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[personal profile] sarisia
Well... I'm certain that [personal profile] oopsikilledthedinosaurs's sucked me into another rare-pair. Oh, dear...

Unsquare Dance [Sequel to: More Solid Than Steel]
In which Atobe learns to embrace jealousy like a man.

Kabaji knew why Atobe let people see. Atobe liked showing off, liked displaying his skill and his wealth. Atobe put his possessions forward for all the world to see and be in awe. He never let the world forget, however, that all of it belonged to him. Atobe was nothing if not possessive, and Kabaji was rather happy about being able to count himself as something worthy of Atobe's grand display.

That Atobe felt the need to do all this posturing after Kabaji had come off the courts, fresh from the win, before nearly all their rival schools was another matter with which Kabaji had to deal. Kabaji was not entirely unaware of the gazes that settled on him, especially not the one Atobe had set out to draw this afternoon.

“Is he watching?” Atobe whispered before scraping his teeth around the shell of Kabaji’s ear. “Are his eyes on you?”

“Yes.” The intensity of the Seigaku captain’s gaze was hard to mistake.

It wasn’t difficult to keep quiet for Kabaji - a trait Atobe often tested, but was growing to be at its most useful in public - and Atobe was shooting for subtle at the moment. The quiet wouldn’t last long, but neither would the match currently sorting itself out, and before that happened, Hyoutei would have disappeared. For now, Kabaji merely settled himself in the apex of Atobe’s legs, arms over the thighs that braced him - like a king, Atobe murmured in a humored tone later - while Atobe draped his arms over Kabaji’s shoulders and occasionally swept his fingers over Kabaji’s neck or past his collar before dropping delicious promises into his hair.

And those words were wonderful to hear, though they were whispered softly and Kabaji was just certain enough to think that Atobe had meant no one to hear them (not even Kabaji).

“I want to touch you while he watches, want him to see what he’s missing because he’s such an idiot about these sorts of things-“

Kabaji had wondered, ever since the beginning of this - from his own accusatory “you didn’t stop with Tezuka,” to Atobe’s “I never intended to start,” - if he was just a replacement. If he was supposed to be Tezuka for Atobe, then he was not a good choice. He did not react like Tezuka. He did not hold back like Tezuka. And no matter how they were both rather stoic and cool, Kabaji did not fancy himself capable of being captain; it was Kabaji that lacked charisma.

Atobe’s voice continued on, overhead, while his fingers traced a line along Kabaji’s arm: “Tezuka’s never understood, and it’s really such an important thing in life -“

He had half-hoped for himself with those kisses Atobe stole from him in unexpected moments - imperfect moments, really, once Kabaji realized they were always when people’s eyes were turned away.

“Fruitless,” Atobe hissed. “But at least, everyone -“ There, a soft hum of satisfaction. “Everyone will see that I have what I want.”

Atobe’s sharp snap drew Kabaji from his thoughts. “After you, Kabaji.”


With Kabaji lumbering from the bleachers ahead of him, Atobe snapped his fingers at his lingering team. Having been previously unsure of their movements - they never could tell between their captain’s desire for a private snog and his desire for a grand exit - Hyoutei moved quickly to follow.

Atobe brushed his wrist against Kabaji’s hand as he passed. Kabaji allowed his great frame a single shudder - not only for his reaction to Atobe, but also for the return of the gaze he felt so keenly.

“Tezuka-buchou is watching again,” he informed Atobe in a low rumble.

A triumphant smile was thrown over the captain’s shoulder. “Good.”


Atobe sent all of Hyoutei back to the school ahead of him. For himself, he had one final task. It didn’t take long for the stands to clear and after that, the waiting room he’d seated himself on the edges of. The last person had barely skirted past the door before Tezuka’s sneakers came into view; Atobe would have recognized those scuff marks anywhere.

Tezuka spoke first. “Good evening.” His politeness was absurd at this stage and Atobe told him so. “I assume there’s a meaning for this?” he asked as if Atobe had never commented.

“I want you to do something for me.”

“And Kabaji?”

Atobe was mildly surprised that Tezuka bothered to ask after the other player. “Kabaji...” he started, pausing when he half-expected Kabaji’s hulk to materialize at his shoulder. “He’s probably guessed by now, but... he will want what I want.”

“You don’t sound sure.”

“You’ll understand later. For now, I need you to do me a favor.”


“I’ve been teasing you all day, Kabaji,” Atobe said. “You must be angry.”

Kabaji shrugged slowly. “Not really.”


“Atobe has always followed through on his promises,” Kabaji said, quite neutral.

Atobe hummed in agreement and stroked his fingers along Kabaji’s jaw before tilting his head up. “Come, Kabaji.”

Kabaji followed Atobe. He always did, but this time, when Atobe started to stray beyond his reach, Kabaji reached out, grabbed Atobe by the wrist and tugged him close - pulled him closer still. Atobe’s lips were there to meet him. Kabaji was a good kisser - it might come as a surprise to some - but he hadn’t started out that way (too soft, too gentle, never quite the ferocity that Atobe had expected or wanted). Watching films had helped; Kabaji was always good at copying things and Atobe got the benefit.

As it was, Atobe could stand a little melting so long as Kabaji held him up - broad hands cupping his head and curving to his spine. Even through his uniform, Atobe could feel his hands - as one moved up to open his collar wider so that Kabaji’s mouth could latch onto Atobe’s collarbone and as the other braced them together.

Atobe gave as good as he got, too, urging Kabaji on by pressing the buttons he knew were there by pulling the other boy to the edge of the bed by his jacket as he said, voice roughened by anticipation:

“God, Kabaji... touch me-“ as he tossed his jacket, then shirt, to the side, and “don’t stop,” against Kabaji’s mouth while he unbuttoned the top of his shirt.

He felt Kabaji’s rough huff of laughter against his neck as his hands snaked up Atobe’s bare back. “I won’t stop,” Kabaji promised, “even if he is watching.”

Stiffening, Atobe quickly looked at Kabaji. “You can tell?”

Kabaji didn’t immediately answer. Instead, he pressed Atobe to the bed.

Angry, Atobe recognized in a panic, while his heart beat through the rising excitement as Kabaji worked to get Atobe’s pants off. Angry, and I don’t know what he’s going to do about it.

But Kabaji did, apparently, because he braced himself over Atobe as soon as he could and put a heavy hand on Atobe’s chest. “I’m going to touch you, Atobe,” he said, without rush or the usual respectful tone, “however I want. I couldn’t care less if he’s watching or not."

Atobe’s breath caught as Kabaji descended on him, tongue rougher against his skin than he remembered, but he reacted all the same, all the fiercer because of it. Because this kind of act was beyond Tezuka’s ability; because Tezuka wouldn’t have even hinted at the idea of pinning Atobe’s hands to the bed while he forced a bruise to blossom in the hollow his neck. Oh, no - that was all Kabaji’s fault when Atobe bucked and moaned when he was at last able to free his legs to wrap around Kabaji’s wide waist and bring their bodies into contact.

It was insane, thinking that an angry Kabaji was hotter than the calm Kabaji he usually had. There were risks after all. What about injury? Where would Ore-sama's tennis career be then? And it would be Atobe injured; Atobe held no hope of actually being able to hurt the bigger boy.... Unless he bit him. Of course.

Sinking his teeth into the length of Kabaji’s neck had better results than expected - a low growl and the tightening of Kabaji’s hands about Atobe’s arms, then the strong sweep of Kabaji’s tongue past his lips. Atobe heaved for breath beneath the assault, but each success only greedily earned him the scent of an aroused male or pushed him into contact with Kabaji’s chest, steely and just as unmovable.

Perhaps it was the trapped feeling that settled over him with Kabaji’s weight or the scrabble for freedom that chased after it, but Atobe was glad for once that he had let go of some of his past experiments - with Tezuka, with Ryoma - in order to focus his attention. Before, there had always been that wondering of what might have happened had he continued, but - when Kabaji’s sure hand encircled him and teased (imagine!) Atobe until he’d whimpered his desire out with a plea - now there was nothing but Kabaji.


Warmly tucked away in his own home, Tezuka shook off the feeling that he'd been expected elsewhere. It was a ridiculous notion and not one he was inclined to satisfy just because of some idle curiosity.

Atobe's request had been simple and easy to fulfill, in any case, causing Tezuka neither trouble nor any particular change in his plans.

Go home, Tezuka. Go to Seigaku. Anything. Just don't follow me home.

And he had been about to, if Tezuka was going to admit anything to himself. He was going to see for himself if there was any justification to the rumors Fuji had been slipping him, rather than so readily believe.

Too bad really. He had missed quite the show.
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