With Teeth

Fuji always thinks the house is too quiet when Tezuka is not there. Which he considers quite amusing when he thinks of the absurdity of it all. Tezuka never speaks more than necessary; his movements are just as succinct, but there's a distinct hum that he hears in the back of his mind as he listens to Tezuka not make a sound that is so much better than the stagnancy of the air when he is alone.

With a sigh, he looks at the clock. He gets up and goes to the kitchen to prepare dinner. It's not his turn but he's tired of the takeaway Tezuka orders. Sometimes he wonders why they bother with this strange mockery of equality in all things when it isn't necessary. Fuji suspects that it's because he refuses to place either one of them into the traditional role.

It's Saturday, and Tezuka's playing tennis. He plays tennis every Saturday. Today, it's with Tachibana. Next week, Echizen. He plays the same people that challenged him in junior high, because they challenge him still.

They only play after an argument. The beginning of the apology is given with the handle of the racquet, one offering it to the other. The end of the apology is given against the wall of the shower afterwards. Sometimes Fuji stares at Tezuka as he's emerged in his papers and he has the urge mess them up just so he can hand Tezuka his racquet once more.

As Fuji dices the tomatoes, he wonders how Tezuka will be when he returns. He can tell if Tezuka's won his match by the way he moves, the line of his shoulders, and the slight curve of his lips in either direction. At the tournaments it's easier, because he always watches, but at home, he looks for these slight nuances, craves them, in actuality.

He hears the door open, but doesn't look. This is their game, and even a glance would signal the end of it. That's something he rarely wishes to do. Instead, he continues to prepare dinner as he listens to Tezuka place down his things and remove his shoes. The curiosity is there, and Fuji finds few feelings more exciting than the insatiable need to know.

When Tezuka loses, Fuji smiles and makes tea. They sit next to each other on the couch in silence, inching closer and closer until Tezuka allows Fuji to close the gap with a mere touch. With little more than a tug of Teuzka's shirt, it's removed and Fuji rubs every inch of his skin, massaging out the tension until Tezuka finally looks at him. This is when he finds himself pressed down onto the couch. This is where he remains until he wakes early the next morning, sticky and hot and pinned underneath Tezuka as he restlessly sleeps.


Fuji hears Tezuka approach and puts down the knife just in time before he finds himself pinned against the counter. Just as he's about to look over his shoulder, he's spun around and Tezuka's lips on his before he can say a word. Today, Fuji thinks as he kisses Tezuka back as intently as he's being kissed, Tezuka won.

Tezuka reaches behind him, and he can't see what he's doing, but he can guess. The sound of glass clunking down beside him, tell him that he's right. If he closed his eyes, he'd be able to envision the tall half-empty bottle of olive oil that he doesn't believe he's ever cooked with more than once. However, Tezuka is far too beautiful to look away from, especially when he's like this. It's as enthralling as watching him play.

Tezuka is at his shirt, unbuttoning it one-handedly until he can tear it over his head, and fling it behind him. The line of the counter is digging into his back, but he barely notices because Tezuka is staring at him as he grips the waistband of his shorts, and takes them off with one smooth tug.

Leaning closer to Tezuka, Fuji sucks at the skin of his neck helping him remove his own shirt, although the help is undoubtedly not necessary. His hands drop to Tezuka's shorts, removing them in a similar fashion. Fuji lets his fingers tease the tip of Tezuka's erection as he hears the sound of the bottle opening behind him.

Biting his lip, he refuses to gasp as he feels Tezuka's cold wet fingers trail down his back, sliding down until they circle at his entrance. He only moves to spread his legs wider as Tezuka shoves two fingers in, preparing him quickly, roughly. He moans against into Tezuka's mouth, sucking on his lower lip as he feels those fingers twist sharply inside of him.

Fuji gasps as he's lifted on top of the counter, remains of dinner preparations are hastily shoved aside, some falling to the floor. He doesn't care, however, because Tezuka pushes his thighs against his chest as he inches his way inside. His fingers are brushing the hair out of his eyes, and Fuji darts his tongue out to lick at the tips, grazing them with his teeth. He breaks away for a moment to look at Tezuka, accidentally banging the back of his head against the cabinet.

He runs his hands up Tezuka's back, nails digging into front of Tezuka's shoulders, kissing him harshly. The sweat rolls off of them, sliding between them as Tezuka pounds harder inside of him. Fuji licks Tezuka's temple, his cheek, his neck, sucking at the sweat, tasting the salty tang in his mouth as he feels pleasure rip through his body.

Tezuka grips his hips, pulling him closer as he pushes deeper inside. He stills, coming, and Fuji wonders if he'll have bruise marks on his skin once more. He hopes so. Fuji barely has time to breathe, before Tezuka is on his knees, mouth on his cock.

His head falls back again, mindless of the cabinet as he threads his fingers through Tezuka's sweat dampened hair. He can't stop the moan from forcing its way past this lips as that tongue licks further down. Tezuka pushes his tongue inside of him, licking and biting at him, until he almost begs for Tezuka to simply fuck him again. One finger presses inside, next to Tezuka's tongue and he comes, pulling at Tezuka's hair, barely registering the slight wince.

Fuji pants against the cabinet as Tezuka gets to his feet, and wraps his arms around him. He kisses him, then, hard and forceful, tasting the come on Tezuka's tongue. Fuji lets Tezuka rest his forehead on his and he smiles.

"Good match?" he asks unnecessarily, but he never gives up a chance to hear Tezuka speak.

Tezuka looks at him as he responds, never blinking, "Of course."

Fuji's lips curl into a grin, playful and provoking, "Hungry?"

Tezuka doesn't say anything, but helps him down from the counter. He doesn't bother to dress, walking unabashedly to the table to find one of their oft-used takeout menus.

Minutes later, he finds himself pressed down against the wood, legs spread as Tezuka once more is inside of him. Fuji doesn't think he'll ever love a day of the week more than Saturdays as that delicious cock is angled, rubbing against his prostate as he thrusts. He feels the slight hair on Tezuka's chest tickle against his back as the warm breath puffs against his ear as Tezuka whispers, voice rough and undeniably sexy, "Yes."

End.