Shatter

Midorino Mizu

Disclaimer: Tennis no Ohjisama and all associated characters are the property of Konomi Takeshi.

Author’s Note: I’ve seen episode 114. Raw, which means I have no clue what the heck anyone was saying. So I made up that part. Yeah. Also, the title is mostly meaningless. I couldn’t think of anything else.

I probably should try to explain this a bit. To begin with, I love SanadaxAtobe. It’s one of my favorite pairings, and when I saw Atobe in his bathrobe at the end of 114, I immediately thought “Ooh, Sanada’s waiting in the bedroom.” And then my brain produced this last night. While I was sleeping. Just proves we’re never really safe from plot bunnies.

*~*~*

The phone had rung shortly before ten, just as Atobe Keigo was getting out of the shower.

It hadn’t been entirely unexpected.

He and the rest of the Hyoutei regulars had spent the day at the rather shabby tennis courts where the Seigaku club had been training, playing matches with their regulars.

Atobe had sanctioned this…excursion for three reasons. One, Seigaku had defeated them in the regional tournament, and Keigo considered it part of his duty to make certain that the other team remain at the top. Nothing less was acceptable.

The second reason was a promise he had made to Tezuka Kunimitsu – a promise to train their freshman tensai in the Seigaku captain’s absence. He’d promised because the concept had amused him – teaching the boy Tezuka considered to be Seigaku’s great hope was hugely entertaining – and because Echizen would be a superlative tennis player, eventually, and Atobe Keigo didn’t believe in wasting talent.

As for the third reason for his trip away from the city…well, he thought as he shut his bedroom door softly behind him, he had been finding Tokyo rather stifling lately.

“Tezuka,” he said in an amused drawl. “It’s rather late to be calling Japan, don’t you think?”

Not that he would be sleeping anytime soon, but poking at Tezuka was a habit he enjoyed, and didn’t plan to break, so long as it still amused him.

“Atobe,” returned the Seigaku captain with typical terse simplicity. “I trust that the match today went according to your plan?”

Tezuka Kunimitsu didn’t believe in unnecessary words, and he certainly didn’t see the need for cordial conversation with Atobe Keigo. He didn’t like Atobe, and he had only requested his assistance because there had been no one else with the required talent.

No one he could have asked, at any rate.

“Of course,” Atobe was saying. “Your Echizen performed as I expected; he even managed a few surprising plays.”

Echizen wasn’t nearly as gifted a player as Atobe was, of course; he wasn’t yet talented enough to even defeat Tezuka, let alone Atobe Keigo. But he was good. It had been an interesting match.

He played so few interesting matches these days, so each one was worth noting.

Keigo smirked slightly as he heard his bedroom door swing open. He had other, more interesting matches in mind for the rest of his evening, however. And Tezuka Kunimitsu was distracting him.

Distraction was unacceptable, he mused as a large hand settled on his shoulder, fingers lightly brushing against his skin. Keigo had no intention of letting his rival muddle his plans for the night.

“It’s been a long day, Tezuka,” he said. “I’m sure you understand, and I’m afraid I’ll have to end this fascinating conversation.

“Heal your arm quickly,” he added. “I look forward to crushing you, when you’re healthy again.”

He could almost hear Tezuka gritting his teeth over the international connection.

“I have more to discuss with you, Atobe,” Tezuka said in a carefully even voice. This conversation had merely reiterated the fact that he didn’t like Atobe.

The Hyoutei player didn’t take his responsibilities seriously enough, in Tezuka’s opinion. And he was too proud.

“You –“ he started before stopping when a deep, familiar voice came over the line.

“I’m afraid that this conversation will have to continue later, Tezuka. It’s Atobe’s bedtime.”

Sanada Genichirou. Tezuka would always be able to recognize the voice of the Rikkai vice captain – the tennis player, he admitted to himself, who very probably would have been able to defeat him, had they ever played each other.

“Sanada Genichirou,” he said.

“Tezuka Kunimitsu,” Sanada returned, amusement lacing his crisp, deep voice. “Have a good day.”

Tezuka heard the sound of the receiver being set in the cradle, and was about to hang up himself, when he heard Atobe’s unmistakable voice.

“I was getting off the phone, you know.”

Sanada snorted, loudly enough that Tezuka could hear it across the phone lines. “Tezuka is single-minded. It’s an admirable trait, I suppose, but I wasn’t willing to wait for you to break off the conversation.”

Atobe laughed, and the sound of it sent a shot of pain through Tezuka’s system. It was obvious that the two teenagers were still standing right next to the telephone.

It was equally obvious that their relationship was closer than it had seemed. He’d been a fool not to notice it.

Too single-minded, as Sanada had said. He hadn’t been able to see what was happening right in front of him.

He wondered if it would have been less painful, now, if he had seen it then.

No, he thought as he listened to Atobe’s soft sighs, and the rustle of clothing. His hand clenched into a fist at his side, fingernails digging into the skin of his palm. This would have hurt, regardless of what he might have known before.

“Genichirou,” he heard. Atobe’s voice had softened to a sensual murmur, and Tezuka could imagine, with distressing ease, the picture that the Hyoutei senior and Sanada made. “The bedroom isn’t that far away, you know.”

Sanada chuckled, and the sound made Tezuka’s hand clutch the receiver convulsively.

Sanada Genichirou had always been serious and focused, just like he was. Laughter had never been something Tezuka associated with the tall, stern Rikkai player; it was difficult to reconcile something so lighthearted with the person he had known.

Apparently, Sanada could laugh with Atobe Keigo.

“Genichirou,” gasped Atobe. Tezuka squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block the images that seemed to appear far too easily. “Ohhh…”

“I’m sure you won’t mind if we save the bedroom for later, right, Keigo?” said Sanada. Even across the telephone connection, his voice sounded rough and dark, and intent on his current goal. “I’m sure we’ll get there…eventually.”

Atobe Keigo’s answering moan was the last thing that Tezuka Kunimitsu heard before he finally placed the receiver back in its cradle, blocking out the sounds of his two closest rivals. He stared, unseeing, out at the empty courts, his hands still clenched at his side.

For the first time in his memory, he didn’t feel like playing tennis.