[PoT]- fanfic
Title: Cell #1.
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Pairing: Shishido Ryou x Ohtori Choutarou
Rating/Warning/Word count: Pg/No warnings/300.
Disclaimer: I do not own, nor do I make profit from Prince of Tennis.
Summary: It was a normal occurrence for Shishido to scrape himself up.
Notes: Uhm, everlind part of your birthday present?
The familiar sting of disinfectant made Shishido grit his teeth. He tensed, the cold liquid splashing over the his arm, watched with morbid fascination as the solution bubbled and foamed. Ohtori’s fingers spanned his wrist, keeping Shishido in place over the sink, the other hand pouring the disinfectant into the scrapes. Shishido caught the reflection of Ohtori’s frown in the mirror, "I can do this myself you know."
Ohtori shook his head, frown deepening as he reached for a wash cloth, cleaning Shishido’s scrapes until the water ran clear. “You just put band aides on. I’m surprised you haven’t gotten more infections.” Ohtori’s voice betrayed the emotions they constantly tip-toed around, fingers gently smoothing balm onto the abrasions, wrapping them first with gauze then securing bandages in place.
"Choutarou." Shishido fixed his gaze on the boy’s reflection in the mirror, realization of how close Ohtori was, hitting him hard. The long press of warmth along Shishido’s body, the inherent strength at his back. The cool grip of long slender fingers, marred by calluses from a tennis racket and violin strings- the way the world seemed to shift when Ohtori leaned down, nuzzling Shishido’s sweat soaked hair. The gesture was totally uncool and a little gross, but it made Shishido’s heart pound painfully against his ribs. His legs felt shaky, the way they did after a difficult match, the sensation of Ohtori pressing closer , arms wrapping around Shishido’s waist from behind holding him to the other boy’s chest, made him gasp- which was equally uncool.
Ohtori’s heart was beating too fast, Shishido could feel it pounding against his back. He turned, finding himself nose to chest with Ohtori, the counter digging into his back. Shishido’s hand was clumsy, fingers tugging Ohtori down to him, lips brushing over the other boy’s.
Title: Cell #2.
Fandom: Prince of Tennis.
Pairing: Shishido Ryou x Ohtori Choutarou
Rating/Warning/Word count: Pg/No warnings/300
Disclaimer: I do not own, nor do I make profit from Prince of Tennis.
Summary: The two doing what they do best.
Notes: Uhm, everlind this is part of your birthday present?
The sun had set, darkness crept in slowly around them. The night sky was hazy with summer heat, and smog, the stars faint smears of light in the endless deep blue of the night sky. The moon hung low, a minuscule crescent, barely above the horizon. It was early enough that the remnant heat of day radiated upward from the courts, as the two boys continued to play. One tall, awkward angles, all arms and legs, pale hair matted to his head, shirt sweat soaked. His back was curved, calves and thighs tense, muscles coiled, ready to propel his body across the court.
On the other side of the net, stood the other boy- shorter, solidly built. His right arm and both knees were covered in band-aids, dark blue baseball cap turned backwards. Dark hair curled from underneath the brim, brushing the collar of his t-shirt. He wiped the sweat from his face with his arm, tossing the ball into the air, hitting it with explosive force to his partner. The ball whistled past, impact clearly audible in the quiet.
"Che, Choutarou, that was an easy one." The boy with the cap spoke, peeling his shirt from his body, moping sweat once more from his face. He approached the net, glaring at his partner. "What’s with you tonight?"
Choutarou approached the net, sheepishly apologetic. "I’m sorry, Shishido-san." He set his racquet on the ground, stretched with a quiet groan. Shishido shook his head, scowl deepening.
Minutes stretched between them, neither saying anything, just watching each other. Choutarou moved first, stepping over the net, one hand tipping Shishido’s chin up, the other sweeping around the other boy, pulling him close. Shishido’s protest lost in a gentle kiss, racquet clattering uselessly to the ground as his hands found purchase on Choutarou’s shirt.
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Pairing: Shishido Ryou x Ohtori Choutarou
Rating/Warning/Word count: Pg/No warnings/300.
Disclaimer: I do not own, nor do I make profit from Prince of Tennis.
Summary: It was a normal occurrence for Shishido to scrape himself up.
Notes: Uhm, everlind part of your birthday present?
The familiar sting of disinfectant made Shishido grit his teeth. He tensed, the cold liquid splashing over the his arm, watched with morbid fascination as the solution bubbled and foamed. Ohtori’s fingers spanned his wrist, keeping Shishido in place over the sink, the other hand pouring the disinfectant into the scrapes. Shishido caught the reflection of Ohtori’s frown in the mirror, "I can do this myself you know."
Ohtori shook his head, frown deepening as he reached for a wash cloth, cleaning Shishido’s scrapes until the water ran clear. “You just put band aides on. I’m surprised you haven’t gotten more infections.” Ohtori’s voice betrayed the emotions they constantly tip-toed around, fingers gently smoothing balm onto the abrasions, wrapping them first with gauze then securing bandages in place.
"Choutarou." Shishido fixed his gaze on the boy’s reflection in the mirror, realization of how close Ohtori was, hitting him hard. The long press of warmth along Shishido’s body, the inherent strength at his back. The cool grip of long slender fingers, marred by calluses from a tennis racket and violin strings- the way the world seemed to shift when Ohtori leaned down, nuzzling Shishido’s sweat soaked hair. The gesture was totally uncool and a little gross, but it made Shishido’s heart pound painfully against his ribs. His legs felt shaky, the way they did after a difficult match, the sensation of Ohtori pressing closer , arms wrapping around Shishido’s waist from behind holding him to the other boy’s chest, made him gasp- which was equally uncool.
Ohtori’s heart was beating too fast, Shishido could feel it pounding against his back. He turned, finding himself nose to chest with Ohtori, the counter digging into his back. Shishido’s hand was clumsy, fingers tugging Ohtori down to him, lips brushing over the other boy’s.
Title: Cell #2.
Fandom: Prince of Tennis.
Pairing: Shishido Ryou x Ohtori Choutarou
Rating/Warning/Word count: Pg/No warnings/300
Disclaimer: I do not own, nor do I make profit from Prince of Tennis.
Summary: The two doing what they do best.
Notes: Uhm, everlind this is part of your birthday present?
The sun had set, darkness crept in slowly around them. The night sky was hazy with summer heat, and smog, the stars faint smears of light in the endless deep blue of the night sky. The moon hung low, a minuscule crescent, barely above the horizon. It was early enough that the remnant heat of day radiated upward from the courts, as the two boys continued to play. One tall, awkward angles, all arms and legs, pale hair matted to his head, shirt sweat soaked. His back was curved, calves and thighs tense, muscles coiled, ready to propel his body across the court.
On the other side of the net, stood the other boy- shorter, solidly built. His right arm and both knees were covered in band-aids, dark blue baseball cap turned backwards. Dark hair curled from underneath the brim, brushing the collar of his t-shirt. He wiped the sweat from his face with his arm, tossing the ball into the air, hitting it with explosive force to his partner. The ball whistled past, impact clearly audible in the quiet.
"Che, Choutarou, that was an easy one." The boy with the cap spoke, peeling his shirt from his body, moping sweat once more from his face. He approached the net, glaring at his partner. "What’s with you tonight?"
Choutarou approached the net, sheepishly apologetic. "I’m sorry, Shishido-san." He set his racquet on the ground, stretched with a quiet groan. Shishido shook his head, scowl deepening.
Minutes stretched between them, neither saying anything, just watching each other. Choutarou moved first, stepping over the net, one hand tipping Shishido’s chin up, the other sweeping around the other boy, pulling him close. Shishido’s protest lost in a gentle kiss, racquet clattering uselessly to the ground as his hands found purchase on Choutarou’s shirt.