Prince of Tennis: Yukimura/Sanada
Jul. 20th, 2007 06:21 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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kinkfestTitle: Flood
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
reddwarfer
Rating: R
Word count: 880
Summary: "Let me wake up in your arms, hear you say it's not alright."
They stumble into the room, half-laughing, smiling as they land on the floor in an undignified heap. It’s that they’re drunk, not really. Yukimura can still taste the burn of plum wine in his throat, but it’s more than that. They won, and that alone gives him a heady feeling stronger than from any sake he can possibly imbibe.
Yukimura grins down at Sanada as he pushes himself up, looking around once he gets to his feet. Sanada’s bedroom hasn’t changed since the first time he saw it. Everything is still in the same place, small peeks of mess hidden in almost-closed drawers. The glut of books bows the wood of the shelves, novels bulging out from overcapacity.
“Yukimura,” Sanada says, traveling the remaining distance to the futon and gestures to the space beside him. Yukimura plops down, resting his head on Sanada’s shoulder. He’s happy right now, and he’s even happier to share this moment with his friend.
There’s a shift of fabric against his skin, and it gives him chills, and he doesn’t know why. There’s no reason for this to feel different, but it does. His belly is still churning with anxiety and anticipation, energy still courses under his skin. He wants something.
Turning, he stares Sanada in the eyes, and he stills can hear his earlier thoughts echo in his skull. I’m the only one who can beat you now. Yukimura can’t tell if it’s because of that, because of the win, because of the drink, or some strange mix of the three, but he leans forward, and presses a kiss on Sanada’s lips.
They’re warm, he thinks, ridiculously, because he it can’t not be ridiculous, no matter what his teammates say behind his back. Yukimura’s heard all the jokes about his vice-captain, and his vice-captain’s willingness to do anything he asks. A part of him wants to know if it’s true, because a part of him does and doesn’t believe it. He’s not sure which aspect he wants to satisfy.
Sanada accepts the kiss like he accepts everything of Yukimura’s. With immediate acquiescence. So, he kisses Sanada again. And again.
Pressing his hands against Sanada’s chest, Yukimura feels the muscles twitch underneath the shirt, and smiles. There’s no pretending that there are pretty curves and soft breasts. Sanada’s body is toned, strong from training, kendo, and tennis.
He doesn’t know why he’s doing this, not really. Yukimura can hear his thoughts louder in his mind than the beating of the heart in his chest. He’ll stop when Sanada tells him to, and only then. Yukimura undoes the buttons on Sanada’s shirt, one by one, until he’s pushing it off his shoulders, and onto the floor.
Sanada doesn’t say a word, not stop, not what are you doing, nothing and he can’t tell himself no anymore, even when his own shirt follows. Their chests press against each other, and it should feel all wrong, but it doesn’t. It feels electric, and he gasps into Sanada’s mouth as they kiss, wet and needy, and his hand travels further down, and fumbles with belt.
He wants more, even if he knows it’s wrong. He won’t stop until he hears the words.
Their bodies shouldn’t feel this good, moving against each other. It shouldn’t make him tremble when he feels Sanada’s cock against his own. His belly tightens, but he doesn’t stop. I’m the only one who can beat you now. The thought washes over him, leaving him cold, but Sanada simply submits, and he doesn’t have the will to be the one to pull away first. If he does, that means admitting that he’s doing something wrong. Yukimura is never wrong. Not to his team. Not to Sanada.
Instead, he moves forward, closer. He touches, fingers almost shaking, and speaks in moans and grunts. He bites, nibbles, and follows Sanada’s nod to his drawer, uses what he finds inside. He never stops.
Morning finds him in a sprawl across Sanada, head half-stuck to his chest. He can still hear the way Sanada’s breath caught when he pressed inside, the grimace on his face, the nails on his skin. He tells himself that this sort of thing happens; it doesn’t mean anything. If there’s anyone that will never tell, it’s the man underneath him.
He sits up, and finds Sanada already awake, watching him. It’s now that he understands why Sanada never said to stop, and the air in his lungs disappears. He wants to look anywhere but Sanada’s face, and the question that he can’t answer. Yukimura doesn’t want to see the look in Sanada’s eyes when he tells him that it didn’t, can’t, mean what he wants it to mean.
Yukimura tries to smile, and it’s this that gives him away. He can see it in the way Sanada’s expression closes in front of him. It takes everything in him to not say sorry.
Instead, he gets up, dresses, and pauses at the door, trying to think of something to say that he’ll be able to live with. No words come, and he supposes it’s his own fault for not using words to begin with. In the end, he just grins shakily, says goodbye, and tries to ignore the finality in the way Sanada says it back.
Author:
reddwarferRating: R
Word count: 880
Summary: "Let me wake up in your arms, hear you say it's not alright."
They stumble into the room, half-laughing, smiling as they land on the floor in an undignified heap. It’s that they’re drunk, not really. Yukimura can still taste the burn of plum wine in his throat, but it’s more than that. They won, and that alone gives him a heady feeling stronger than from any sake he can possibly imbibe.
Yukimura grins down at Sanada as he pushes himself up, looking around once he gets to his feet. Sanada’s bedroom hasn’t changed since the first time he saw it. Everything is still in the same place, small peeks of mess hidden in almost-closed drawers. The glut of books bows the wood of the shelves, novels bulging out from overcapacity.
“Yukimura,” Sanada says, traveling the remaining distance to the futon and gestures to the space beside him. Yukimura plops down, resting his head on Sanada’s shoulder. He’s happy right now, and he’s even happier to share this moment with his friend.
There’s a shift of fabric against his skin, and it gives him chills, and he doesn’t know why. There’s no reason for this to feel different, but it does. His belly is still churning with anxiety and anticipation, energy still courses under his skin. He wants something.
Turning, he stares Sanada in the eyes, and he stills can hear his earlier thoughts echo in his skull. I’m the only one who can beat you now. Yukimura can’t tell if it’s because of that, because of the win, because of the drink, or some strange mix of the three, but he leans forward, and presses a kiss on Sanada’s lips.
They’re warm, he thinks, ridiculously, because he it can’t not be ridiculous, no matter what his teammates say behind his back. Yukimura’s heard all the jokes about his vice-captain, and his vice-captain’s willingness to do anything he asks. A part of him wants to know if it’s true, because a part of him does and doesn’t believe it. He’s not sure which aspect he wants to satisfy.
Sanada accepts the kiss like he accepts everything of Yukimura’s. With immediate acquiescence. So, he kisses Sanada again. And again.
Pressing his hands against Sanada’s chest, Yukimura feels the muscles twitch underneath the shirt, and smiles. There’s no pretending that there are pretty curves and soft breasts. Sanada’s body is toned, strong from training, kendo, and tennis.
He doesn’t know why he’s doing this, not really. Yukimura can hear his thoughts louder in his mind than the beating of the heart in his chest. He’ll stop when Sanada tells him to, and only then. Yukimura undoes the buttons on Sanada’s shirt, one by one, until he’s pushing it off his shoulders, and onto the floor.
Sanada doesn’t say a word, not stop, not what are you doing, nothing and he can’t tell himself no anymore, even when his own shirt follows. Their chests press against each other, and it should feel all wrong, but it doesn’t. It feels electric, and he gasps into Sanada’s mouth as they kiss, wet and needy, and his hand travels further down, and fumbles with belt.
He wants more, even if he knows it’s wrong. He won’t stop until he hears the words.
Their bodies shouldn’t feel this good, moving against each other. It shouldn’t make him tremble when he feels Sanada’s cock against his own. His belly tightens, but he doesn’t stop. I’m the only one who can beat you now. The thought washes over him, leaving him cold, but Sanada simply submits, and he doesn’t have the will to be the one to pull away first. If he does, that means admitting that he’s doing something wrong. Yukimura is never wrong. Not to his team. Not to Sanada.
Instead, he moves forward, closer. He touches, fingers almost shaking, and speaks in moans and grunts. He bites, nibbles, and follows Sanada’s nod to his drawer, uses what he finds inside. He never stops.
Morning finds him in a sprawl across Sanada, head half-stuck to his chest. He can still hear the way Sanada’s breath caught when he pressed inside, the grimace on his face, the nails on his skin. He tells himself that this sort of thing happens; it doesn’t mean anything. If there’s anyone that will never tell, it’s the man underneath him.
He sits up, and finds Sanada already awake, watching him. It’s now that he understands why Sanada never said to stop, and the air in his lungs disappears. He wants to look anywhere but Sanada’s face, and the question that he can’t answer. Yukimura doesn’t want to see the look in Sanada’s eyes when he tells him that it didn’t, can’t, mean what he wants it to mean.
Yukimura tries to smile, and it’s this that gives him away. He can see it in the way Sanada’s expression closes in front of him. It takes everything in him to not say sorry.
Instead, he gets up, dresses, and pauses at the door, trying to think of something to say that he’ll be able to live with. No words come, and he supposes it’s his own fault for not using words to begin with. In the end, he just grins shakily, says goodbye, and tries to ignore the finality in the way Sanada says it back.
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