[Flashfic] Fever [Tenipuri, PG-13]
Title: Fever
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Pairing: Akazawa/Mizuki (I know. Heh?! XD)
Rating: PG-13
A/N: Originally written for pot_challenge: 'celebration,' but the comm seems to have shut down indefinitely. Q___Q
Mizuki isn’t a particularly malicious boy.
Ambitious, maybe. A dark and finicky sort of kid, terrified at the prospect of being taken advantage of. A firm believer that the end always justifies the means, all pale skin and sharp eyes and long, long limbs.
“Ah, Yoshiroh,” he grins now. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten.”
Akazawa snorts, disbelieving. Sometimes, he fancies that Mizuki doesn’t mean to hurt anyone; it’s just in his nature to destroy everything. Looking at him now, lying delicately in a cocoon of blankets, simply proves that even he himself isn’t exempt.
“Happy birthday.” It’s always best to just power on ahead when Mizuki gets into one of his moods. “Here.” The bouquet is thrust quickly into Mizuki’s arms, as if Akazawa hadn’t smuggled it inside his jacket to keep it from being rained on.
Roses, because they’re Mizuki’s favourites, and purple for protection. God knows the boy doesn’t know how to look after himself.
“It’s only a cold, Yoshiroh. I won’t die.” Still, he’s awfully pink-cheeked, and his sentences dip towards the end. And though it’s utterly inappropriate, Akazawa finds the husky quality rather sexy.
“You’re in bed on your birthday.”
“Sa… It’s not such a bad place to be.” Throaty laugh. Fluttering lashes. “Care to join me, Yo-shi-roh?”
It’s the fever that’s gone and filled his head with helium, of course - made him ridiculous, and coy, and so goddamned irresistible.
Naturally, Mizuki’s all better in the morning. Soft and sated and purring like the cat got the cream. Akazawa’s down and out, and, would you believe it, sick.
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Pairing: Akazawa/Mizuki (I know. Heh?! XD)
Rating: PG-13
A/N: Originally written for pot_challenge: 'celebration,' but the comm seems to have shut down indefinitely. Q___Q
Mizuki isn’t a particularly malicious boy.
Ambitious, maybe. A dark and finicky sort of kid, terrified at the prospect of being taken advantage of. A firm believer that the end always justifies the means, all pale skin and sharp eyes and long, long limbs.
“Ah, Yoshiroh,” he grins now. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten.”
Akazawa snorts, disbelieving. Sometimes, he fancies that Mizuki doesn’t mean to hurt anyone; it’s just in his nature to destroy everything. Looking at him now, lying delicately in a cocoon of blankets, simply proves that even he himself isn’t exempt.
“Happy birthday.” It’s always best to just power on ahead when Mizuki gets into one of his moods. “Here.” The bouquet is thrust quickly into Mizuki’s arms, as if Akazawa hadn’t smuggled it inside his jacket to keep it from being rained on.
Roses, because they’re Mizuki’s favourites, and purple for protection. God knows the boy doesn’t know how to look after himself.
“It’s only a cold, Yoshiroh. I won’t die.” Still, he’s awfully pink-cheeked, and his sentences dip towards the end. And though it’s utterly inappropriate, Akazawa finds the husky quality rather sexy.
“You’re in bed on your birthday.”
“Sa… It’s not such a bad place to be.” Throaty laugh. Fluttering lashes. “Care to join me, Yo-shi-roh?”
It’s the fever that’s gone and filled his head with helium, of course - made him ridiculous, and coy, and so goddamned irresistible.
Naturally, Mizuki’s all better in the morning. Soft and sated and purring like the cat got the cream. Akazawa’s down and out, and, would you believe it, sick.