The butt what?
Fuji mentioned offhandedly the buttfucking one day, while the Regulars were tucking away their rackets and the 7th graders were spilling onto the court to begin their own practice. Ryoma had paused at the chain-link fence to gaze critically at the limp swings and the awkward footwork, and had said, "They're not getting any better."
Fuji laughed softly and stopped beside him. "They don't even get a 'mada mada dane'?"
Ryoma's mouth twisted faintly. "There's no one here to replace what we're losing at the end of the year."
"Don't worry, Echizen, it's always like this." Fuji paused while they watched the end of an excessively mediocre volley. Then he added, "Next year, they'll have the ranking matches and the buttfucking. They'll be fine."
Ryoma turned his head. Fuji followed the match nearest them. His eyes were peaceful crescents. "The butt what?"
"Whatever." Fuji shrugged cheerfully. "The making love to the butt."
Ryoma looked back out at the courts and tugged the brim of his hat down, mouth tight with irritation. After a few minutes, he looked back at Fuji and said again, "What?"
Fuji glanced curiously at Ryoma, then his eyes nudged wider. "Oh, saa, I'm so stupid. I always forget you're a 7th grader, too. Nevermind."
Ryoma turned his back to the courts and bent down to finish zipping up his bag. Fuji watched the terrible practice with his hands tucked placidly in his pockets, racket under his arm. Ryoma murmured, "You expect me to believe that sex is part of the 8th grade training regimen? That's stupid."
"You know, every time a prodigy says he doesn't believe in buttfucking, a tennis racket breaks."
Ryoma smirked. "I knew there wasn't any buttfucking." He moved to stand from his squatting position, but then a racket jabbed him firmly behind the knees, and Ryoma fell forward, over his bag. His baseball cap spilled off of his head. Fuji's racket pressed diagonally against the inside of his thigh.
"Don't be silly, Echizen," Fuji said. "Of course there's buttfucking." He moved forward to kneel beside Ryoma, and as the angle changed the edge of the racket pressed further up his in-seam. "Okay, so it isn't all the 8th graders. Just the pillars."
Ryoma pushed himself up on his forearms. He was lying across his tennis bag, and Fuji's racket tipped against his ass. "Does that mean Buchou does the fucking?" he muttered.
Fuji /mmm/ed deep in the throat. He said, "I bet he would, if you asked him to."
Ryoma looked over his shoulder. "What about Fuji-senpai?" His heart was racing.
Fuji touched the crown of Ryoma's head. "Good boy."