Remember that time I said I'd fuck my grandma before I wrote PoT fanfic?
Looks like grammy's getting lucky tonight.
Happy fucking birthday, Lauren. Why I've grown fond of you despite it all beats me. In any case, I love you, you stupid twunt. Many happy returns and all that bullshit to you.
STAR-STRUCK AND BEATEN.
ryoma/tezuka. tezuka/oc.
Tezuka pauses over the figure of his sleeping son. He reaches out a hand to touch the boy's shoulder, but pulls back before he can make contact. He can feel the warmth hovering around the boy's skin, hear the boy's tiny heart beating in his tiny ribcage. This is supposed to make him happy. The boy has Tezuka's father's name and Tezuka's wife's face. Tezuka tastes bile in his throat.
Maiko stands in the doorway, stick-skinny arms tucked around her chest like a brace, crooked crescent of a mouth slashing her face to ugliness. He supposes that she doesn't trust him around her son. He can't find it within himself to care, or even disagree.
He doesn't say anything as he walks past her heavy black eyes, and neither does she.
He leaves for the convenience store to buy condoms, and she throws away the cold and congealed dinner she'd set out for him three hours ago and goes out onto the porch devour cigarette after cigarette, and she always carefully sweeps up every last bit of ash so Kuniharu will never, ever know. Tezuka won't be home for a while. Echizen is in the country, tonight.
He's a surgeon and she's a children's physician. They make a lot of money, and their son is clever. Tomorrow is Sunday, and they will go to church and hold hands and slip heavy bills onto the donation plate.
They are a good family.
_______
Again and again, Tezuka imagines telling Ryoma, I can't do this anymore.
Again and again, he can't.
He knocks on the hotel door and there's always that moment of nothing, where they're paused and uncertain, uncertain if things have changed yet (if they ever will) but then Ryoma's pulling him in by the shirt, frenzied and rough and his hands and Tezuka's hands can't make up their trembling minds, but move on instrinct, around and over and under cloth, desperate for skin. Palm to chest, fingers to the curve of backs, teeth to jaw, shoulders digging into the wall as hips press forward. Tezuka's glasses are lost and the condoms in his back pocket are forgotten, and he thinks, Ryoma and he's living; every dizzying breath feels like his last, and he can't get enough.
"Buchou," Ryoma curses as he thrusts forward, inside, "Oh."
"Ryoma, I---" Tezuka starts, "Ryoma, I---" Tezuka starts, but can never finish.
_______
It's all about choices, but Tezuka made his a long time ago.
_______
The sky is lightening to a dusky gray, and Maiko's still out hunched on the back porch when he gets home.
"You look awful," she says, offering her pack to him without even looking at him. Tezuka thinks that he's never been closer to another person in his life.
Her hair falls thick and straight down her back, and he can see smoke curling in her eyes, and she's wearing an angry little smile. Her beauty catches his breath in his throat for a moment, and he slides the backdoor shut. He tries to remember if he ever loved her. He tries to remember if she ever loved him.
He jerks off in the shower to the memory of Ryoma's voice, Ryoma's skin, Ryoma, and it washes away clean. He tries to remember if he had ever not loved Ryoma.
_______
Tezuka comes home early on Monday, and Kuniharu's watching Echizen Ryoma's twist serve on the television, adoration tugging his mouth slightly open. Tezuka thinks he will strike Kuniharu if he ever sees Kuniharu touch a racket. Kuniharu is seven years old and already hates his father.
Tezuka walks careful, even steps into the kitchen and plants a dry kiss on Maiko's cheek with lips that had wrapped around Echizen's prick last night.
She says, "I love you," and he says, "I love you too."
They are both so careful.
We're a good family, Tezuka thinks, we're what I always wanted.
Happy fucking birthday, Lauren. Why I've grown fond of you despite it all beats me. In any case, I love you, you stupid twunt. Many happy returns and all that bullshit to you.
STAR-STRUCK AND BEATEN.
ryoma/tezuka. tezuka/oc.
Tezuka pauses over the figure of his sleeping son. He reaches out a hand to touch the boy's shoulder, but pulls back before he can make contact. He can feel the warmth hovering around the boy's skin, hear the boy's tiny heart beating in his tiny ribcage. This is supposed to make him happy. The boy has Tezuka's father's name and Tezuka's wife's face. Tezuka tastes bile in his throat.
Maiko stands in the doorway, stick-skinny arms tucked around her chest like a brace, crooked crescent of a mouth slashing her face to ugliness. He supposes that she doesn't trust him around her son. He can't find it within himself to care, or even disagree.
He doesn't say anything as he walks past her heavy black eyes, and neither does she.
He leaves for the convenience store to buy condoms, and she throws away the cold and congealed dinner she'd set out for him three hours ago and goes out onto the porch devour cigarette after cigarette, and she always carefully sweeps up every last bit of ash so Kuniharu will never, ever know. Tezuka won't be home for a while. Echizen is in the country, tonight.
He's a surgeon and she's a children's physician. They make a lot of money, and their son is clever. Tomorrow is Sunday, and they will go to church and hold hands and slip heavy bills onto the donation plate.
They are a good family.
_______
Again and again, Tezuka imagines telling Ryoma, I can't do this anymore.
Again and again, he can't.
He knocks on the hotel door and there's always that moment of nothing, where they're paused and uncertain, uncertain if things have changed yet (if they ever will) but then Ryoma's pulling him in by the shirt, frenzied and rough and his hands and Tezuka's hands can't make up their trembling minds, but move on instrinct, around and over and under cloth, desperate for skin. Palm to chest, fingers to the curve of backs, teeth to jaw, shoulders digging into the wall as hips press forward. Tezuka's glasses are lost and the condoms in his back pocket are forgotten, and he thinks, Ryoma and he's living; every dizzying breath feels like his last, and he can't get enough.
"Buchou," Ryoma curses as he thrusts forward, inside, "Oh."
"Ryoma, I---" Tezuka starts, "Ryoma, I---" Tezuka starts, but can never finish.
_______
It's all about choices, but Tezuka made his a long time ago.
_______
The sky is lightening to a dusky gray, and Maiko's still out hunched on the back porch when he gets home.
"You look awful," she says, offering her pack to him without even looking at him. Tezuka thinks that he's never been closer to another person in his life.
Her hair falls thick and straight down her back, and he can see smoke curling in her eyes, and she's wearing an angry little smile. Her beauty catches his breath in his throat for a moment, and he slides the backdoor shut. He tries to remember if he ever loved her. He tries to remember if she ever loved him.
He jerks off in the shower to the memory of Ryoma's voice, Ryoma's skin, Ryoma, and it washes away clean. He tries to remember if he had ever not loved Ryoma.
_______
Tezuka comes home early on Monday, and Kuniharu's watching Echizen Ryoma's twist serve on the television, adoration tugging his mouth slightly open. Tezuka thinks he will strike Kuniharu if he ever sees Kuniharu touch a racket. Kuniharu is seven years old and already hates his father.
Tezuka walks careful, even steps into the kitchen and plants a dry kiss on Maiko's cheek with lips that had wrapped around Echizen's prick last night.
She says, "I love you," and he says, "I love you too."
They are both so careful.
We're a good family, Tezuka thinks, we're what I always wanted.