(to be titled) [Prince of Tennis, jail!fic, Sanada/Yukimura]
jail!fic, Sanada apologizes in his own way. Set after everything written so far. 1843 words. THIS IS NOT WHAT I PLANNED TO WRITE :x
-
The next time Sanada appears at Yukimura's home he discovers he has been barred from entering.
The men on the door are good, really good. If either of them has any opinion on the matter they keep it very firmly buried. Sanada can't see anything on their faces, not the hint of a smirk, or a glimmer sympathy (which would only get them severely maimed anyway).
Sanada doesn't make a fuss. He doesn't demand entry or try to take it by force. His job is still his own - none of his other priveleges have been revoked. Only the permission he once had to be a part of Yukimura's private life has been taken away. Should he provoke the guards they would still be punished for doing their job and holding him back, out of lack of respect for their wakagashira. If they were to simply stand back and let him through as though nothing were different they would be punished even more harshly.
Sanada won't do that to them. He knows this is only temporary. He thinks.
He hopes.
-
Yukimura props himself up on one elbow and watches the woman in his bed as she drifts off to sleep with a smile on her face. Her skin is pale, her lips sensuous and her tongue talented, and even after all this time she refused to break, bending to every whim and returning to herself utterly elegantly afterwards.
She is nothing like Sanada.
The patter of rain on the window is soothing, no doubt what has lulled his bedmate to sleep, but Yukimura can't think of it in such a way.
He throws back the covers and gets out of the bed. He walks over to the balcony doors, pulls back the curtains, and looks out.
Sanada is still down there.
This is the third day. The third day since Sanada came back again, dressed in traditional clothing, bypassed the front door and instead headed for Yukimura's gardens. He walked down the pebbled paths, touching Yukimura's favourite flowers as he went with uncharacteristic gentleness. He stopped at the koi pond for a moment, but not so long that anyone would think he had forgotten his true purpose. He made his way to the very centre of the gardens and knelt down just shy of Yukimura's pavilion, so as not to offend it with his presence.
Yukimura knows all of this because he watched it happen from this very window after the report was immediately made to him the moment that Sanada had returned.
It hadn't been quite what he was expecting.
Sanada has not moved now for three days, as far as Yukimura knows. He uses the dining room to eat meals that taste of nothing, he handles business sharply because he is efficent, not because he is concerned with what might be happening outside, he invites a different person into his bed every night because he can, that's all.
The stones must be digging into the skin of his knees. The rain must have soaked him through and left him deathly cold. Yukimura knows Sanada will suppress every last shiver.
Yukimura turns away from the window. He doesn't know if he feels sorry for Sanada - he doesn't know if he has the capacity to feel sorry, full stop. He understands that Sanada is apologizing for overstepping the bounds of what Yukimura had deemed appropriate, but he also knows that he hasn't quite forgiven Sanada for that yet.
It wouldn't be right to lead Sanada to believe otherwise - he would never appreciate being lied to.
-
The lightning is what mades Sanada reconsider his plan. At first he completely misses the rumbling of thunder because he is meditating so deeply - the only way to effectively ignore the rain pouring down on him - but when the lightning strikes and the sky lights up, Sanada can see it flash even with his eyes shut.
He opens his eyes for the first time in what could be hours then, and can't hold back a flinch.
Once he is aware again that is the end of it. Sanada cannot immerse himself back into a place where his eyes do not sting, his hair does not drip, his clothes do not stick and burn with cold. Every part of him is numb, he is beyond tired, and his stomach is twisted in painful hunger.
It takes a long time from deciding to get up to actually being able to.
Sanada can see that it is dark, night-time, but it doesn't register as fact in his mind. He stumbles a little as he makes his way to the nearest entrance to the house.
Jackal doesn't dare assist him, but watches over his wakagashira silently. There is supposed to be a man on this door alongside him but Jackal sent him away moments ago, when he first sensed that Sanada was going to make a move. He leaves his post and leaves the door ajar. In the kitchen Jackal sets down a bowl of thin porridge, but heads back to lead Sanada there. Sanada barely seems to notice Jackal's presence, allowing him to steer the way, sit him down in a chair, and push the bowl towards him.
He eats automatically, without prompting.
-
"Where is he?" Yukimura asks when Jackal answers his phone. Nobody else needs to know that this isn't the first time he has gravitated back to looking out of the window tonight. He sits in a chair nearby, for the most part, pretending to look over papers. When the urge to look is too strong Yukimura gets up and checks on Sanada again.
Seeing him gone created a curious sensation. Yukimura didn't know whether to be angry that Sanada had not bothered to wait for forgiveness, relieved that he had given up waiting for something that he wasn't prepared to give, or something else entirely.
He hopes his voice can't be misinterpreted right now as concern.
When he gets off the phone, Yukimura walks over to the bed and places a hand on his bedmate's shoulder, shaking her gently awake.
"It's time to go," he says softly. She just looks at him.
"What time is it?"
"Nowhere near morning," Yukimura replies. "I'm sorry, something has come up."
It often happens, and anyone Yukimura has associated with is used to it. Anyone Yukimura can stand also knows better than to ask questions or argue about it. They just do as they're told.
Yukimura dresses in a crisp, clean suit, adjusting the cuffs. Jackal had tried to talk Sanada into sleeping first, but he had become almost irrational from what Yukimura could hear down the phone. He had insisted he see Yukimura before anything else. And for some reason, this time Yukimura had agreed.
-
He is still soaking wet. That's the first thing Yukimura notices. His kimono is no longer the stiff, grand, formal affair it was when Sanada's self-imposed penitance began. It is discoloured and wrinkled now, clinging to the skin in what must be an uncomfortable way, but it draws Yukimura's attention and makes him uncomfortable too - in a completely different manner.
He clears his throat. Jackal bows out of the room gracefully and silently. Yukimura knows he will have the door and that nobody else will know what transpires here. He looks down at Sanada, kneeling on the ground once again.
"I was wrong," Sanada says roughly. He is looking at the floor. Yukimura's breath catches. Sanada doesn't sound weak from proper lack of food or water, he sounds hardened. Tempered. It's enticing.
Yukimura draws his hand into a fist to hold back his outstretched fingers. He isn't so easily swayed, or he'd have been dead a hundred times over by now. He is only seeing what he wants to see.
"I meditated on how best to punish myself," Sanada continues. Yukimura feels those words head straight to his crotch. "I've always taken great pride in the fact that people know I have never failed you. But now that I have it should be obvious to everyone. They should know by looking. And it's traditional."
Yukimura knows what Sanada means, of course. He's talking about cutting off his own finger. Something in the back of his mind, a tiny voice, tries to remind him that he should first and foremost be correcting Sanada's insolence, his presumption that he could decide his own punishment.
He ignores it.
Sanada reaches into the waistband of his kimono and pulls out a small but sharp blade. Here, now, no preparation, no anesthetic, in his physically weakened state - as if the gesture wasn't stupid enough on its own. Yukimura walks forward as Sanada sets his trembling hand down flat on the floor, palm up, and draws the blade to it.
He kicks the blade clean out of Sanada's hand before he can even get close. Sanada lets loose a frustrated cry.
"What good are you to me like that?" Yukimura asks pointedly. "What respect would I have if people began to believe even you did not have faith in me? That you had dared to defy me and had been punished for it? Think, Sanada!"
Perhaps there's a part of him too that doesn't want to see Sanada maimed in such a way. Something like that does not need to be voiced, or even thought about. Yukimura kneels down in front of Sanada, brushing the wet strands of hair away from where they are stuck to his cheek. That he would be prepared to go so far in order to be forgiven, something about it doesn't rouse Yukimura's disgust at all this time although in actuality it does seem terribly desperate.
If Sanada has truly realised he was mistaken, that his feelings weren't what he first thought, surely they can start sleeping together again?
"You look terrible," Yukimura says. "You need to get out of those wet clothes."
He lets his hand slide down Sanada's neck as he speaks, along the collar of the kimono and down. Sanada is like ice to the touch, but Yukimura is sure it won't take long to warm him up.
The way Sanada seems unable to respond to his touches, Yukimura puts it down to fatigue, the chills, his adrenaline finally giving out. And eventually Sanada does respond anyway - all of a sudden, like an explosion.
Yukimura feels cold arms wrap around him, holding him tight like a vice. Sanada's kimono is pooled around them both on the floor, and is it like being trapped with a statue.
It's when Sanada kisses him that Yukimura understands. It's too much, it isn't just a kiss, it's a kiss with meaning behind it, and Yukimura realises Sanada has this all wrong, all wrong. He jerks away from Sanada's hands, their grip inititally strong from elation, but his body unable to maintain it.
"Nothing's changed, has it?" Yukimura asks. Even he can hear the fear in his own voice.
"Feelings like that don't go away so easily," Sanada says, turning his face away. His voice is barely above a whisper.
-
This entry was originally posted here on Dreamwidth. Comment there if you'd prefer!
-
The next time Sanada appears at Yukimura's home he discovers he has been barred from entering.
The men on the door are good, really good. If either of them has any opinion on the matter they keep it very firmly buried. Sanada can't see anything on their faces, not the hint of a smirk, or a glimmer sympathy (which would only get them severely maimed anyway).
Sanada doesn't make a fuss. He doesn't demand entry or try to take it by force. His job is still his own - none of his other priveleges have been revoked. Only the permission he once had to be a part of Yukimura's private life has been taken away. Should he provoke the guards they would still be punished for doing their job and holding him back, out of lack of respect for their wakagashira. If they were to simply stand back and let him through as though nothing were different they would be punished even more harshly.
Sanada won't do that to them. He knows this is only temporary. He thinks.
He hopes.
-
Yukimura props himself up on one elbow and watches the woman in his bed as she drifts off to sleep with a smile on her face. Her skin is pale, her lips sensuous and her tongue talented, and even after all this time she refused to break, bending to every whim and returning to herself utterly elegantly afterwards.
She is nothing like Sanada.
The patter of rain on the window is soothing, no doubt what has lulled his bedmate to sleep, but Yukimura can't think of it in such a way.
He throws back the covers and gets out of the bed. He walks over to the balcony doors, pulls back the curtains, and looks out.
Sanada is still down there.
This is the third day. The third day since Sanada came back again, dressed in traditional clothing, bypassed the front door and instead headed for Yukimura's gardens. He walked down the pebbled paths, touching Yukimura's favourite flowers as he went with uncharacteristic gentleness. He stopped at the koi pond for a moment, but not so long that anyone would think he had forgotten his true purpose. He made his way to the very centre of the gardens and knelt down just shy of Yukimura's pavilion, so as not to offend it with his presence.
Yukimura knows all of this because he watched it happen from this very window after the report was immediately made to him the moment that Sanada had returned.
It hadn't been quite what he was expecting.
Sanada has not moved now for three days, as far as Yukimura knows. He uses the dining room to eat meals that taste of nothing, he handles business sharply because he is efficent, not because he is concerned with what might be happening outside, he invites a different person into his bed every night because he can, that's all.
The stones must be digging into the skin of his knees. The rain must have soaked him through and left him deathly cold. Yukimura knows Sanada will suppress every last shiver.
Yukimura turns away from the window. He doesn't know if he feels sorry for Sanada - he doesn't know if he has the capacity to feel sorry, full stop. He understands that Sanada is apologizing for overstepping the bounds of what Yukimura had deemed appropriate, but he also knows that he hasn't quite forgiven Sanada for that yet.
It wouldn't be right to lead Sanada to believe otherwise - he would never appreciate being lied to.
-
The lightning is what mades Sanada reconsider his plan. At first he completely misses the rumbling of thunder because he is meditating so deeply - the only way to effectively ignore the rain pouring down on him - but when the lightning strikes and the sky lights up, Sanada can see it flash even with his eyes shut.
He opens his eyes for the first time in what could be hours then, and can't hold back a flinch.
Once he is aware again that is the end of it. Sanada cannot immerse himself back into a place where his eyes do not sting, his hair does not drip, his clothes do not stick and burn with cold. Every part of him is numb, he is beyond tired, and his stomach is twisted in painful hunger.
It takes a long time from deciding to get up to actually being able to.
Sanada can see that it is dark, night-time, but it doesn't register as fact in his mind. He stumbles a little as he makes his way to the nearest entrance to the house.
Jackal doesn't dare assist him, but watches over his wakagashira silently. There is supposed to be a man on this door alongside him but Jackal sent him away moments ago, when he first sensed that Sanada was going to make a move. He leaves his post and leaves the door ajar. In the kitchen Jackal sets down a bowl of thin porridge, but heads back to lead Sanada there. Sanada barely seems to notice Jackal's presence, allowing him to steer the way, sit him down in a chair, and push the bowl towards him.
He eats automatically, without prompting.
-
"Where is he?" Yukimura asks when Jackal answers his phone. Nobody else needs to know that this isn't the first time he has gravitated back to looking out of the window tonight. He sits in a chair nearby, for the most part, pretending to look over papers. When the urge to look is too strong Yukimura gets up and checks on Sanada again.
Seeing him gone created a curious sensation. Yukimura didn't know whether to be angry that Sanada had not bothered to wait for forgiveness, relieved that he had given up waiting for something that he wasn't prepared to give, or something else entirely.
He hopes his voice can't be misinterpreted right now as concern.
When he gets off the phone, Yukimura walks over to the bed and places a hand on his bedmate's shoulder, shaking her gently awake.
"It's time to go," he says softly. She just looks at him.
"What time is it?"
"Nowhere near morning," Yukimura replies. "I'm sorry, something has come up."
It often happens, and anyone Yukimura has associated with is used to it. Anyone Yukimura can stand also knows better than to ask questions or argue about it. They just do as they're told.
Yukimura dresses in a crisp, clean suit, adjusting the cuffs. Jackal had tried to talk Sanada into sleeping first, but he had become almost irrational from what Yukimura could hear down the phone. He had insisted he see Yukimura before anything else. And for some reason, this time Yukimura had agreed.
-
He is still soaking wet. That's the first thing Yukimura notices. His kimono is no longer the stiff, grand, formal affair it was when Sanada's self-imposed penitance began. It is discoloured and wrinkled now, clinging to the skin in what must be an uncomfortable way, but it draws Yukimura's attention and makes him uncomfortable too - in a completely different manner.
He clears his throat. Jackal bows out of the room gracefully and silently. Yukimura knows he will have the door and that nobody else will know what transpires here. He looks down at Sanada, kneeling on the ground once again.
"I was wrong," Sanada says roughly. He is looking at the floor. Yukimura's breath catches. Sanada doesn't sound weak from proper lack of food or water, he sounds hardened. Tempered. It's enticing.
Yukimura draws his hand into a fist to hold back his outstretched fingers. He isn't so easily swayed, or he'd have been dead a hundred times over by now. He is only seeing what he wants to see.
"I meditated on how best to punish myself," Sanada continues. Yukimura feels those words head straight to his crotch. "I've always taken great pride in the fact that people know I have never failed you. But now that I have it should be obvious to everyone. They should know by looking. And it's traditional."
Yukimura knows what Sanada means, of course. He's talking about cutting off his own finger. Something in the back of his mind, a tiny voice, tries to remind him that he should first and foremost be correcting Sanada's insolence, his presumption that he could decide his own punishment.
He ignores it.
Sanada reaches into the waistband of his kimono and pulls out a small but sharp blade. Here, now, no preparation, no anesthetic, in his physically weakened state - as if the gesture wasn't stupid enough on its own. Yukimura walks forward as Sanada sets his trembling hand down flat on the floor, palm up, and draws the blade to it.
He kicks the blade clean out of Sanada's hand before he can even get close. Sanada lets loose a frustrated cry.
"What good are you to me like that?" Yukimura asks pointedly. "What respect would I have if people began to believe even you did not have faith in me? That you had dared to defy me and had been punished for it? Think, Sanada!"
Perhaps there's a part of him too that doesn't want to see Sanada maimed in such a way. Something like that does not need to be voiced, or even thought about. Yukimura kneels down in front of Sanada, brushing the wet strands of hair away from where they are stuck to his cheek. That he would be prepared to go so far in order to be forgiven, something about it doesn't rouse Yukimura's disgust at all this time although in actuality it does seem terribly desperate.
If Sanada has truly realised he was mistaken, that his feelings weren't what he first thought, surely they can start sleeping together again?
"You look terrible," Yukimura says. "You need to get out of those wet clothes."
He lets his hand slide down Sanada's neck as he speaks, along the collar of the kimono and down. Sanada is like ice to the touch, but Yukimura is sure it won't take long to warm him up.
The way Sanada seems unable to respond to his touches, Yukimura puts it down to fatigue, the chills, his adrenaline finally giving out. And eventually Sanada does respond anyway - all of a sudden, like an explosion.
Yukimura feels cold arms wrap around him, holding him tight like a vice. Sanada's kimono is pooled around them both on the floor, and is it like being trapped with a statue.
It's when Sanada kisses him that Yukimura understands. It's too much, it isn't just a kiss, it's a kiss with meaning behind it, and Yukimura realises Sanada has this all wrong, all wrong. He jerks away from Sanada's hands, their grip inititally strong from elation, but his body unable to maintain it.
"Nothing's changed, has it?" Yukimura asks. Even he can hear the fear in his own voice.
"Feelings like that don't go away so easily," Sanada says, turning his face away. His voice is barely above a whisper.
-
This entry was originally posted here on Dreamwidth. Comment there if you'd prefer!