Concrit Appreciated. Trying a few new characters and things...
Title: Who Are You?
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Characters: Echizen Ryoma and Echizen Nanjiroh
Word Count: 501 words
Rating: R
Summary: He has shown Tezuka a form of his tennis, but not all of his tennis.
The page crinkles loudly, breaking the awkward silence that seems to have enveloped the room. He unclenches his fist carefully as not to further damage the already worn photo. The veins throb and pulse beneath his skin pumping blood back into his skin that has turned blue from the lack of oxygen. The photo stares innocently back up at him, and he doesn’t understand.
He raises his head and is momentarily blinded by the light reflecting from the glass window. He blinks rapidly to clear the red spots dancing infront of his vision, slowly returning his view to the picture. Ryoma is startled, and unconsciously pulls the photo away from himself as to further the distance between those eyes. Those fiece, wild, alive eyes, that stare at him and challenge him to the very pit of his soul.
He does not recognize this man. He is a force of nature unlike anything he has ever seen, on and off the court. Who is this Echizen Nanjiroh?
The picture is frayed at the edges, its age clearly exemplified by the yellowing and tired creases and folds marred into the photo. It is an obvious testament to the paper’s maker it has lasted this long.
Ryoma does not know where the photo has come from or how it came to reside in his vox of broken, old tennis rackets, but he does know the picture disturbs him. The quiet patter of footsteps sound from behind him and he is vaguely aware of Karupin rubbing against his leg. He glances down and back at the picture shocked and dismayed.
He can not believe this man is his father. A part of him can see the resemblance, the competiveness and drive so alike and so dissimilar mirrored in the most recent memory of their intense match, but only when he finally has gotten a ball past his father’s almost impenetrable defense. When those fierce, golden gaze is fixed only on him, watching and waiting for the moment to pounce.
In that moment he feels like a god, born and bred to play tennis. Born to run across the clay court, to live and breathe tennis. He gasps as the strength of the memory draws him in. He has played many great tactitians and powerful opponents, all the while his tennis is changing, developing, and transforming into a turbulent force unlike any other.
It is proof of Tezuka-buchou’s prowess he has ever succeeded in making him play his tennis, but he has never even come close to the extent Nanjiroh has. Nanjiroh, his father, is the only one he will show all of his tennis. Because only with Nanjiroh does the tennis burn through his veins like liquid fire.
Turning his practiced look of lazy disinterest into an almost fierce, starving stare fully concentrated on him. Only watching and waiting for his next serve, waiting for him.
He has shown Tezuka a form of his tennis, but not all of his tennis.
Title: The Unexpected
Fandom: Naruto
Characters: Orochimaru and Uchiha Sasuke
Word Count: 531 words
Rating: R
Summary: Orochimaru saw everything.
He waved his outstretched palm in an overtly exaggerated gesture. “… time is an instrument, ceaselessly moving developing, transforming, shaping, and furthering all beings in accord to their true natures. I know what you are thinking. Can one truly escape their nature?” There was a pregnant pause. “The answer to the question is no. Not even I can escape my inherit nature. I am merely a creature no longer bound by this mortal body, venturing to further my knowledge of the unknown and with your help I shall.”
Orochimaru clasped his hands together behind his back and stepped closer. “There is no need to look at me like that. You came to me for power and so I shall deliver, though,” he chuckled softly, the sound reverberating around the small enclosed space, “I am not sure if this is what you were expecting.”
A muffled groan of pain signaled the lingering attention of his “guest”. He wiped the sweat from the brow that had grown pale and sickly looking over the last several days of treatment but he did not worry. The boy was strong. “Not just yet. Kabuto still has many more experiments to perform before you can rest.”
There was an imperceptible flinch as a wad of blood and mucus was spat onto his hand. His eyes glowed ominously and his lips tightened into a thin white line, irritated.
With a practiced ease he pulled a small white cloth from his pants, wiping away the excrements. “I find you ire unnecessary. It has been weeks since you made your decision and I find you display of childishness…” He could not find the word to cover the range of his distaste. He waved the handkerchief in the air superfluously. “There are no words to describe my rancor. Does this amuse you?” Orochimaru asked, with an air born of one feeling supremely exasperated.
Sasuke sent him an intense glare, which would have definitely been more scathing if the boy had not been half delirious with pain and medication.
He sighed rather excessively, making a small hissing noise as he exhaled. “I think you need some time to yourself to come to terms with your unique situation. Maybe I should give you more time with Kabuto.” He asked stated rhetorically enjoying the way the boy’s whole body tensed before consciously relaxing. Had he learned nothing?
Orochimaru saw everything.
He glided his palm slowly against the pallid, cold skin. “Why do you fight me? Haven’t I shown you how courteous I can be when you just,” he stretched his inhuman tongue out of his mouth, licking the small bead of sweat that had begun to teeter on the edge of his jaw. Orochimaru took no small amount of pleasure in making him flinch, “cooperate?”
Sasuke shoulders slumped resigned to the situation. He bared his throat in submission, quietly.
Orochimaru thought it too much to hope, had he finally broken his fiery stallion? His fingertips bruised the naked flesh of Sasuke’s thighs, reveling in the surrender. He caught his breath softly and reluctantly removed his hands. Not yet, it definitely was not the time to take him, but it would be. Soon. Very soon.
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Characters: Echizen Ryoma and Echizen Nanjiroh
Word Count: 501 words
Rating: R
Summary: He has shown Tezuka a form of his tennis, but not all of his tennis.
The page crinkles loudly, breaking the awkward silence that seems to have enveloped the room. He unclenches his fist carefully as not to further damage the already worn photo. The veins throb and pulse beneath his skin pumping blood back into his skin that has turned blue from the lack of oxygen. The photo stares innocently back up at him, and he doesn’t understand.
He raises his head and is momentarily blinded by the light reflecting from the glass window. He blinks rapidly to clear the red spots dancing infront of his vision, slowly returning his view to the picture. Ryoma is startled, and unconsciously pulls the photo away from himself as to further the distance between those eyes. Those fiece, wild, alive eyes, that stare at him and challenge him to the very pit of his soul.
He does not recognize this man. He is a force of nature unlike anything he has ever seen, on and off the court. Who is this Echizen Nanjiroh?
The picture is frayed at the edges, its age clearly exemplified by the yellowing and tired creases and folds marred into the photo. It is an obvious testament to the paper’s maker it has lasted this long.
Ryoma does not know where the photo has come from or how it came to reside in his vox of broken, old tennis rackets, but he does know the picture disturbs him. The quiet patter of footsteps sound from behind him and he is vaguely aware of Karupin rubbing against his leg. He glances down and back at the picture shocked and dismayed.
He can not believe this man is his father. A part of him can see the resemblance, the competiveness and drive so alike and so dissimilar mirrored in the most recent memory of their intense match, but only when he finally has gotten a ball past his father’s almost impenetrable defense. When those fierce, golden gaze is fixed only on him, watching and waiting for the moment to pounce.
In that moment he feels like a god, born and bred to play tennis. Born to run across the clay court, to live and breathe tennis. He gasps as the strength of the memory draws him in. He has played many great tactitians and powerful opponents, all the while his tennis is changing, developing, and transforming into a turbulent force unlike any other.
It is proof of Tezuka-buchou’s prowess he has ever succeeded in making him play his tennis, but he has never even come close to the extent Nanjiroh has. Nanjiroh, his father, is the only one he will show all of his tennis. Because only with Nanjiroh does the tennis burn through his veins like liquid fire.
Turning his practiced look of lazy disinterest into an almost fierce, starving stare fully concentrated on him. Only watching and waiting for his next serve, waiting for him.
He has shown Tezuka a form of his tennis, but not all of his tennis.
Title: The Unexpected
Fandom: Naruto
Characters: Orochimaru and Uchiha Sasuke
Word Count: 531 words
Rating: R
Summary: Orochimaru saw everything.
He waved his outstretched palm in an overtly exaggerated gesture. “… time is an instrument, ceaselessly moving developing, transforming, shaping, and furthering all beings in accord to their true natures. I know what you are thinking. Can one truly escape their nature?” There was a pregnant pause. “The answer to the question is no. Not even I can escape my inherit nature. I am merely a creature no longer bound by this mortal body, venturing to further my knowledge of the unknown and with your help I shall.”
Orochimaru clasped his hands together behind his back and stepped closer. “There is no need to look at me like that. You came to me for power and so I shall deliver, though,” he chuckled softly, the sound reverberating around the small enclosed space, “I am not sure if this is what you were expecting.”
A muffled groan of pain signaled the lingering attention of his “guest”. He wiped the sweat from the brow that had grown pale and sickly looking over the last several days of treatment but he did not worry. The boy was strong. “Not just yet. Kabuto still has many more experiments to perform before you can rest.”
There was an imperceptible flinch as a wad of blood and mucus was spat onto his hand. His eyes glowed ominously and his lips tightened into a thin white line, irritated.
With a practiced ease he pulled a small white cloth from his pants, wiping away the excrements. “I find you ire unnecessary. It has been weeks since you made your decision and I find you display of childishness…” He could not find the word to cover the range of his distaste. He waved the handkerchief in the air superfluously. “There are no words to describe my rancor. Does this amuse you?” Orochimaru asked, with an air born of one feeling supremely exasperated.
Sasuke sent him an intense glare, which would have definitely been more scathing if the boy had not been half delirious with pain and medication.
He sighed rather excessively, making a small hissing noise as he exhaled. “I think you need some time to yourself to come to terms with your unique situation. Maybe I should give you more time with Kabuto.” He asked stated rhetorically enjoying the way the boy’s whole body tensed before consciously relaxing. Had he learned nothing?
Orochimaru saw everything.
He glided his palm slowly against the pallid, cold skin. “Why do you fight me? Haven’t I shown you how courteous I can be when you just,” he stretched his inhuman tongue out of his mouth, licking the small bead of sweat that had begun to teeter on the edge of his jaw. Orochimaru took no small amount of pleasure in making him flinch, “cooperate?”
Sasuke shoulders slumped resigned to the situation. He bared his throat in submission, quietly.
Orochimaru thought it too much to hope, had he finally broken his fiery stallion? His fingertips bruised the naked flesh of Sasuke’s thighs, reveling in the surrender. He caught his breath softly and reluctantly removed his hands. Not yet, it definitely was not the time to take him, but it would be. Soon. Very soon.