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Tezuka's family barn is smaller than Atobe thought it would be. Old and a bit worn, it's got three regular sized stalls and one twice the size of those. For foaling, Tezuka tells him. There's also a tiny, dusty office at the end of one row of stalls and a tack room across from it.
Still on crutches from his knee surgery, Tezuka can't yet do his daily chores properly. He can brush and feed horses, albeit very slowly, but he can't muck stalls or do evening turnout. Atobe offers to help, happy to spend any time with Tezuka, who shows his gratitude with a flicker of a smile, and quietly given orders.
At the moment, Tezuka is occupied with Liberator, freshly bathed after her evening workout. Tezuka is lucky that his mare free lunges so easily, Atobe thinks. Otherwise she'd be stuck doing mindless flatwork, unable to jump any fences. But really, he muses, it's her own fault. The fact that she refuses to let anyone other than Tezuka on her back is more than troublesome, especially now that he's not allowed back in the saddle until he's done with his rehab and doctor-approved.
Ducking out to let his boyfriend have some time alone with his horse, Atobe meanders into the office. It's dark, but he finds the light switch on the wall, and the ceiling bulb lazily flickers to life, dimly illuminating the space around him. It looks like no one has been in this room for quite some time.
The first thing Atobe notices is the dirty glass cabinet in the far corner. Upon closer inspection, he finds it full of old, tarnished trophies and large, decorated cups. Some are from forty, fifty years ago, the name engraved at the bottom barely legible anymore.
Tezuka Kunikazu.
So these are his grandfather's awards. It's an impressive display of achievements, even as aged as it is. At the end, Atobe finds two slightly younger looking cups, and the more bold script, reading 'Tezuka Kuniharu' confirms what he'd been thinking since the first time he'd met Tezuka in competition. Riding and training horses is in Tezuka's blood, it seems. There are no ribbons in the room, as far as Atobe can see, but he supposes they're stored away somewhere where the moths and seasonal dampness in the air can't hurt them.
He moves on to the next wall, opposite a desk with shelves bursting with what must be old records and receipts. The wall is covered in frames, and when Atobe wipes the dust away, he sees newspaper headlines. Again, he starts with the oldest first, seeing photo after photo of a younger version of Tezuka's grandfather. In some pictures, he's jumping fences that must be as tall as Atobe himself. In others, he's standing next to beautiful horses, adorned with large ribbons and embroidered show blankets. In its heyday, the Tezuka family barn must have been very well known on the show circuit. Atobe wonders what happened, why it isn't still.
A set of newer frames, more free of dust catches Atobe's eye, and he moves to get a closer look. These pictures are most certainly not of Tezuka's grandfather. They're all of Tezuka himself, at various ages. The first shows a much smaller version of him, not more than twelve, Atobe guesses. This Tezuka is grinning like he's never been happier in his life, even with crooked glasses and messy hair and braces, and it's not hard to understand why. He's got his arms wrapped loosely around the neck of a tiny brown foal, standing precariously on long, spindly legs. The white star on her forehead tells Atobe immediately that this is Liberator as a baby, probably no older than a few days at most. He reaches out, gently brushing his fingers against the glass over Tezuka's cheek, his heart melting as he continues to look at this sweet, innocent picture in front of him.
The other pictures are of the same subjects, following the pair as they aged together. A year later, a now braceless Tezuka is holding the lead of Liberator as a yearling filly, still a bit gangly, mane and tail not yet grown out. They're standing ankle deep in fresh snow, Liberator's ears pricked and eyes wide.
Atobe moves along, and looks at a snapshot of Tezuka in a fitted show jacket and Liberator in a leather halter. Tezuka holds a blue ribbon, the grin he had worn in the first photos replaced with a look of serious pride. Even as a two year old, before a saddle ever touched her back, his horse had been a winner.
In the fourth photo, Liberator had begun to fill out, looking like the adult she was growing to be. In full tack, she stands staring at the camera as Tezuka sits on her back, in a polo shirt slightly too big for him and jeans. Atobe wonders what she had been like to train, if it had been easy or hard to get her used to a rider.
But before he can let his mind wander too far, Atobe is distracted by the last picture. This one doesn't look staged at all, Tezuka probably hadn't even been aware it was taken at the time. But by far, it is Atobe's favorite. Tezuka's smile is back in this one, happy and carefree. He is perfectly balanced, bareback, on Liberator as she stretches out beneath him in a full gallop, tearing across a green pasture, the wind whipping both her tail and Tezuka's hair back behind them. She's not in a bridle or halter of any kind, and Atobe can see Tezuka's fingers buried in her dark name. So wild and unhindered, Tezuka looks absolutely breathtaking. Atobe decides then and there that he wants to make sure Tezuka always has a reason to smile like that. He barely fights down the urge to lift the frame from the wall and take it home for his own, so he can look at it whenever he pleases.
"Having fun?"
Atobe startles, and turns to see Tezuka standing in the entryway, leaning on his crutches. He expects him to be annoyed for snooping, but he finds no traces of irritation as he searches his face. Rather than answer, Atobe just hums noncommittally, following Tezuka back out towards the stalls. The horses have finished their evening grain, and Atobe's grabs a halter off the stall hook to bring them one by one to their pasture for the night.
Later, after chores are done and both of them have showered, they retreat to Tezuka's room, supposedly to study. But Tezuka's family is out tonight, and their school bags are left by the bedroom door in favor of a better use of their time.
Tezuka is laying on his back and Atobe is braced over him, always careful of his healing knee. Their chests press together as Atobe leans down to capture Tezuka's lips in an easy, unhurried kiss, pushing the hand that isn't holding his weight up under Tezuka's shirt, feeling the smooth skin there, still warm from the bath. Tezuka makes a pleased sound against Atobe's mouth as he kisses back, arching up into his touch cupping a hand around the back of his neck to hold him close.
Atobe can't imagine what his life would be life if he didn't have this, have Tezuka. More lonely, probably. But beyond that fleeting thought, he doesn't care, because Tezuka is here, spread out below him, letting Atobe kiss and pet him as he desires.
Atobe feels a hand on his hip, just barely slipping below the waistband of his pants, and he shivers at the teasing contact, flicking his tongue against Tezuka's lips, begging entry. He's granted it, and he busies himself kissing Tezuka breathless as he works to rid them both of their clothes.
They may not be able to have actual sex while Tezuka is recovering, but that doesn't mean Atobe can't still find ways to give him mind blowing orgasms.
After, when they're cuddled up together under the sheets, both marked with fresh lovebites they'll have to hide from their teammates in the locker room, Atobe brings up the photos.
"I didn't know you had braces."
Tezuka flushes, but before he can open his mouth to tell Atobe to drop it, he continues.
"I'm not making fun, you were awfully cute. And..." Atobe smiles, leaning in to kiss Tezuka softly. "You looked so happy."
Atobe feels fingers against his own under the covers. "I was," Tezuka murmurs. "The day I found out Tori was mine was the happiest I remember being." He has a nostalgic look in his eye, and Atobe knows he's drifting back down memory lane. He rarely uses Liberator's nickname in front of anyone.
Eventually, Tezuka comes back, shifting to tuck his nose against Atobe's neck and press closer. His nose is cold, but Atobe could care less, content to pull the sheets higher, and enjoy the feeling of his boyfriend's form against his.
"Have you taken this year's picture yet?"
Rather than answer, Tezuka settles for barely shaking his head, his silky hair tickling Atobe's chin.
Atobe smiles. "I think Nationals would be an excellent place to take it."
"Mm," says Tezuka, voice slow and sleepy like warm, gooey molasses. "Maybe you're right..."