Title: Lazy Sunday
Author: Jasmine Starlight
Word Count: 416
Universe: Tennis No Ohjisama
Disclaimer: What, bitch?
Warnings: yaoi. No real spoilers—up until the Hyoutei arc to be safe. Post trip to Germany.
Time Started: 07:54 AM 10/13/06
TimeCompleted: 07:51 AM 10/16/06
A/N: Oh I'm writing this on Friday the 13th! Boo!
Atobe hadn't realized when it hadn't just become about the sex. Well, not at first. It'd hit him after their nocturnal activities one night, when instead of just turning over to his side of the bed he watched Tezuka sleep.
It'd hit him like a ton of bricks.
It couldn't be that he was actually developing feelings for the other boy; all they did was play tennis like maniacs and fuck like rabbits. They didn't have actual conversations! In a relationship you were supposed to have actual conversations, right?
Well maybe Keigo's vision of a relationship was slightly skewed by the fact that his own parent's rarely resided in the same mansion and therefore never had meaningful conversations.
That's what was supposed to happen in a regular relationship, right?
Never mind the fact that Tezuka saw more of Keigo's bedroom than of his own, the servants all knew him by name, hell they even knew all his favorite foods something that Atobe doubted he himself knew, Tezuka knew Hyoutei's practice schedule as well as any regular vice-versa with Atobe and Seigaku, they even borrowed each other's training methods!
It was ridiculous; it had to be a dream, that's right, a dream. So any minute now Keigo could return to his side of the bed and sleep.
Damn! Why couldn't he stop watching Tezuka? This was becoming borderline creepy.
Atobe resisted the urge to splatter his brains across the large wooden headboard. That was only fun if Tezuka participated.
What would it take for Atobe to get some sleep? The heir needed his eight hours to preserve his complexion and make sure his hair was glossy.
Keigo's breath caught as Tezuka rolled over and was nestled into the crook of his neck. Atobe could feel his quasi-boyfriend's breathing on his neck and when Tezuka shifted to rest his head on Keigo's chest he felt oddly comfortable.
His fingers moved of their own accord to toy with Tezuka's tousled hair. Honestly, did he ever comb it? Or was his pillow his hairdresser.
It was with this thought that Atobe Keigo finally fell to sleep.