It was a normal practice on a normal afternoon. Tsukada had just finished instructing Tachiki on a new play, and even though Tachiki hadn't looked like he was paying attention, he was now executing it perfectly, neatly catching Kichida's passed ball and preventing it from getting it anywhere near Sato. Asakawa and Misaki had their heads bent together as they regarded Sato at goal. Natsumi, Harada, and a few nameless freshmen were cheering on the sidelines, albeit Harada with more enthusiasm than the rest.

Kobayashi mapped out lines of the field in his head: If Tsukada moved forward, Marty-san should fall back. If Kichida could just decide if he played offense or defense, their chances of winning would improve drastically. If Asakawa wanted to pass to Kazuhiro, he shouldn't do it from that angle because Kazuhiro's dominant hand was his right and--

Kazuhiro pivoted on his ankle, switched his stick to his other hand, and caught the ball. He sent it moving again in a blink in an eye, getting it past Sato and into the goal.

Wait. Switched hands?

Kobayashi tore over to the bench, flipping to the back of his playbook to make notes.

"GET BACK IN THE GAME, SLACKER," Harada yelled right in his ear, but Kobayashi was too busy watching Kazuhiro hitch up Natsumi's purple stretch pants and do a victory dance.

"Give him hell, Lucy!" shouted Marty-san, brandishing his stick.

"Harada, don't yell at the players unless I say so," admonished Tsukada wearily. "Kobayashi?"

"Give me a minute," he muttered.

"Okay." Tsukada pointed at Harada. "Yell now."

"FIFTEEN MINUTES, LADIES. DON'T MAKE ME HURT YOU."

Tsukada wandered over to the bench, muttering something under his breath about unruly kohai, but Kobayashi didn't pay any attention. This was exactly what they needed, a special play, something to grab the other schools' attention.

"Hey, idiot!" shouted Kobayashi, throwing his playbook down again. He jogged over to Kazuhiro who held his stick between his knees and messed with his pants. "Why didn't you tell us you were left handed?"

"Because I'm not?" Kazuhiro said, shrugging. "Ambidexterity is a wonderful thing." He licked his lips and made an obscene gesture with his right hand, then his left.

Kobayashi sighed. The things he did to help this team. "After practice, you and I have to talk."

"Whatever you say, Kobagin!" said Kazuhiro, looking delighted.

"KOBAGIN AND KAZUHIRO, SITTING IN A TREE--"

"QUIET TIME, HARADA," shouted Tsukada.

"Wait until you losers see the secret move I have," Kazuhiro bragged, casually slinging one arm around Kobayashi's shoulders. Kobayashi shrugged him off.

"How can it be secret if you're telling us about it?" asked Asakawa, looking genuinely confused.

"Because he's not very bright." Kobayashi rubbed his eyes and blinked his contacts into place. "It's not a secret. It's just a play that the other teams won't count on."

Kazuhiro grinned and tried the shoulder thing again. Kobayashi elbowed him in the stomach. "Tell them all about my moves, Kobagin!"

"He's ambidextrous," Kobayashi explained. "If he's stuck in a corner, it's more likely that we'll still be able to score because he can switch the stick from hand to hand. So, Asakawa, try passing to Shiyouji --"

"Kazuhiro."

"-- any time he's in a weird position. See, if you divide up the field into a grid --"

"We've all heard your life is a bowl of shogi theory, Kobayashi," drawled Tachiki, slouching onto the field. "Let's just see Super Streaker's move already."

"Left Hand Suzuki Method!" cried Kazuhiro, thrusting his stick into the air.

Misaki and Sato doubled over with laughter. "...What?"

Kobayashi covered his face with his hands. "I'm never letting him near my music theory books again. Idiot, the Suzuki Method has nothing to do with lacrosse!"

Kazuhiro shrugged unapologetically. "I just thought it was a cool name."

"Are you sure you never played tennis?" asked Asakawa. Sato and Misaki laughed harder.

"GET ON THE FIELD, WUSSES!" bellowed Harada, then stage whispered to Tsukada, "How was that?"

Tsukada sighed. "Lose the wusses."

Kazuhiro ran onto the field, chanting "Left! Hand! Suzuki! Method!" in time with each stick thrust. Then he tripped over the cuff of his stretch pants and fell flat on his face.

Everyone stared as Kazuhiro let out a shocked wail of pain and clutched his right arm.

"MEDIC!" cried Harada.

Kobayashi slipped off his shoes and bowed to Shiyouji-san before heading upstairs to Kazuhiro's room. The Shiyouji house was very different from his, not messy exactly but comfortable-looking. Lived-in, he guessed, which was a far cry from trophy cases and plaques lining the walls.

He knocked on the last door on the left, which he would have known even if Kazuhiro's mother hadn't told him. The sign that read 'ENTER AT OWN RISK: PANTS OPTIONAL' was kind of a giveaway.

"Come in!" Kazuhiro called cheerfully.

Kobayashi opened and shut the door, dropping his bag on an empty patch of Kazuhiro's carpet. There were clothes everywhere, which was pretty impressive for a guy who protested pants. "Hey. Way to break your wrist."

"It's just a bad sprain," said Kazuhiro, holding up his bandaged right arm. He was in his pajamas (top and bottoms) sitting on top of his bedspread and propped by a couple of pillows. If he was surprised to see Kobayashi there, he covered up pretty well. "I'll be able to play again in no time."

"I brought your homework."

Kazuhiro grinned. "Bring anything more interesting?"

"Just this," Kobayashi said. He climbed on the bed and straddled Kazuhiro's thighs. Now Kazuhiro looked surprised. "You moron, I can't believe you hurt yourself bragging." Kobayashi closed his fingers around Kazuhiro's good wrist and dragged it above his head. "What good does this do us now?"

Kobayashi didn't wait for Kazuhiro's answer. He bent his head and pressed their lips together, cursing at himself for worrying over stupid Kazuhiro, enough that he'd spent the whole day spacing out in class and wondering if Kazuhiro would have to quit the lacrosse team. The frames of his glasses pressed into Kazuhiro's face, smudging the lenses and digging into Kobayashi's cheeks. Kobayashi pulled them off and threw them onto the table next to Kazuhiro's bed before leaning down and sliding his lips against Kazuhiro's again.

God damn it, Kobayashi thought, kissing angrily, he didn't even care about lacrosse! It was only his father that kept him playing, and now it turned out Kazuhiro was fine. Just a sprain -- he'd show him just a sprain.

Kobayashi snaked his tongue between Kazuhiro's lips, curling around Kazuhiro's tongue and drawing it into his own mouth. He sucked on it, hard enough to draw a strangled groan from Kazuhiro's throat, and edged his free hand under Kazuhiro's shirt, pressing his hand flat against the middle of Kazuhiro's chest. He broke the kiss and stretched up to bite Kazuhiro's ear, his right hand still clutched tight around Kazuhiro's wrist.

"K-- Kobagin?" asked Kazuhiro, sounding confused and out of breath. It was easy to see why; Kobayashi had mostly stoically refused to participate in the molestation Kazuhiro inflicted on him on a regular basis, figuring erections and orgasms only counted if you reciprocated.

"Shut up," Kobayashi mumbled against Kazuhiro's neck, rocking his hips so that Kazuhiro arched up and moaned. "I hate you."

"Hate me all you want if it's going to be like this!" Kazuhiro tilted his neck back, exposing his throat. Kobayashi licked and sucked at it, trying not to leave anything too permanent since he'd told Shiyouji-san they'd be working on math.

He finally let go of Kazuhiro's good wrist and started edging a little lower because Kazuhiro's skin did taste kind of good and, hell, Kobayashi had already lined up all his pieces. Time to clear the board.

Kazuhiro wiggled his hips impatiently as Kobayashi pulled open the snaps of his pajama top, tweaking a nipple here, tracing the outline of Kazuhiro's prominent ribs there. He licked Kazuhiro's stomach, a little bit of rough hair rubbing against his tongue, but hesitated when he reached the elastic of Kazuhiro's pajama bottoms.

"You don't have to, Kobagin," Kazuhiro said, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

"Like hell I don't," growled Kobayashi. He pulled at the waistband and slid his mouth over Kazuhiro's cock. Kazuhiro gasped and pushed up, and that hurt Kobayashi's throat. But it didn't matter. The little whimpers Kazuhiro suppressed while biting the fingers on his sprained arm kind of made it all worth it.

It didn't take Kazuhiro very long to come in hot spurts against Kobayashi's tongue. Kobayashi was grateful for that because it felt weird to have his mouth on another guy's cock, stretched wide like some sort of live-action blowup doll, but good, too. Kobayashi could see why Kazuhiro was always grinning after he went down on him; from this angle, Kobayashi had the upper hand.

Not two seconds after Kobayashi had fumbled in his pockets for a tissue and spit into it, though, he found himself flat on his back with a sated, flushed Kazuhiro grinning down at him.

"Your turn," Kazuhiro said.

"But your hand," Kobayashi protested.

"You've already forgotten?" Kazuhiro pushed his good hand between their bodies, and Kobayashi closed his eyes and grunted. "Left Hand Suzuki Method."

END.