Prince of Tennis (Tezuka/Fuji)
Jul. 2nd, 2007 12:54 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
ann89103.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
kinkfestTitle: Hunger
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ann89103
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Sex. Bondage. Sex. Did I mention the sex? Possibly the smuttiest thing I’ve ever written
Word Count: 2100+
Summary: Prompt #2 - Prince of Tennis, Tezuka/Fuji: Bondage - "Don't struggle like that, I will only love you more" (Think dj Crouka's Tezuka.)
A/N: I don’t own Prince of Tennis, woe is me. If I did, Echizen would get a good smackdown every year or so. I’ve never seen dj Crouka’s Tezuka, and this is my first try at PoT fic, but despite all that I hope this meets with your approval. Lyrics in italics from Lullaby by The Cure.
***
On candystripe legs spiderman comes
Tezuka is quiet, oh, so quiet. He’s taciturn as he walks down school corridors, his steely gaze taking in the controlled chaos that surrounds him, but never seems to leave a mark. He’s reserved during tennis practice, discussing strategy with Coach Ryuzaki or giving advice to his teammates. Only when Momoshiro and Kaidoh have a spectacularly loud fight - or when Fuji makes one of his softly-spoken, incisive comments that always fly past his defenses - does Tezuka raise his voice, ordering more laps. Then he falls silent once more.
It’s on those days that Tezuka makes his way to Fuji’s home, but not until later in the evening. Tezuka does some extra training, works on student council business. Tezuka kisses his mother on the cheek, sits down to dinner with his family. Tezuka finishes his homework. Tezuka goes to bed. And Tezuka waits, waits until all the lights are turned off and the only noise he hears is that of his breathing, the thump of his rapidly-beating heart. He then waits even longer, just to be sure, and until he can wait no more.
And then he’s in motion, ghosting down stairs and out the door, into the night.
Stealing past the windows of the blissfully dead
When he reaches the Fuji residence, he immediately heads towards the back of the house. Tezuka only enters through the main entrance during daylight hours, when he is Buchou, a teammate, a study partner, a friend.
He doesn’t know what to call what they have, but he knows he prefers climbing noiselessly up to Fuji’s window to knocking politely at Fuji’s front door. The window is open, the curtains moving softly with the slight evening breeze.
Looking for the victim shivering in bed
Fuji’s eyes are closed, though Tezuka knows better than to assume that he’s sleeping. Tezuka climbs through the window effortlessly, this time gracefully avoiding the cacti arranged on the windowsill. The tennis bag he carries is placed on the floor; the contents within don’t make a sound. Tezuka has learned to be careful, especially when Fuji is involved.
But tonight Fuji is asleep, curled on his side facing the window, a thin cotton sheet clutched to his chest. He’s wearing only boxers, the clothing and bedding providing scant warmth on such an unseasonably cool spring night. Fuji frowns slightly and turns on to his back, pulling the sheet up to his chin.
The material does little to hide his body; Fuji has a lighter frame than most tennis players their age but he’s still an athlete, with the slim, well-toned muscles of a runner, or a bicyclist. Their coach once said Fuji had a soft body that complemented his game, but that was before the additional workouts, Nationals and their long-delayed match, before Fuji became serious about tennis and Tezuka became serious about Fuji.
Tezuka thinks he is perfect.
Quietly he laughs and shaking his head creeps closer now closer to the foot of the bed
Tezuka crouches down, opening his bag and rummaging through the contents. It doesn’t take him long to choose a few select items: he knows what he wants.
He doesn’t have to do this; Fuji’s nightstand and closet contain more than enough toys and paraphernalia to use (or to scare his younger brother Yuuta out of ever searching his room again - Tezuka wasn’t sure whether to be amused or appalled when he heard that story.) There’s just something about seeing Fuji - confident, unflappable Fuji Syuusuke - under his control, bound with his belongings, that Tezuka finds undeniably exciting.
He stands, and he almost believes he could stay there the entire night, just watching the rise and fall of Fuji’s chest, the minute shifts of expression that cross Fuji’s face as he dreams. The thought of him doing such a thing draws a soft chuckle from his lips as he approaches the bed.
Tezuka’s always been a man of purpose.
Be still be calm be quiet now my precious boy
It only takes Tezuka a few seconds to grasp Fuji’s right wrist and securely bind it to the headboard with a sash, and already he’s startled out of sleep and fighting Tezuka’s hold. “Syuusuke,” Tezuka breathes out, barely a whisper, and that’s all it takes for Fuji to still. Those piercing blue eyes - remarkable even in the near darkness barely broken by the pale moonlight pouring through the window - watch him intently, patiently, waiting for Tezuka’s next move.
Tezuka will never admit it out loud, but he wants Fuji’s eyes focused only on him. He leans over his boyfriend, using a second sash to fasten the other arm securely as well. He pulls back slightly, observing Fuji pull at the bindings to no avail. Tezuka then tosses the sheet off the bed, a tiny smile tugging at his lips as Fuji shivers from the cold.
Fuji shivers even more - though not due to the temperature - and squirms as Tezuka tugs his boxers off, his body now completely exposed to his Tezuka’s intense gaze. Tezuka takes in the slight flush rising in Fuji’s cheeks, the way he tilts his head slightly to one side and smiles at him, all promise and challenge, with a rare glimpse of teeth. He observes the way Fuji shifts on the bed, enjoying the movement of muscle under skin, watching with anticipation as Fuji’s cock twitches, his own arousal starting to rise.
Tezuka places the lubricant he chose and another sash on the nightstand. He then shrugs off his jacket, lets it fall to the floor near his tennis bag. The rest of his clothing soon follows, and he climbs onto the bed, crawls onto Fuji, and lets himself go.
Tezuka’s kisses are harsh and demanding. His teeth bite at Fuji’s lips when the tensai playfully holds back, then his tongue greedily invades Fuji’s mouth, tasting, possessing with each flicker and thrust. He pulls back only to take a breath, then dives in again and again, until Fuji moves beneath him with a delicious friction, reminding Tezuka of all the other parts of his lover that need to be marked, worshipped, taken, owned.
Tezuka breaks that kiss, only to move his lips to Fuji’s neck, licking at the delicate flesh there before biting down, sucking hard enough to bruise; he moves lower, hands trailing a path over Fuji’s chest to rub at pale, sensitive nipples while his teeth lightly trail along the tensai’s collarbone. Fuji lets out a soft moan under the assault, which is cut off when Tezuka nips at his shoulder.
“If I have to gag you,” Tezuka whispers, his breath now hot and heavy against Fuji’s ear, “tell me now.”
The only answer he receives is Fuji turning his head enough to flick his tongue at Tezuka’s jawline, and a murmured, “You’ll need to try harder than that, Buchou,” before biting at his throat.
Only Fuji can do this to Tezuka: only Fuji teases him, inspires him, recognizes and welcomes the passion buried under his reserved demeanor. Tezuka redoubles his efforts to explore Fuji’s body, licking and caressing his way over every inch of the tensai’s torso, eagerly sucking at Fuji’s hipbones before moving on to his legs, completely bypassing the parts Fuji wants touched most desperately.
Fuji’s breathing grows increasingly ragged as Tezuka trails callused fingers over the sensitive skin behind Fuji’s knees, and his eyes open impossibly wide as he watches Tezuka lift one leg off the bed, holding his foot by the ankle, his tongue teasing at the arch of Fuji’s foot and then sucking ticklish, squirming toes into his mouth, one by one. This exquisite torture is then repeated on Fuji’s other leg without any hesitation.
The sound escaping Fuji’s lips at that point can only be described as a whimper, and earns a rare smirk from Tezuka. He reaches to the nightstand and retrieves the remaining sash and the lubricant laying there, before straddling Fuji’s torso. Tezuka places the lubricant to one side, and trails the silken material of the sash over the hardened nubs of Fuji’s nipples before leaning over and draping it over Fuji’s mouth.
“I could use this to keep you quiet,” Tezuka murmurs softly, “but I have a better idea.” He takes the sash and moves further down Fuji’s body, making sure to brush the silk against his now completely-hardened cock. Fuji strains against his bonds at the intimate touch, seeking more of that delicious chafing. But instead Tezuka wraps the silk firmly around the base of his erection, and Fuji has to grind his teeth together to hold back a scream.
Tezuka drapes his body over that of his lover, running both hands through sweat-dampened hair, holding Fuji in place as he devours his mouth with deep, sucking kisses. He thrusts with his hips, relishing the feel of Fuji’s cock rubbing along his belly while his own brushes against his lover’s upper thigh. He can feel Fuji’s growing excitement in the way Fuji’s legs rub along his own, see it in how Fuji desperately pulls at the silk confining his hands, hear it in the tiny gasps escaping Fuji’s lips between each kiss. It’s exhilarating, addictive, stimulating beyond belief, and all Tezuka can think is Syuusuke and want you and more.
Don’t struggle like that or I will only love you more
Tezuka pushes himself up, moves just enough to take hold of the lubricant. He opens the lid, spreading a generous amount on one palm. It was embarrassing, going to a store to purchase such an item, but the immediate tingling and heat the gel generates on his hand is well worth the cost, especially when Fuji nearly knocks Tezuka off the bed as he gently strokes Fuji’s cock, spreading the warming lube over every inch before moving further down to similarly caress his scrotum and the testicles within. Tezuka can barely contain his excitement at this point, his own cock already slick from the precum leaking out from the tip.
Fuji’s voice is still barely above a whisper, but the sounds he’s making - the low, guttural moans, the brusque demands and abject pleas for do it, harder, now -seem to echo loudly in Tezuka’s mind as he adds more lubricant to his fingers and inserts a single digit into his lover’s entrance. It’s not long before he adds a second finger, a third one, stretching the tight passage and searching for Fuji’s prostate gland It’s obvious when Tezuka finds the spot, as he has to cover Fuji’s mouth temporarily with his other hand to muffle the surprised cry that threatens to rouse Fuji’s entire family from their beds.
All of Tezuka is completely intent on his boyfriend: all that famous focus and determination Tezuka applies to tennis is directed towards the young man struggling against the materials binding him to the bed, now mindlessly tossing his head from one side to another, begging for the release that only Tezuka can provide.
Fuji is the one tied to the bed, but Tezuka cannot escape from Fuji: not from the multitude of smiles he’s given each day, every one unique, and only for him; not from their friendship, the silent language that only they understand; and certainly not from the tight, enveloping heat that grips Tezuka after he slicks himself with lubricant and cautiously pushes his way into Fuji, trying to delay his own orgasm just a little while longer.
Fuji’s arms are bound, but not his hips: he eagerly thrusts up, wanting more of the fullness, the pressure, desperate for the feel of Tezuka’s toned stomach rubbing up against his penis. Fuji’s excitement is now matched by Tezuka’s own, and without hesitation Tezuka removes the now-damp material restraining Fuji’s member and fervently strokes the blood- engorged organ while pounding Fuji’s body into the mattress.
Tezuka’s other hand rests next to Fuji’s head; any sounds both men make are muffled by their savage kisses, their mouths still fused to one another as they orgasm in near- unison, then continue clinging to each other long after the last twitches of pleasure subside.
The silence is only broken by their shared ragged breathing, which gradually evens out as they drift off into sleep.
In the morning i will wake up in the shivering cold
and the spiderman is always hungry...
Fuji awakens at dawn, forced into consciousness by the cool breeze chilling every exposed portion of his body. The left side of his frame, with the solid, comforting pressure of a slumbering Tezuka Kunimitsu holding tight, remains delightfully warm.
Fuji frowns as he realizes his hands are still bound; it’s not like Tezuka to be so careless. Fuji starts plotting a suitable revenge for the indignity, and doesn’t immediately notice when Tezuka starts to stir. When Fuji finally looks up and recognizes the unrestrained hunger in those unguarded brown eyes, he puts aside all thoughts of retaliation.
It appears Tezuka has different plans for them this morning, and Fuji doesn’t mind that at all.
Author:
ann89103Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Sex. Bondage. Sex. Did I mention the sex? Possibly the smuttiest thing I’ve ever written
Word Count: 2100+
Summary: Prompt #2 - Prince of Tennis, Tezuka/Fuji: Bondage - "Don't struggle like that, I will only love you more" (Think dj Crouka's Tezuka.)
A/N: I don’t own Prince of Tennis, woe is me. If I did, Echizen would get a good smackdown every year or so. I’ve never seen dj Crouka’s Tezuka, and this is my first try at PoT fic, but despite all that I hope this meets with your approval. Lyrics in italics from Lullaby by The Cure.
***
On candystripe legs spiderman comes
Tezuka is quiet, oh, so quiet. He’s taciturn as he walks down school corridors, his steely gaze taking in the controlled chaos that surrounds him, but never seems to leave a mark. He’s reserved during tennis practice, discussing strategy with Coach Ryuzaki or giving advice to his teammates. Only when Momoshiro and Kaidoh have a spectacularly loud fight - or when Fuji makes one of his softly-spoken, incisive comments that always fly past his defenses - does Tezuka raise his voice, ordering more laps. Then he falls silent once more.
It’s on those days that Tezuka makes his way to Fuji’s home, but not until later in the evening. Tezuka does some extra training, works on student council business. Tezuka kisses his mother on the cheek, sits down to dinner with his family. Tezuka finishes his homework. Tezuka goes to bed. And Tezuka waits, waits until all the lights are turned off and the only noise he hears is that of his breathing, the thump of his rapidly-beating heart. He then waits even longer, just to be sure, and until he can wait no more.
And then he’s in motion, ghosting down stairs and out the door, into the night.
Stealing past the windows of the blissfully dead
When he reaches the Fuji residence, he immediately heads towards the back of the house. Tezuka only enters through the main entrance during daylight hours, when he is Buchou, a teammate, a study partner, a friend.
He doesn’t know what to call what they have, but he knows he prefers climbing noiselessly up to Fuji’s window to knocking politely at Fuji’s front door. The window is open, the curtains moving softly with the slight evening breeze.
Looking for the victim shivering in bed
Fuji’s eyes are closed, though Tezuka knows better than to assume that he’s sleeping. Tezuka climbs through the window effortlessly, this time gracefully avoiding the cacti arranged on the windowsill. The tennis bag he carries is placed on the floor; the contents within don’t make a sound. Tezuka has learned to be careful, especially when Fuji is involved.
But tonight Fuji is asleep, curled on his side facing the window, a thin cotton sheet clutched to his chest. He’s wearing only boxers, the clothing and bedding providing scant warmth on such an unseasonably cool spring night. Fuji frowns slightly and turns on to his back, pulling the sheet up to his chin.
The material does little to hide his body; Fuji has a lighter frame than most tennis players their age but he’s still an athlete, with the slim, well-toned muscles of a runner, or a bicyclist. Their coach once said Fuji had a soft body that complemented his game, but that was before the additional workouts, Nationals and their long-delayed match, before Fuji became serious about tennis and Tezuka became serious about Fuji.
Tezuka thinks he is perfect.
Quietly he laughs and shaking his head creeps closer now closer to the foot of the bed
Tezuka crouches down, opening his bag and rummaging through the contents. It doesn’t take him long to choose a few select items: he knows what he wants.
He doesn’t have to do this; Fuji’s nightstand and closet contain more than enough toys and paraphernalia to use (or to scare his younger brother Yuuta out of ever searching his room again - Tezuka wasn’t sure whether to be amused or appalled when he heard that story.) There’s just something about seeing Fuji - confident, unflappable Fuji Syuusuke - under his control, bound with his belongings, that Tezuka finds undeniably exciting.
He stands, and he almost believes he could stay there the entire night, just watching the rise and fall of Fuji’s chest, the minute shifts of expression that cross Fuji’s face as he dreams. The thought of him doing such a thing draws a soft chuckle from his lips as he approaches the bed.
Tezuka’s always been a man of purpose.
Be still be calm be quiet now my precious boy
It only takes Tezuka a few seconds to grasp Fuji’s right wrist and securely bind it to the headboard with a sash, and already he’s startled out of sleep and fighting Tezuka’s hold. “Syuusuke,” Tezuka breathes out, barely a whisper, and that’s all it takes for Fuji to still. Those piercing blue eyes - remarkable even in the near darkness barely broken by the pale moonlight pouring through the window - watch him intently, patiently, waiting for Tezuka’s next move.
Tezuka will never admit it out loud, but he wants Fuji’s eyes focused only on him. He leans over his boyfriend, using a second sash to fasten the other arm securely as well. He pulls back slightly, observing Fuji pull at the bindings to no avail. Tezuka then tosses the sheet off the bed, a tiny smile tugging at his lips as Fuji shivers from the cold.
Fuji shivers even more - though not due to the temperature - and squirms as Tezuka tugs his boxers off, his body now completely exposed to his Tezuka’s intense gaze. Tezuka takes in the slight flush rising in Fuji’s cheeks, the way he tilts his head slightly to one side and smiles at him, all promise and challenge, with a rare glimpse of teeth. He observes the way Fuji shifts on the bed, enjoying the movement of muscle under skin, watching with anticipation as Fuji’s cock twitches, his own arousal starting to rise.
Tezuka places the lubricant he chose and another sash on the nightstand. He then shrugs off his jacket, lets it fall to the floor near his tennis bag. The rest of his clothing soon follows, and he climbs onto the bed, crawls onto Fuji, and lets himself go.
Tezuka’s kisses are harsh and demanding. His teeth bite at Fuji’s lips when the tensai playfully holds back, then his tongue greedily invades Fuji’s mouth, tasting, possessing with each flicker and thrust. He pulls back only to take a breath, then dives in again and again, until Fuji moves beneath him with a delicious friction, reminding Tezuka of all the other parts of his lover that need to be marked, worshipped, taken, owned.
Tezuka breaks that kiss, only to move his lips to Fuji’s neck, licking at the delicate flesh there before biting down, sucking hard enough to bruise; he moves lower, hands trailing a path over Fuji’s chest to rub at pale, sensitive nipples while his teeth lightly trail along the tensai’s collarbone. Fuji lets out a soft moan under the assault, which is cut off when Tezuka nips at his shoulder.
“If I have to gag you,” Tezuka whispers, his breath now hot and heavy against Fuji’s ear, “tell me now.”
The only answer he receives is Fuji turning his head enough to flick his tongue at Tezuka’s jawline, and a murmured, “You’ll need to try harder than that, Buchou,” before biting at his throat.
Only Fuji can do this to Tezuka: only Fuji teases him, inspires him, recognizes and welcomes the passion buried under his reserved demeanor. Tezuka redoubles his efforts to explore Fuji’s body, licking and caressing his way over every inch of the tensai’s torso, eagerly sucking at Fuji’s hipbones before moving on to his legs, completely bypassing the parts Fuji wants touched most desperately.
Fuji’s breathing grows increasingly ragged as Tezuka trails callused fingers over the sensitive skin behind Fuji’s knees, and his eyes open impossibly wide as he watches Tezuka lift one leg off the bed, holding his foot by the ankle, his tongue teasing at the arch of Fuji’s foot and then sucking ticklish, squirming toes into his mouth, one by one. This exquisite torture is then repeated on Fuji’s other leg without any hesitation.
The sound escaping Fuji’s lips at that point can only be described as a whimper, and earns a rare smirk from Tezuka. He reaches to the nightstand and retrieves the remaining sash and the lubricant laying there, before straddling Fuji’s torso. Tezuka places the lubricant to one side, and trails the silken material of the sash over the hardened nubs of Fuji’s nipples before leaning over and draping it over Fuji’s mouth.
“I could use this to keep you quiet,” Tezuka murmurs softly, “but I have a better idea.” He takes the sash and moves further down Fuji’s body, making sure to brush the silk against his now completely-hardened cock. Fuji strains against his bonds at the intimate touch, seeking more of that delicious chafing. But instead Tezuka wraps the silk firmly around the base of his erection, and Fuji has to grind his teeth together to hold back a scream.
Tezuka drapes his body over that of his lover, running both hands through sweat-dampened hair, holding Fuji in place as he devours his mouth with deep, sucking kisses. He thrusts with his hips, relishing the feel of Fuji’s cock rubbing along his belly while his own brushes against his lover’s upper thigh. He can feel Fuji’s growing excitement in the way Fuji’s legs rub along his own, see it in how Fuji desperately pulls at the silk confining his hands, hear it in the tiny gasps escaping Fuji’s lips between each kiss. It’s exhilarating, addictive, stimulating beyond belief, and all Tezuka can think is Syuusuke and want you and more.
Don’t struggle like that or I will only love you more
Tezuka pushes himself up, moves just enough to take hold of the lubricant. He opens the lid, spreading a generous amount on one palm. It was embarrassing, going to a store to purchase such an item, but the immediate tingling and heat the gel generates on his hand is well worth the cost, especially when Fuji nearly knocks Tezuka off the bed as he gently strokes Fuji’s cock, spreading the warming lube over every inch before moving further down to similarly caress his scrotum and the testicles within. Tezuka can barely contain his excitement at this point, his own cock already slick from the precum leaking out from the tip.
Fuji’s voice is still barely above a whisper, but the sounds he’s making - the low, guttural moans, the brusque demands and abject pleas for do it, harder, now -seem to echo loudly in Tezuka’s mind as he adds more lubricant to his fingers and inserts a single digit into his lover’s entrance. It’s not long before he adds a second finger, a third one, stretching the tight passage and searching for Fuji’s prostate gland It’s obvious when Tezuka finds the spot, as he has to cover Fuji’s mouth temporarily with his other hand to muffle the surprised cry that threatens to rouse Fuji’s entire family from their beds.
All of Tezuka is completely intent on his boyfriend: all that famous focus and determination Tezuka applies to tennis is directed towards the young man struggling against the materials binding him to the bed, now mindlessly tossing his head from one side to another, begging for the release that only Tezuka can provide.
Fuji is the one tied to the bed, but Tezuka cannot escape from Fuji: not from the multitude of smiles he’s given each day, every one unique, and only for him; not from their friendship, the silent language that only they understand; and certainly not from the tight, enveloping heat that grips Tezuka after he slicks himself with lubricant and cautiously pushes his way into Fuji, trying to delay his own orgasm just a little while longer.
Fuji’s arms are bound, but not his hips: he eagerly thrusts up, wanting more of the fullness, the pressure, desperate for the feel of Tezuka’s toned stomach rubbing up against his penis. Fuji’s excitement is now matched by Tezuka’s own, and without hesitation Tezuka removes the now-damp material restraining Fuji’s member and fervently strokes the blood- engorged organ while pounding Fuji’s body into the mattress.
Tezuka’s other hand rests next to Fuji’s head; any sounds both men make are muffled by their savage kisses, their mouths still fused to one another as they orgasm in near- unison, then continue clinging to each other long after the last twitches of pleasure subside.
The silence is only broken by their shared ragged breathing, which gradually evens out as they drift off into sleep.
In the morning i will wake up in the shivering cold
and the spiderman is always hungry...
Fuji awakens at dawn, forced into consciousness by the cool breeze chilling every exposed portion of his body. The left side of his frame, with the solid, comforting pressure of a slumbering Tezuka Kunimitsu holding tight, remains delightfully warm.
Fuji frowns as he realizes his hands are still bound; it’s not like Tezuka to be so careless. Fuji starts plotting a suitable revenge for the indignity, and doesn’t immediately notice when Tezuka starts to stir. When Fuji finally looks up and recognizes the unrestrained hunger in those unguarded brown eyes, he puts aside all thoughts of retaliation.
It appears Tezuka has different plans for them this morning, and Fuji doesn’t mind that at all.
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Date: 2007-07-02 03:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-02 03:58 pm (UTC)they're being all nnnnngh at each other Oh, yeah: I am so over the moon for this pairing!
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Date: 2007-07-02 05:22 pm (UTC)Crouka's Tezuka? Hm...in most of Crouka's doujinshis...her Tezuka is borderlinepsychoticpossessive of Fuji. But, this is even better. Because it really works. And they're still them. And it's just! dshfjlsahd :D Thank you. ♥
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Date: 2007-07-02 06:40 pm (UTC)I'm glad you liked it, especially the characterizations. This is my first PoT story, and it's important to me that they are portrayed believably and without relying on the usual cliches.
Damn, but I love this pairing!
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Date: 2007-07-03 03:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-03 11:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-03 07:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-04 12:53 am (UTC)