Prince of Tennis (Tezuka/Fuji)
Jul. 5th, 2007 06:16 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
reddwarfer.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
kinkfestTitle: My Whole Existence Is Flawed
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
reddwarfer
Rating: R/NC-17
Warnings: Fellatio/semi-public sex, allusions to the most recent manga.
Word count: 1,500~
Summary: Nothing hurts/Like Your Mouth
A/N: Thanks towhisper132 for listening to me whine about this...all...day...long.
“You never change,” Fuji remarks, voice cutting through him as he leans against a tree, trying to block out the bright sun, the nervousness, the pain. He opens his eyes, sees Fuji a metre away, and tries not to move. Oishi and Kikumaru are on the courts, no doubt, struggling against Jackal and Yagyuu, wondering why just being the Golden Pair isn't enough.
"How did you find me?" he asks, not really caring about the answer, but three years with the noisiest team in existence has taught him to hate silence. This place is perfect, after all, because no one can see him from the main path, but he can still hear everything.
"I know you, Tezuka," Fuji says, walking closer to him until they almost touch.
Fuji is calling him by name, but it sounds more like stupid boy than anything else. "Don't you want to watch your teammates capture their long-sought after glory?"
What he really wants is a couple of decent painkillers and long shower, but he instead asks, "Shouldn't you?"
"There are more important things," Fuji replies easily, and laughs. Tezuka can see the fine lines around Fuji's eyes as they scrunch up in mirth.
Fuji is baiting him, now, but he doesn't care. There's always something tempting about the way Fuji quirks his lips, and says just the right—wrong—thing. "Such as?"
The throb in his arm is dull, steady, like a heartbeat, and he shifts against the tree with a dubious hope that it may feel a little better. It doesn't. "Is it—" Fuji asks, but stops, quirking his lips into a wry grin.
It is bad, but he doesn't want to think about it. He doesn't want to think of anything until the matches are over, and won, and he can leave his last year of Seigaku behind with no regrets. "It's fine."
"Liar," Fuji chides playfully, and tentatively reaches out to his shoulder, prodding it a little with his finger. Tezuka looks at Fuji, whose eyes are set on his face, watching for signs of discomfort.
“Was it worth it," Fuji asks then, his voice sharp, eyes sharper, and he knows there are more questions that aren’t being asked aloud, ones that Fuji expects answers to.
Of all the members of his team, Fuji's the only one that knows that this is as far as he'll go, as far as he intends to go. Fuji knows that the Nationals Tournament this year is his last chance at glory in tennis, and yes, it's worth it. He doesn't say as much, but Fuji smiles like he did, anyhow.
Tezuka manages a slight smile, and leans his head back against the tree. Distantly, he can hear some cheering, but not enough to signal the end of the match. He knows they should go back and watch, but Fuji's breath is on his cheek, now, and any thought of asking Fuji to walk back dies in his throat.
“You could just…” Fuji says, trailing off, shaking his head before he moves close enough that their lips are brushing. Tezuka can feel the heat of the whisper of Fuji’s body against his, distracting him enough so he doesn’t notice when Fuji’s hand moves more firmly on his shoulder, and presses hard.
“Ah—“ Tezuka gasps despite himself, and Fuji takes the advantage by biting his bottom lip playfully, sucking it between his lips. Fuji lets go after a moment, and stares at his lips as he presses against his shoulder again.
Fuji licks his lips once, and kisses him, tongue tickling the inside of his mouth until Tezuka kisses back, firmly, right hand winding through Fuji’s hair as he does. The hand on his shoulder doesn’t relent; instead Fuji steadily massages him, a counterpoint to the pain. He closes his eyes, and focuses on the slight throb in his arm that’s trailing down his skin, his torso, and into his groin.
He wonders if there’s something wrong with him, them. He wants the pain and pleasure together, mixed up until he can’t tell the difference, and Fuji always gives him what he wants, without question.
Fuji’s hand is in his pants, grasping his cock, and he barely can stop himself gasping in shock. His fingers weave in Fuji’s hair, entangling them further, biting back at Fuji’s mouth as he tries not to thrust into Fuji’s warm palm.
He can no longer hear the hum of the crowd, or distant cheers from the court, because his heart is beating so loudly that it drowns out everything else. Fuji strokes him a few times before he drops to his knees, tugging Tezuka’s shorts down with him. His fingers follow Fuji's descent instinctively, not wanting to let go of the soft, slightly sweat-damped strands. Fuji looks up at him and winks when he catches his eyes, before darting his tongue out to lap at the tip of his cock.
Sucking in a breath, Tezuka allows Fuji to press both hands against his hips, pinning him to the tree, and watches as his cock disappears between Fuji’s lips. He wants to close his eyes, look away, but his eyes won’t leave Fuji’s face, his mouth, and feels his stomach squirm when he sees the seriousness in Fuji’s expression.
Fuji’s tongue laves teasingly on the underside of his cock, the head butting somewhere near the back of Fuji’s throat. Fuji’s eyes don’t even water anymore when he does this, but Tezuka doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to way it feels, the way he feels sleepy and awake all at once, the way his skin burns and his stomach almost aches from clenching it.
“Hmmn.” The sound emanates from his throat before he can stop it. Fuji’s tongue is curled around him, his nose brushing against the fine hair, and sensitive skin, and his hair tickling Tezuka’s abdomen. The hand in Fuji’s hair tightens when he feels the slight graze of teeth over the sensitive skin, and he reaches down with his other hand to twine with Fuji's.
Fuji's other hand slides around to his arse, holding him lightly, allowing him to thrust into that obliging mouth. He tries not be too rough, go too fast, but Fuji's tongue presses up against him, and his hips move faster, deeper, until he can see the wetness pool around Fuji's mouth, glistening as it slowly trails down his cheeks and chin. Fuji's face is flush, beautiful, and a part of him wants to just tug him up for a kiss, but he can't stop, and he whispers things only the wind, and maybe Fuji, can hear.
Somehow, Fuji's hand in his own makes it all feel better, and he can't understand what about that small bit of contact is so much more intimate than the way Fuji's lips glide over and over on his cock. He's never felt afraid on the courts, but this, this, unsettles him just a little. Fuji's eyes are bright, glazing slightly with each thrust. He can feel the familiar tug, the way everything gets taut and tight, and he can't even warn Fuji to stop before he's coming. Fuji grins around him, swallowing as he does, and he notices a little dripping out of the corner of his mouth.
Panting, Tezuka stays back against the tree, exhaustion seeping under his skin, loose and wanting Fuji to come closer instead of farther away. He tugs on the hand he's holding, and says, "Come here."
Fuji obliges, smiling, and leans his head against Tezuka's good shoulder. He blinks a few times before focusing once more on Fuji's face, and ducks down to lick the spot that Fuji missed. He can feel the chuckle before he can hear it, and sighs. The throbbing is still there, sharp in the middle, rippling outward. He hears the cheering come back full force, and the fact that he couldn't hear it moments ago is baffling. Well, he thinks as he looks down at Fuji face, which is fraught with a mixture of worry, amusement, and smug contentment, maybe not.
"Stupid," Fuji murmurs under his breath, and sighs. Fuji didn't think it necessary, but he never really tried to stop him either. Fuji accepts everything he says, everything he does because this is Tezuka, and Fuji has said he won't do without that. Fuji gives him one last fleeting touch, adding a little louder, "I guess I'll have to stay serious." The for you remains unspoken.
He supposes it is stupid, as they walk toward the courts, finally separating when they hit the main path, what he's done. All he knows is that this is it for him, that it's a lot easier explaining can't than won't. People will accept can't with a sympathetic glance, and nothing more. People, his friends, teammates, will never accept won't. There is no why that's good enough. Well, Tezuka thinks as he looks to his side, watches Fuji put on his smile for his teammates as they near crowds, some people defy everything.
Author:
reddwarferRating: R/NC-17
Warnings: Fellatio/semi-public sex, allusions to the most recent manga.
Word count: 1,500~
Summary: Nothing hurts/Like Your Mouth
A/N: Thanks to
whisper132 for listening to me whine about this...all...day...long.“You never change,” Fuji remarks, voice cutting through him as he leans against a tree, trying to block out the bright sun, the nervousness, the pain. He opens his eyes, sees Fuji a metre away, and tries not to move. Oishi and Kikumaru are on the courts, no doubt, struggling against Jackal and Yagyuu, wondering why just being the Golden Pair isn't enough.
"How did you find me?" he asks, not really caring about the answer, but three years with the noisiest team in existence has taught him to hate silence. This place is perfect, after all, because no one can see him from the main path, but he can still hear everything.
"I know you, Tezuka," Fuji says, walking closer to him until they almost touch.
Fuji is calling him by name, but it sounds more like stupid boy than anything else. "Don't you want to watch your teammates capture their long-sought after glory?"
What he really wants is a couple of decent painkillers and long shower, but he instead asks, "Shouldn't you?"
"There are more important things," Fuji replies easily, and laughs. Tezuka can see the fine lines around Fuji's eyes as they scrunch up in mirth.
Fuji is baiting him, now, but he doesn't care. There's always something tempting about the way Fuji quirks his lips, and says just the right—wrong—thing. "Such as?"
The throb in his arm is dull, steady, like a heartbeat, and he shifts against the tree with a dubious hope that it may feel a little better. It doesn't. "Is it—" Fuji asks, but stops, quirking his lips into a wry grin.
It is bad, but he doesn't want to think about it. He doesn't want to think of anything until the matches are over, and won, and he can leave his last year of Seigaku behind with no regrets. "It's fine."
"Liar," Fuji chides playfully, and tentatively reaches out to his shoulder, prodding it a little with his finger. Tezuka looks at Fuji, whose eyes are set on his face, watching for signs of discomfort.
“Was it worth it," Fuji asks then, his voice sharp, eyes sharper, and he knows there are more questions that aren’t being asked aloud, ones that Fuji expects answers to.
Of all the members of his team, Fuji's the only one that knows that this is as far as he'll go, as far as he intends to go. Fuji knows that the Nationals Tournament this year is his last chance at glory in tennis, and yes, it's worth it. He doesn't say as much, but Fuji smiles like he did, anyhow.
Tezuka manages a slight smile, and leans his head back against the tree. Distantly, he can hear some cheering, but not enough to signal the end of the match. He knows they should go back and watch, but Fuji's breath is on his cheek, now, and any thought of asking Fuji to walk back dies in his throat.
“You could just…” Fuji says, trailing off, shaking his head before he moves close enough that their lips are brushing. Tezuka can feel the heat of the whisper of Fuji’s body against his, distracting him enough so he doesn’t notice when Fuji’s hand moves more firmly on his shoulder, and presses hard.
“Ah—“ Tezuka gasps despite himself, and Fuji takes the advantage by biting his bottom lip playfully, sucking it between his lips. Fuji lets go after a moment, and stares at his lips as he presses against his shoulder again.
Fuji licks his lips once, and kisses him, tongue tickling the inside of his mouth until Tezuka kisses back, firmly, right hand winding through Fuji’s hair as he does. The hand on his shoulder doesn’t relent; instead Fuji steadily massages him, a counterpoint to the pain. He closes his eyes, and focuses on the slight throb in his arm that’s trailing down his skin, his torso, and into his groin.
He wonders if there’s something wrong with him, them. He wants the pain and pleasure together, mixed up until he can’t tell the difference, and Fuji always gives him what he wants, without question.
Fuji’s hand is in his pants, grasping his cock, and he barely can stop himself gasping in shock. His fingers weave in Fuji’s hair, entangling them further, biting back at Fuji’s mouth as he tries not to thrust into Fuji’s warm palm.
He can no longer hear the hum of the crowd, or distant cheers from the court, because his heart is beating so loudly that it drowns out everything else. Fuji strokes him a few times before he drops to his knees, tugging Tezuka’s shorts down with him. His fingers follow Fuji's descent instinctively, not wanting to let go of the soft, slightly sweat-damped strands. Fuji looks up at him and winks when he catches his eyes, before darting his tongue out to lap at the tip of his cock.
Sucking in a breath, Tezuka allows Fuji to press both hands against his hips, pinning him to the tree, and watches as his cock disappears between Fuji’s lips. He wants to close his eyes, look away, but his eyes won’t leave Fuji’s face, his mouth, and feels his stomach squirm when he sees the seriousness in Fuji’s expression.
Fuji’s tongue laves teasingly on the underside of his cock, the head butting somewhere near the back of Fuji’s throat. Fuji’s eyes don’t even water anymore when he does this, but Tezuka doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to way it feels, the way he feels sleepy and awake all at once, the way his skin burns and his stomach almost aches from clenching it.
“Hmmn.” The sound emanates from his throat before he can stop it. Fuji’s tongue is curled around him, his nose brushing against the fine hair, and sensitive skin, and his hair tickling Tezuka’s abdomen. The hand in Fuji’s hair tightens when he feels the slight graze of teeth over the sensitive skin, and he reaches down with his other hand to twine with Fuji's.
Fuji's other hand slides around to his arse, holding him lightly, allowing him to thrust into that obliging mouth. He tries not be too rough, go too fast, but Fuji's tongue presses up against him, and his hips move faster, deeper, until he can see the wetness pool around Fuji's mouth, glistening as it slowly trails down his cheeks and chin. Fuji's face is flush, beautiful, and a part of him wants to just tug him up for a kiss, but he can't stop, and he whispers things only the wind, and maybe Fuji, can hear.
Somehow, Fuji's hand in his own makes it all feel better, and he can't understand what about that small bit of contact is so much more intimate than the way Fuji's lips glide over and over on his cock. He's never felt afraid on the courts, but this, this, unsettles him just a little. Fuji's eyes are bright, glazing slightly with each thrust. He can feel the familiar tug, the way everything gets taut and tight, and he can't even warn Fuji to stop before he's coming. Fuji grins around him, swallowing as he does, and he notices a little dripping out of the corner of his mouth.
Panting, Tezuka stays back against the tree, exhaustion seeping under his skin, loose and wanting Fuji to come closer instead of farther away. He tugs on the hand he's holding, and says, "Come here."
Fuji obliges, smiling, and leans his head against Tezuka's good shoulder. He blinks a few times before focusing once more on Fuji's face, and ducks down to lick the spot that Fuji missed. He can feel the chuckle before he can hear it, and sighs. The throbbing is still there, sharp in the middle, rippling outward. He hears the cheering come back full force, and the fact that he couldn't hear it moments ago is baffling. Well, he thinks as he looks down at Fuji face, which is fraught with a mixture of worry, amusement, and smug contentment, maybe not.
"Stupid," Fuji murmurs under his breath, and sighs. Fuji didn't think it necessary, but he never really tried to stop him either. Fuji accepts everything he says, everything he does because this is Tezuka, and Fuji has said he won't do without that. Fuji gives him one last fleeting touch, adding a little louder, "I guess I'll have to stay serious." The for you remains unspoken.
He supposes it is stupid, as they walk toward the courts, finally separating when they hit the main path, what he's done. All he knows is that this is it for him, that it's a lot easier explaining can't than won't. People will accept can't with a sympathetic glance, and nothing more. People, his friends, teammates, will never accept won't. There is no why that's good enough. Well, Tezuka thinks as he looks to his side, watches Fuji put on his smile for his teammates as they near crowds, some people defy everything.
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no subject
Date: 2007-07-05 11:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-05 11:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-06 01:07 am (UTC)It's never just PwP with you, is it? You always have to add some lovely characterization. Now I don't know if I should say "wow, this was hot" or squee at the last paragraph.
no subject
Date: 2007-07-06 01:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-06 04:27 am (UTC)maybe konomi needs a vaycay and you could fill in? like um...forever? lol.
no subject
Date: 2007-07-06 04:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-06 12:16 pm (UTC)I'm sure it's minor, but, isn't it Tezuka's wrist this time? Just thinking.
no subject
Date: 2007-07-06 12:25 pm (UTC)