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homsan toft ([personal profile] tofsla_fic) wrote2014-02-21 10:07 am

Subvert (Niou/Yagyuu)

Prince of Tennis, Niou/Yagyuu, M
1,000 words
This fic was I guess part of my reaction to 40.5.

Niou likes hanging out on the roof, around the gardens. It's a weird sort of place, but it's quiet and no-one bothers him.

Or at least, he only gets bothered by the people he wants to see. Yukimura, or Yagyuu.

It's Yagyuu who finds him today.

"Here again," he comments idly, as though he wasn't expecting it, and sits himself down on the broad stone bench beside Niou – close enough that their arms brush against each other, comfortable contact.

Niou hums agreement, stretches his legs out in front of him, leaning his weight back on the palms of his hands and turning his face up towards the sun. It's autumn and the weather is cooling, making him feel as though he can breathe again; his hair doesn't cling to his face from the heat, and there isn't the same kind of constant drain on his energy as he feels through the summer months. Life is good.

This has been happening more often lately, Yagyuu's intrusions into his little world, ever since Yagyuu figured out that this was where he spent most of his free time – or ever since Yagyuu admitted to figuring it out, anyway. Sometimes they eat together; sometimes they talk about tennis in a nostalgic sort of way, or about anything else that comes to mind. Sometimes Niou is the one who talks while Yagyuu listens, failing to discourage wild schemes and evil plots, offering the occasional pertinent suggestion for improvement.

Such a good prefect.

He never even says anything when Niou smokes, though it doesn't happen often – just on the weirder days, when he's sick of something or pissed off with someone. I don't need a fucking lecture, he told Yagyuu the first time, I've read all the shit about how they'll kill me. Yagyuu had just shrugged, as though he hadn't been about to say anything at all. If they still played maybe it would've been different, but…

Yesterday he'd stolen the cigarette from between Niou's fingers, put it to his lips while Niou watched him sidelong, unable to look away from Yagyuu's slightly parted lips, the way his fingers curled, the smoke as he exhaled. Yagyuu's fingers had brushed against his lips when he'd returned the cigarette.

Not exactly discouragement. Not exactly appropriate behaviour for a guy in Yagyuu's position, either. Niou'd remembered it while he was jerking off that night, shut away in his bedroom and, fuck, that'd been a good orgasm.

There's probably something wrong with him. Mind you, people've been trying to tell him that for bloody years. It's not really news.

Today they just sit, feeling the last hints of warmth from the sun, quiet and still for long minutes. It would be ok if the silence went on forever.

"Next year…" Yagyuu says eventually, and pauses. Next year is university – onwards and upwards. Niou doesn't really give a shit, so he shrugs.

"It's next year."

Probably he'll go to Rikkai because he doesn't care enough to go anywhere else, anywhere that specialises in something he wants (because he doesn't know what he wants, either); maybe he'll stick it out, or maybe he'll leave. He's thought about leaving a few times already.

None of it really matters.

"You have to do something. Think about it," Yagyuu says, and Niou has a suspicion that later he'll find information about other universities and courses and options tucked inside his bag, or maybe lying on his desk; just a coincidence. Just… something to think about.

Maybe he even will, since it's Yagyuu asking him to – the guy who could get an answer about his plans out of him where half a dozen careers officers had failed, if he felt like trying. For Yagyuu, maybe he'd even make plans. He sure as hell doesn't need to tell Yagyuu that, though.

For now he doesn't answer, just lets it slide, stretches lazily. Yagyuu is watching him; he can almost feel it, eyes on his throat, his chest, following the flex of his legs.

They're alone, because it isn't summer – what Niou counts as comfortably cool a lot of other people count as chilly, especially up here where there's less shelter, more of a breeze catching at his hair, rustling through the leaves of plants whose flowers are long gone. Niou suspects it's the reason Yagyuu started joining him here now, though he can't say he objects to the ulterior motives.

Yagyuu's hand brushes against his leg, and Niou smirks, feeling a little spark of pleasure that comes as much from anticipation as anything else. Next year can wait.

"If Sanada could see you now," he grins as Yagyuu leans in over him, and Yagyuu's lips twitch just a little, probably imagining the kind of explosion of rage Sanada would experience if he found out just what Yagyuu and Niou were up to on school grounds.

"I would rather he didn't," he murmurs with great sincerity, and presses his mouth to Niou's in a slow, lazy kiss.

They're still experimenting with this, exploring, finding out what feels good. Some days it seems as though they have all the time in the world, and others it's impossible to slow down. More often the latter, but this is good too, Yagyuu's hands running firmly up his sides, lifting the fabric of his shirt with them so that Niou feels the cool breeze across his skin. It makes him shiver, and he isn't sure if it's the abrupt contact of the air on his skin or the heat where Yagyuu's hands are resting against his back. If asked, he would claim it was the former.

He takes delight in returning the favour, putting creases in Yagyuu's shirt which will be far more obvious than any damage done to his own already crumpled uniform; Yagyuu makes a little noise which is probably meant to be disapproving, though he sounds almost, almost amused. The real disapproval will probably come later. For now Yagyuu has, Niou is pleased to discover, other things on his mind.

He makes sure it stays that way for as long as possible.