Jalousie [Prince of Tennis: Tezuka/Fuji, Fuji/Sanada, Yukimura, picfor1000 prompt]
title: Jalousie
fandom: Prince of Tennis
pairing(s): Tezuka/Fuji, Fuji/Sanada, Yukimura.
summary: (Set at the Junior Selection Camp). Tezuka comes back, and finds Fuji in a compromising position, to say the least.
image: My prompt was based upon water this time, and the image is here.
notes: 1000 words exactly. Continuation of (019.) I had to be the good one. And I have to point out, it has nothing to do with the picture; the picture is from Thailand, and it reminded me of sushi in a way, which led me to thinking about Tezuka and Fuji having sex at the Kawamura Sushi Bar, which led to me thinking about when Tezuka came back from Germany, which in turn led to this in the end...
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Tezuka comes back, and finds Fuji in a compromising position, to say the least. The very least. He'll never really know if Fuji would have gone all the way (though he desperately hopes not, hopes that he is the only one Fuji has ever been with), but torments himself with the thought that he just might have done if nobody had walked in to interrupt them. Sanada Genichirou is not just another nobody; he is smart and skilled, and Tezuka can perhaps even see similarities in the calm and composed attitude they both initially present to the world. That makes the hurt even keener, thinking of Fuji thinking of him, and the pain washes across him fresh.
As though Fuji senses it again, anew, he places a hand to Tezuka's shoulder again. It is a very well aimed touch, traditional for reassurance and a huge reminder of a very real physical pain. Tezuka knows in that moment his resolve has broken to pieces.
They have sex for the first time in Japan that night; the fourth time ever (it had been three times in two days in Germany in quick succession), and it is not angry, jealous or possessive like it perhaps should have been. It's more confident than the first time, less hurried than the second time, and there is no melancholy sense of a goodbye as there had been the third time.
This time is the best so far. As if painfully aware his shirt is still unbuttoned, by Sanada presumably, Fuji shrugs it off as soon as he steps into Tezuka's room, and locks the door behind them. "It's you," he says to Tezuka, pushing himself up onto his tip-toes to press a kiss to a slightly reluctant mouth, hands delving to Tezuka's jacket to unzip it in one fluid movement, and then sliding it off.
Tezuka knows perfectly well who he is, and also knows that wasn't Fuji's point at all.
"It's always been you." He continues, reaching up to remove Tezuka's glasses before tugging his shirt up and up and up until it's over his head and off. The glasses remain on the nightstand but luckily Fuji stays close enough that Tezuka can see everything it is important to be able to see. "I spend so much of my time intentionally finding ways to cause you pain," and the way he says it like that, so matter-of-factly, sends something to Tezuka's groin, "and the one time you spring a surprise on me like this, I still manage to do it unintentionally. You must be feeling... so... betrayed."
"That's a word." Tezuka says grudgingly, stood in the same spot still, letting Fuji stroke his bare skin, place his mouth on it without really touching at all.
"He was thinking of someone else, too." Fuji says, laughs a little. It's not daggers in his throat; it's an admission of equality. "It would not have gone anywhere at all." He looks up into Tezuka's eyes, and he feels that more than sees it very clearly. "I would not have let it, Tezuka."
"I believe you." He says, and he had before the words were voiced, were thought. "Let me pretend you would have, for a while."
Fuji nods, a smile playing on his lips. "I was going to." He nods. "After you were sure."
There have always been very few words between them; now there are none. Now, every movement is made slightly quicker, but not hurried. No matter how long this takes, somehow they have all the time in the world. Fuji strips Tezuka naked and receives no resistance, stands half-dressed in front of him, and just stays still for a moment, taking him in. It's beyond mentioning how aesthetically pleasing Tezuka is to look at; long and lean with a wiry, feline strength, chin held high.
Tezuka is laid out on the bed before Fuji finally removes the last of his clothing and strides over with slow, purposeful steps. He gives Tezuka that long stretch of time to look back at him as openly as Fuji's approving eyes had flickered over every inch of his skin. Gives him that moment to remember what he has, and what he imagines in his mind someone else almost had a chance to experience. That moment expands beyond a fixed amount of time, and yet it seems he hasn't felt the emotional sting for long enough. Or else Fuji's warm body lowering itself onto his own is erasing every memory of every bitter thought.
It begins thus; warm, soft, slow, purposeful. The passion builds up behind a veil, growing ever closer and ever stronger like the rising tide. Perhaps the moonlight cascades in through the window, perhaps there is someone out of the courts batting a ball even at this late hour. Neither Tezuka or Fuji would be able to recall in the morning. Tezuka, especially, would remember with great poignancy the moment in which Fuji decided the gentle kisses would stop, and the biting would begin. Scratching with rough fingernails that were usually digging into the handle of a racket with long purposeful raking down the most sensitive places he could find. Tezuka let out more than one yelp by accident, but rather than being embarrassed by them, the red haze behind his eyelids was so sharp he neglected to notice he'd even made them.
They had discovered Tezuka was slightly more comfortable on the bottom by accident, but 'more comfortable' was a pitiful way to describe it when Fuji pushed in so hard and moved against him so roughly he almost drew blood. This time was not fumbled, fast or melancholy; it was heaven. Fuji comes first, his hand on Tezuka as he follows soon after. They collide, covered in sweat and satisfaction, and breathe.
"Are you going to play seriously here?" Tezuka asks, breaking the silence after an undetermined amount of time.
"Your arm is not fully healed yet." Fuji says by way of a reply.
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fandom: Prince of Tennis
pairing(s): Tezuka/Fuji, Fuji/Sanada, Yukimura.
summary: (Set at the Junior Selection Camp). Tezuka comes back, and finds Fuji in a compromising position, to say the least.
image: My prompt was based upon water this time, and the image is here.
notes: 1000 words exactly. Continuation of (019.) I had to be the good one. And I have to point out, it has nothing to do with the picture; the picture is from Thailand, and it reminded me of sushi in a way, which led me to thinking about Tezuka and Fuji having sex at the Kawamura Sushi Bar, which led to me thinking about when Tezuka came back from Germany, which in turn led to this in the end...
-
Tezuka comes back, and finds Fuji in a compromising position, to say the least. The very least. He'll never really know if Fuji would have gone all the way (though he desperately hopes not, hopes that he is the only one Fuji has ever been with), but torments himself with the thought that he just might have done if nobody had walked in to interrupt them. Sanada Genichirou is not just another nobody; he is smart and skilled, and Tezuka can perhaps even see similarities in the calm and composed attitude they both initially present to the world. That makes the hurt even keener, thinking of Fuji thinking of him, and the pain washes across him fresh.
As though Fuji senses it again, anew, he places a hand to Tezuka's shoulder again. It is a very well aimed touch, traditional for reassurance and a huge reminder of a very real physical pain. Tezuka knows in that moment his resolve has broken to pieces.
They have sex for the first time in Japan that night; the fourth time ever (it had been three times in two days in Germany in quick succession), and it is not angry, jealous or possessive like it perhaps should have been. It's more confident than the first time, less hurried than the second time, and there is no melancholy sense of a goodbye as there had been the third time.
This time is the best so far. As if painfully aware his shirt is still unbuttoned, by Sanada presumably, Fuji shrugs it off as soon as he steps into Tezuka's room, and locks the door behind them. "It's you," he says to Tezuka, pushing himself up onto his tip-toes to press a kiss to a slightly reluctant mouth, hands delving to Tezuka's jacket to unzip it in one fluid movement, and then sliding it off.
Tezuka knows perfectly well who he is, and also knows that wasn't Fuji's point at all.
"It's always been you." He continues, reaching up to remove Tezuka's glasses before tugging his shirt up and up and up until it's over his head and off. The glasses remain on the nightstand but luckily Fuji stays close enough that Tezuka can see everything it is important to be able to see. "I spend so much of my time intentionally finding ways to cause you pain," and the way he says it like that, so matter-of-factly, sends something to Tezuka's groin, "and the one time you spring a surprise on me like this, I still manage to do it unintentionally. You must be feeling... so... betrayed."
"That's a word." Tezuka says grudgingly, stood in the same spot still, letting Fuji stroke his bare skin, place his mouth on it without really touching at all.
"He was thinking of someone else, too." Fuji says, laughs a little. It's not daggers in his throat; it's an admission of equality. "It would not have gone anywhere at all." He looks up into Tezuka's eyes, and he feels that more than sees it very clearly. "I would not have let it, Tezuka."
"I believe you." He says, and he had before the words were voiced, were thought. "Let me pretend you would have, for a while."
Fuji nods, a smile playing on his lips. "I was going to." He nods. "After you were sure."
There have always been very few words between them; now there are none. Now, every movement is made slightly quicker, but not hurried. No matter how long this takes, somehow they have all the time in the world. Fuji strips Tezuka naked and receives no resistance, stands half-dressed in front of him, and just stays still for a moment, taking him in. It's beyond mentioning how aesthetically pleasing Tezuka is to look at; long and lean with a wiry, feline strength, chin held high.
Tezuka is laid out on the bed before Fuji finally removes the last of his clothing and strides over with slow, purposeful steps. He gives Tezuka that long stretch of time to look back at him as openly as Fuji's approving eyes had flickered over every inch of his skin. Gives him that moment to remember what he has, and what he imagines in his mind someone else almost had a chance to experience. That moment expands beyond a fixed amount of time, and yet it seems he hasn't felt the emotional sting for long enough. Or else Fuji's warm body lowering itself onto his own is erasing every memory of every bitter thought.
It begins thus; warm, soft, slow, purposeful. The passion builds up behind a veil, growing ever closer and ever stronger like the rising tide. Perhaps the moonlight cascades in through the window, perhaps there is someone out of the courts batting a ball even at this late hour. Neither Tezuka or Fuji would be able to recall in the morning. Tezuka, especially, would remember with great poignancy the moment in which Fuji decided the gentle kisses would stop, and the biting would begin. Scratching with rough fingernails that were usually digging into the handle of a racket with long purposeful raking down the most sensitive places he could find. Tezuka let out more than one yelp by accident, but rather than being embarrassed by them, the red haze behind his eyelids was so sharp he neglected to notice he'd even made them.
They had discovered Tezuka was slightly more comfortable on the bottom by accident, but 'more comfortable' was a pitiful way to describe it when Fuji pushed in so hard and moved against him so roughly he almost drew blood. This time was not fumbled, fast or melancholy; it was heaven. Fuji comes first, his hand on Tezuka as he follows soon after. They collide, covered in sweat and satisfaction, and breathe.
"Are you going to play seriously here?" Tezuka asks, breaking the silence after an undetermined amount of time.
"Your arm is not fully healed yet." Fuji says by way of a reply.
-