considers the question for much longer than Fuji intended him to. Fuji thought it was a pretty matter of fact statement, not one that required so much examination and debate. People who were in love ... did those kind of things. It was simply natural was it not? Regardless of gender, regardless of age, a relationship was either sexual or it was not.

"...I don't think so," Ryoma concluded, somewhat calmer and more reflective now that he was beginning to understand Fuji's thinking. "You have a relationship with someone because it suits your needs, we don't need to do that."

"And what do you need then?"

Ryoma smiled, a smile and a wild look in his eyes that he threw over his shoulder back at Fuji. "To be stronger, much stronger. And Buchou is stronger." He could also add that he needed Tezuka's admiration and respect. He didn't need just to be stronger, he needed Tezuka to see his strength and approve of it too. But he felt that there had been too much exposed to Fuji today ... and he didn't feel inclined to be totally honest anyway.

"Sort of an interesting relationship to form with those goals...." Fuji trailed off.

"Well that's the other end of it."

***************

It was inanely inappropriate in Ryoma to call Tezuka "Buchou" given their .... situation. Not that they should be on a first name basis or anything either, but "Buchou" was, in that context to say the least, a bit kinky. Of course Ryoma had grown accustomed to calling Tezuka that, if he noticed how uncomfortable it made Tezuka he probably did it for that purpose. Sometimes he just liked getting under his skin a little.

In fact it could be said that one of Ryoma's greatest highs was doing exactly what he was doing now.

They were in Tezuka's room. Homework spread about the floor, pristine neatness seeping through the walls and the corners as if trying to take over the room. Were Ryoma paying attention he probably would have thought that somehow Tezuka's room was not as traditional as he imagined, and in sharp contrast with the rest of the house.

But he was not paying attention. Rather he was too busy nibbling on Tezuka's ear and running one hand through his soft, unreasonably wavy hair.

This probably would be a more comfortable endeavor if he wasn't sitting at Tezuka's side, but then Tezuka's had pulled his knees up to his chest ... making it difficult if not impossible to attack from the front.

From this position, Ryoma couldn't really see his face and Tezuka was in the process of trying to bury it in his knees, which was almost as frustrating as it was cute. Every now and then Tezuka would make a sound, softly in the back of his throat that would let Ryoma know-- in fact-- he was still breathing. Sometimes Ryoma wasn't sure, he got so still when Ryoma went on the offensive in treasured moments like this that sometimes Ryoma couldn't help but wonder if he dosed off or passed out. Tezuka never gave him the impression that he enjoyed these moments, but than he never pushed him away, or said anything at all either. Certainly if he wanted Ryoma to stop he would not be shy about saying so.

Ryoma let one hand wonder to Tezuka's belly, stroking gently up and down with the side of his hand through the fabric of his shirt. His tactics became more gentle as he kissed sweetly down Tezuka's neck rather than biting him. Tezuka pulled his legs up a little further a let out a brief shuttered breath when touched. He rolled his head to one side ... he was coming around.

Every now and then Tezuka needed to melt his icy exterior and be touched. He was an incredibly strong individual ... perhaps Ryoma would never be able to reach such a level of determination and strength as Tezuka possessed. But inside he was also very kind, and perhaps Ryoma was the only one who really knew that inside there was also an incredible shyness. Tezuka was the type of person that only knew how to fit in one way, with responsibility and leadership. He didn't know how to be casual or relaxed around others, or how the joke around with them or tease them. He both understood people and had difficulty relating to them.

Ryoma understood, people couldn't survive with only one type of relationship. People needed, friends, lovers, rivals, followers, leaders, bitter enemies. To be happy a person didn't need one great true love, but a whole collection of people circling around them.

Inside Tezuka was lonely, he wanted to be touched but didn't know how to ask for it. He wanted to be more than an authority figure to Ryoma but he didn't know how to change that. The start of their relationship had been clumsy at best, but it had found it's own sense of balance in the end. Ryoma understood, Tezuka never had to say because somehow Ryoma seemed to understand.

Every now and then Ryoma would spend a little time better acquainting Tezuka with the nature of intimacy. Not sex, because certainly Ryoma was no expert on that, but intimacy. Sometimes it would be as simple as making the older boy smile with a joke or a story, sometime it would be as complex as walking down the street holding hands, sometimes it would be as it was now: private and somewhat overwhelming. It could be tedious on occasion, and Tezuka certainly could be frustrating when he got introvertive, but generally his buchou was a quick study and Ryoma found the task ... incredibly amusing.

Tezuka sat up a little. His shoulders rolled back (heaven forbid he slouch!), bringing his elegant neck up and the rest of his head was helpless to resist to movement. His eyes remained fugitive half closed and looking down through the floor. He was staring into space again, but then this was nothing unusual, he very rarely looked Ryoma in the eye when they were like this. When all his weakness were out in the forefront and he had little idea what to do or how to respond, he got so hesitant and shy that no one who looked in on this scene would have believed it was Tezuka. One day, Ryoma figured, he was going to grab Tezuka's face between his hands and make him look at him, but that day is not today and Ryoma still has a bit more patience left.

Eye contact was an essential part of intimacy. To read the thoughts of another human being in the expression of those orbs and to have them see yours too. It was a required element of any social relationship, no matter how casual or insignificant. Yet Tezuka's eyes were almost always kept strictly guarded. Ryoma wanted to explain that others found this unnerving, that it made him seem distant and unconcerned with those around him and added greatly to his general isolation, but one couldn't just explain things like that to Tezuka. He was a little dense in that regard.

Ryoma's fingers stroked under Tezuka's chin a little, gently turning his head toward him, but those eyes remained elusive and hidden under the edge of a row of Tezuka's fine eyelashes and the milky reflection of the overhead light on his glasses. Ryoma leaned closer, kissing Tezuka sweetly and trying to get his attention, but found when he pulled back a little Tezuka was going to be stubborn today. He still didn't want to look at him, even when his body was reaching out for Ryoma and his breath curling around at a slightly awkward pace, punctuated by a few delicately made whimpers.

Ryoma sighed and smiled just a little bit at this dilemma. Well, if Tezuka was going to be stubborn today, there's no point in trying to force the issue. He wrapped his arms around Tezuka, pulling him close and hugging him tightly before nudging them both back onto the floor. They lay side by side and Ryoma gives Tezuka his sweet and most earnest look, which Tezuka usually glances at for a moment or two.

It's like a ritual for them. It's been repeated so often now that Tezuka is not hesitant about looking at that look, because he knows exactly how it will be and exactly what Ryoma will do.

His arm tightens around Tezuka one more time, before he smiles like an innocent child and rolls over. Ryoma coaxes Tezuka's arms to come around his waist, how he does this Tezuka is not entirely sure ... it seems to be one of those uniquely Ryoma talents, and presses closer to Tezuka so that together they lie spooned on the floor.

And they will lie there in perfect silence until dinner is ready, or some other distraction requires their attention. Sometimes Tezuka will nuzzle the back of Ryoma's neck, or nibble here and there, or stroke with the back of his hand on Ryoma's side, but neither one of them ever says a word.

Give me your strength, and I'll give you mine.

***********

In his third year and Seigaku, Ryoma was made Captain of the tennis team. Now he became the player all the raising stars of Junior High tennis had their eyes on, as Tezuka has been before him.

The job was a whole lot busier than Ryoma thought it would be, he and Tezuka lost contact and ... broke up one could say since they no longer saw each other. But if one did say "broke up" it was with the same unfitting irony with which one said Tezuka and Ryoma had been "dating" in the first place. The relationship had just ended, without a fight, an incident or even a good-bye. One day it was almost like they had never had any relationship at all.

It was 5 years later that Tezuka was standing behind a corner, turning the cooking Tako-yaki balls on the griddle with the same particular devotion he had to doing everything perfectly while fellow University students chattered around him. He was aware that at least a part of that chatter was about him, mostly from girls giggling over how adorable he was. He was politely ignoring them for the most part ... but every now and then he would look up and the edge of his lips would twitch up into what could only be confused for a smile. Beyond that he didn't especially like encouraging them, but that didn't mean he couldn't humor them a little.

The University's school festival was always a big community event and the clubs all got into it with a mix of genuine excitement and a little interest in some easy fundraising. The tennis club had decided to do a Tako-yaki stand, or rather they decided not to break from the long tradition of the tennis club running a Tako-yaki stand, and in the few years that Tezuka had been studying there he had become quite skilled at cooking behind the little wooden stand. Maybe that was because he was the only club member who didn't try to pawn off the task on another club member so they could go have fun at the festival for themselves after 5 minutes. Tezuka didn't really mind this though, he had his time with his friends looking around and enjoying the festivities, he was content to just lose himself into the work.

All sorts of people came to the festival. Children of all ages could be seen running about, highschool students showed up, junior highschool students, foreign students... It was a good environment to get lost in.

He looked up to give the next person on line a curt but slightly warm welcome, only to find a surprising face looking back at him with the same steady sharp honest eyes.

Tezuka blinked owlishly. He had grown taller ... but not much taller. It seemed Echizen Ryoma was forever destined to be the short tennis master. His face had matured, but since he was still a teenager it had maintained some of those young reckless qualities that made him so charming. And his eyes..... his eyes were the same as they ever were, peering with curious fascination up at Tezuka.

"200 yen right?" Ryoma asked.

Tezuka frowned and blinked again. "Huh?" he asked.

At which Ryoma gave him a '*sigh* kids today' type look and elaborated, "it's 200 yen for one serving.... right?"

"Oh ...." right that. "Yes."

Ryoma counted out his change carefully and handed it to Tezuka, his fingers lingering a little longer in his palm than they probably should have. For a moment Tezuka wondered if Ryoma recognized him. He had thought at first 'of course he did!' because it never occurred to him that Ryoma might forget. But there was no recognition in those eyes, so maybe he had forgotten...

This made Tezuka nervous for reasons he didn't quite understand. Over the years he had picked up certain small fidgets he did whenever he was nervous, for example he was twirling the long wooden skewer in his hand, and Ryoma most have notice this because he's eyes seemed to brighten and he smiled before saying, "I'm going pro in the spring."

Tezuka understood now, Ryoma had been teasing him. He probably should have seen that coming. "Already? You're so young..."

He carefully picked out six perfectly cooked Tako-yaki balls and set them one after another on the Styrofoam tray, dipped the brush in the sauce and coated them generously before gingerly adding seaweed flakes on top.

Ryoma crinkled up his nose, "in America anyone with any skill starts playing in circuits at young as 10 and you go pro whenever you surpass the amateur level. Moving to Japan disrupted my career you know?"

He took the tray out of Tezuka's hands and moved off the line to the side of the stand where he could continue to talk as he pleased. And in those few steps it seemed to Tezuka that his whole personality shifted abruptly. He went from being as he almost also was with others, snarky a little obnoxious but generally friendly, to very serious and determined in such a brief transition in position.

"Buchou..."

Tezuka frowned at what had become Ryoma's nickname for him. He was just about to say "don't call me that" when Ryoma pushed through with the intentions that had brought him here.

"I need a trainer."

Tezuka blinked in earnest for the third time.

"I want to hire you," Ryoma added, rather firmly.

His surprise was as clear in his eyes as it was in his face. "I couldn't possibly..."

"It's a good job, pays better than any normal job you'll get right out of school. No many benefits yet because I'd just be starting out. But if all goes well--"

He was babbling, something Ryoma only did when something extremely important to him seemed to be slipping hopelessly from his grasp.

"Echizen," Tezuka put his foot down firmly. "I know nothing about that sort of thing."

Ryoma gave him a "bullshit!" look which he was probably entitled to all things considered. Tezuka was majoring in physical therapy and just a couple credits shy of his degree. Though he hadn't seriously trained in years and Ryoma might have already surpassed him in skill, he was still a talented and formidable tennis player. The only sincere flaw he had was that he had never held a job like that, which seemed to deter Ryoma little.

"You learn fast, and beside I want yo---Hey these are really good..."

He looked down in surprise at the tray of Tako-yaki in his hand, having just popped one into his mouth. Ryoma's lips twitched up into a grin and Tezuka knew there was no stopping him now. "You can cook too huh? See? You're pretty useful to have around...."

Tezuka sighed and tried to focus on what he had been doing. In five or so minutes he would for the first time pawn the end of his shift off on an underclassmen.

*************

"See? No one knows my body better than you," Ryoma grinned cunningly. He was still panting. In the after rush he was feeling very cuddly, and shamelessly abusing Tezuka for this purpose. "You have to do it."

"Aa," Tezuka said, stroking Ryoma's hair tenderly.

The first time had been in the changing room of Haruno University, pressed up against the wall and rough almost desperate and confused sex. The second time was in an empty classroom on the third floor of Tezuka's University's Humanities building while a noisy festival and mobs of people clamored on below. Maybe when the third time finally came around they would actually find a bed...

---